Warm again this morning. I wasn’t planning to do the ford loop, but I wanted to run a 5k before walking so I just kept going south on the east river road and by the time I reached 3.1 miles it seemed too far to turn around. So I kept going and did the ford loop. My legs felt sore again (again = my 7 mile run with Scott last Saturday). Why so sore?
I think I heard the rowers on the river, but when I looked down at the water it was empty. Saw one roller skier. Admired the glittering waves below me as I crossed the lake street bridge. Ran near St. Thomas but never heard the bells. Bad timing, I guess. The wind was so strong on the ford bridge as I headed east that I had to take off my cap. I also had to walk with purpose so that I wasn’t blown over. Yikes.
holes
A few months ago, when I started working on my visual poems about how I read (holes), I decided to let myself be obsessed with it, to fall down the rabbit hole and follow it where it led me. I don’t normally do this because I like to be in control and I’m always afraid of being too much and of following a wrong path too far. I’m enjoying this experience — it’s so much fun! Even so, I do find myself missing reading more poetry by other people and writing non-visual poetry. Part of me is worried that I won’t/can’t find my way back there, but most of me is deciding to trust my urge to create what I’m creating.
This morning before my run, I made a few more flowers, then printed out the text of the poem to glue onto the essay. After the run, I glued the words and pinned the flowers. Here’s what it looks like so far. I’m thinking I need more flowers, but how many? They’re fun to make.
Woke up this morning and couldn’t believe how warm it felt. Is spring over, and summer here? I’d like the lake water to warm up, but I don’t want it to be this warm yet. Wore my summer (lack of) layers: shorts, tank top, baseball cap. Encountered lots of bikes whizzing by, at least 2 pelotons, too.
best biking moment: a biker passing another biker hauling a trailer with at least one kid who I heard laughing and yelling out in delight as they approached from behind. kid in trailer calling out, Fun! as the biker passed. passing biker: on your left then FUN!
I felt relaxed and unhitched from the world, floating. It was partly from the effort of moving this much under the warm sun, partly from my vision, and partly from the dreamy, surreal way the shadows of leaves-in-wind danced on the asphalt.
10 Things
bright yellow vests on many of the bikers, a few walkers
kids laughing on the school playground
the white foam of the falls falling
more bursting/blooming shadows
the parking lots at the falls were blocked off — were they planning to repaint the lines, or trim trees, or what?
a rushing creek
the siren from an ambulance near the falls, uttering a half-scream every few seconds — warning cars to get out of the way?
the smell of fertilizer on the ornamental grass near the wall with “Song of hiawatha”
a dozen bikers stopped near the hill up to the ford bridge — as I passed them, I heard one say, is everyone ready?
empty benches
I listened to the wind as I ran south, my “It’s Windy” playlist heading north. Favorite song today: “Summer Breeze” / Seals & Crofts
holes — blooms
Woke up thinking about flowers and blooms and decided to watch the singing flower scene from Alice in Wonderland for inspiration. Less than a minute in, I found this flower, which I love. It’s orange and messy and more about texture than any fine detail. Can I replicate it on a page? Will it work? Can I put the text of the found poem in the center of it?
an orange flower singing to Alice
And here’s that flower flanked by two others, just starting to sing. Instead of the mouths, the word of the poem?
pink / orange / pink flowers singing
Okay, and here’s a different flower with the same general form (or is it the same flower?)
2 orange flowers / dandelion and tiger lily
note: it was only when looking at the similar thumbnail image that I was able to see the lion. I was struck by this image because of the spiky petals and the messy, but easily identifiable shape. I might be able to replicate this.
nonsense blooming
a few hours later: The bloom has gone through a number of iterations today. Where I’ve landed now is this:
Noticed that an old notepad I have — from way back when I was teaching at the U, around 2010 — is bright orange and decided to use it in my blooms, so I cut out a circle of it to use as the base
took a page of the essay and colored it in with orange colored pencil
used my template for my blind spot and drew, then cut out, petals from it
glued the petals on, then the word from the poem
big picturecloser-up
The problem: it doesn’t look good. Also the problem: Gluing and arranging the petals in/on the orange circle requires good working central vision, which I don’t have. The orange circle is the location of my blind spot, so everything that enters it disappears. Oh well, back to the drawing board. Maybe I should ditch the petals in the shape of my working central vision and try something else. But what? No petals? Petals made from words? Petals made from shedded paper with the words of the essay (colored orange) on it?
an hour later: I took a page of the essay and shredded it, then shredded a few small pages of bright ORANGE paper. Then, after some trial and error, decided on a new approach. I pushed individual shreds of the essay and the orange paper through a pin to create a “3-D” flower. Tomorrow I’m thinking of switching out the words of the poem in circles for the words enlarged and cut-out like I did for Hole 1: in the shape of a rectangle and glued in the space where they exist in the essay. Here’s the first, quick version of my flower:
word flower, made from shredded text and orange paper
I like this and, more importantly, I can execute it with my terrible central vision. I’d like to try making one that has even more shredded paper to see how that works.
Wow, this took a LONG time. How fun to waste so much time in such a glorious way! Whatever the finished product looks like to others, the process of experimenting and not listening to the Censor who tries to shut me down (saying, you’re not an artist! or you don’t make things! or people who can’t see don’t do visual art!), is such an important thing to do, particularly for me as I try to reclaim my agency in the wake of vision loss. Plus, I feel connected to my mom when I’m doing these things. She was an amazing artist. I wish she was still alive; she would have some great ideas for me!
52 in the afternoon is not warm enough for spring, but it was fine for my run. Sunny, still, beautiful shadows. All over the sidewalk: little explosions of shadow buds on the tips of branches. While on the upper trail I listened to my “Sight Songs” playlist, when I went below I listened to voices floating above, rustling below, and the warning cries of black-capped chickadees.
I took the lower trail through the oak savanna, past the ravine, up the gravel trail to the ancient boulder, down to the tunnel of trees, then down the old stone steps to the river.
10 Things
rustling below — an animal, maybe a turkey? No, a human in a bright red jacket
ruts and cracks all over the few parts of the lower trail that are paved
green exploding everywhere, new leafs on a tree, pushing through the slats of the wrought iron fence
voices of kids, playing at the school playground
blue water
tree shadows, some sprawling, some exploding
a new layer of gravel
ran through a small cloud of gnats and trapped at least two in my eye juice — yuck!
very soft and deep sand on the small trail winding through the floodplain forest
loose gravel on the hill out of the ravine, making it more challenging to run
more holes
Still playing around with how to visualize the different hole poems and how to introduce/present the different elements: word, line/string/thread, hole. A wild idea last night that I can barely imagine executing. For a poem in which I have a double grid — one grid drawn directly over the poem, another created out of thread elevated above it — I would use needles instead of pins for stringing the thread. Yes, this is ridiculous — if I’m doing the math right, that would be 84 needles to thread, which I will never have enough spoons for. But wait — what if I put 2 needles on the center dot and used pins for the perimeter? How would this look? I’ve been thinking of the needle as eye ever since I used the phrase, threading the eye of a needle. Hmm, that idea needs to simmer some more.
This morning, I returned to Holes 1 and thought about how to find the words on the pages of the New Yorker essay. This poem was the start of this w/hole journey, so I imagine it as an introduction to the series and to the key elements — in particular: hole = blind spot and line/string = lines of amsler grid. Sara this second has decided on this plan: a grid with my blind spot on it for each panel, drawn over the words of the poem / the words printed out on other paper, then cut out and pasted on top of the grid, each numbered / an additional grid with blindspot/hole drawn at bottom as key/for explanation. Here’s the first stage:
Holes 1 / phase 1 (7 may)
an hour or two later . . . Next, I drew on an Amsler Grid then glued on a caption and the title of the poem. I still need to draw the hole in my vision directly on the grid. This will require scaling the hole down. I’m thinking of trying out the Chuck Close grid method on another amsler then cutting it out and tracing it on the “real” one. That’s post-run Sara’s job.
holes 2 : phase 2, 7 may
I like it! I was able to (very) roughly approximate my hole to fit in the smaller grid, but I won’t post it here until it has been published somewhere.
Brr. Was glad I wore my winter tights this early afternoon. I almost wish I had had gloves near the beginning. Saw the parks crew out near the savanna, looking like they were getting ready for another controlled burn. Overcast, windy.
10 Things
the smell of freshly cut grass somewhere — was it near Wabun, or was that at my last run through Wabun
the top of a wooden fence, missing
another fence top, broken and slanted
gushing water below, 1: on the bridge connecting the veterans home and the river road
gushing water below, 2: above the falls, the creek below
gushing water below, 3: the sewer pipe in the 42nd street ravine
shshshsh of the soft suface on the dirt trail next to the paved path
the very LOUD monthly severe weather siren that blasts the first Wednesday of every month
a few school buses in the falls parking lot, at least one group of people clustered above the falls
empty benches
grids and holes 1
A favorite journal, Unlost, is open for submissions. They feature found and visual poems. I’d like to submit a few of my found poems, so today I started fine-tuning holes 1. First I finished drawing grids and my blind spot/hole on the panels of the essay:
holes 1 / 5 grids
I could keep all the pages intact, then place some plastic over all them OR I could cut out the grids, put plastic over each, then place them beside each other to create the poem. I also like the idea of the double grid with pins and thread. Maybe I’ll try the pins tomorrow (and maybe I’ll leave the plastic for non-hole poems?).
Initially I was planning to run south but then I remembered that Scott and RJP had seen a cool art display near the trestle so I ran north to find it. First I ran through the neighborhood, past the daycare playground which was empty of kids, and over the lake street bridge to the east side of the river. Then I ran north to franklin, west over the bridge, and then south to the trestle.
A beautiful morning! Ran into the wind for the first half, with it behind me for the second half. I had to adjust my cap a few times to make sure it wouldn’t fly off, but otherwise the wind didn’t bother me. In fact, I liked what it did to the surface of the water as I ran over the lake street bridge: a wide stretch of rough scales.
I did 9/11 and it helped me to not run too fast. I felt strong, especially in the second half of the run.
As I neared the trestle from the north, I began looking for the art display. I finally found it in a grassy stretch near the part of the walking trail that splits from the bike trail. It’s a cluster of mitten tulips! We’re not sure who did it, or why, but I love it!
After stopping to take these pictures, I kept running south. As I neared the tunnel of trees, I saw that the road was closed. Then I saw smoke — a lot of smoke. Were they smoking the sewers in the neighborhood. Then I heard the crackling of fire on the hill below lena smith boulevard. Oh — a controlled burn. I stopped to take some video. For some reason, most of it is in slow motion again. Only the first five and last five seconds of it are at normal speed.
controlled burn / 5 may 2026
holes, grids, other worlds and other mothers
Yesterday I gave myself a task: weave thread through the plastic grid, sew thread on paper, sew thread on a plastic bag. A preliminary2 verdict: thin yarn on the plastic grid is possible iff I find the right purpose; paper might work if I think more deliberately about it; plastic has a lot of possibility. I’d like to try replicating a drug-induced spider web on it! My sewing skills are very limited — limited = 7th grade home-ec class + the occasional darning of pants/shirts + sewing up the rip on the brand new couch that Delia the dog made when we first got her 10 years ago. Will that stop me? Maybe in the past, but not today! I’ve already cleared the first hurdle: I threaded a needle! Yes, with my very bad vision, I managed to thread the eye of a tiny needle. Oh — the eye of a needle?! That’s an interesting connection to this project and my poem about the string that ties eye to words to world.
eye = needle / string = thread
I posted about this last week (I think?), but I’m reminded of Wallace Stevens’ poem, “Tattoo,” again and the lines, light is like a spider . . . it crawls under your eyelids/And spreads its webs there–/Its two webs./The webs of your eyes Spiders and threads and eyes. Now thread = light = that invisible thing that connects us to words and meaning. So good!
Maybe I should also try creating the web on the latch hook grid? I don’t have a needle with an eye big enough for the thin yarn I’m using, so I’ll try to do it with my hands.
I just watched a clip from Coraline on YouTube titled, “Coraline — Meeting “Other Mother.” I want to think more about the other mother’s button eyes and the idea of the hole as a portal between the world of her mother and other mother. Question: So far, I’ve taken inspiration from Alice in Wonderland and Coraline about holes to other worlds, but what other classic kid movies/books feature a hole/portal? Just as I wrote those last words I recalled Narnia and “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe,” which I loved reading as kid. A connection: the portal/hole/door is in a wardrobe, closet and through clothes. Is the thread/cloth connection significant?
other mother, button eyesthrough the small door between
7 miles lake superior boardwalk, duluth 37 degrees
An impromptu trip to Duluth with Scott. Our first trip alone since last April when we went to visit my best friend in Iowa. We need more of these. This morning, we ran together above Lake Superior through Leif Erikson park and 3 miles north, then turned around and headed back. As we ran, I told Scott that the theme of the run was water.
10 Water Things
thin sheets of ice on the water! earlier from the window of our room, I had noticed the texture of the water and wondered what was causing the strips of rough water amongst the smooth stretches
water gushing out of a sewer pipe embedded in a ravine
crack crackle crackle the ice sheet butting up against the rocks near shore and cracking — such a cool sound!
drip drip drip water dripping out of some pipe deep in a backyard
the rushing of the creek under the high wooden bridge we ran over
Lake Superior — blue and beautiful, one giant ship, anchored miles from shore
drip drip drip sweat dripping off my face
a pool of water on the floor of the port-a-potty
benches dotted on the bluff, filled with people enjoying the view
almost all of the ice gone — I thought all of it was, until I noticed a few sheets still on the surface as we walked up the steps after the run
While we ran, we talked about our kids and Star Trek and an article Scott had read about fraternal twin girls with the same mother but different fathers. I saw my shadow and started singing Me and my Shadow. Scott asked who had sung it and when I said, I wasn’t sure but I had a version with Frank Sinatra and Sammy Davis on my shadows playlist, he said, Sammy Davis Jr. is his shadow? Yikes. And I said, Jesus, how have I never noticed that before. Then a string of associations: I mentioned that they sang it on a tv special which led to a discussion of the Andy Williams Christmas special, then the kids in it, which reminded Scott of the scared kid on the Ray Coniff Christmas Special who hears a creepy story about a little gray lamb read to her by the guy who played Wilbur on Mr. Ed — Scott couldn’t remember the actor’s name. Scott started reminiscing about watching Mr. Ed with his mom on Nick at Nite, which prompted me to start singing the theme song from “The Patty Duke Show” — because, of course I would.
It was a good run, and a great mental victory. As I said to Scott, I’m excited to push myself mentally to run these longer distances. It is a wonderful feeling to successfully push through these tough moments.
a quick note about grids
Yesterday, while driving back from 2 Harbors to our hotel in Duluth we started talking about the show Alone and then what it means to be “off the grid,” Yes — another meaning of grids! How can I play around with this in my exploration of grids?!
hike: 53 minutes minnehaha off leash dog park 40 degrees
At the beginning it was chilly this morning, even with gloves, but by the time we were heading back to the parking lot, it had warned up. More green. Another very LOUD woodpecker. Fun encounters with other dogs. One of them was just a little smaller than Delia and covered in chocolate fur. Something about how they darted around made me think they weren’t dog but some other creature — Thing 1 or Thing 2 popped into my head. More good and difficult conversations with FWA. I’m trying to respect his need to figure things out on his own timeline, but it’s very hard to watch and not say anything.
When we got back to the house, Scott told me that he read an article in the Star Tribune this morning about how they might have to shut the dog park down. It’s sacred Dakota land and some (many? all? — I haven’t read the article; it’s behind a paywall) tribal leaders want it returned to the Dakota people. I would be very sad if this wonderful park closed, but I support the Dakota people and their claims to the sacred land. I hope some sort of compromise can be reached.
run: 4 miles river road, north/south 49 degrees
An afternoon run. A little warmer and much sunnier. So crowded on the river road! Car after car after car. Near the trestle, the cars were backed up — at least 10 cars stopped in a line, extending both ways. The floodplain forest below the tunnel of trees was thick with green — no more river view here.
After climbing out of the tunnel of trees, I heard voices below me in the gorge. Rowers! The rowers are back! A few minutes later, I saw a roller skier. Two wonderful signs of spring. Now it just needs to stay warmer!
strings
This morning, I decided to work on a new poem. Instead of holes, and my blind spot, it’s about strings and threads and the lines that connect/tether me to words and meaning. I created this poem out of words from a favorite NYer essay: “Mystery Man.” I mapped it out, then printed out the words in bigger text, then pinned it up on my cork board, then connected the words with black embroidery thread, making it look like a murder board. Here’s the poem. Each stanza is from a different page.
the strings that tie
eye
to word to world
are un
ravelling.
the strings that tie / eye / to word to world / are un/ ravelling
Is the string/thread dark and thick enough to see clearly, or should I go for thin black yarn?
I like the idea of this resembling a murder board, particularly in relation to my use of the word “unravelling.” Unravelling has two, almost opposing, meanings: 1. to fall part, to undo and 2. to solve a mystery, to make clear, to unknot or disentangle. So, the ties between eye, word, and world, are both coming undone AND are becoming more clear.
Sunny, cool-ish. Overdressed in tights and my hooded pullover. Everywhere green and gorgeous. I was too dazzled by the green to notice the river. Was it sparkling? I also didn’t notice the falls — how hard and fast were they falling? I do remember giving a quick glance to the creek: gray, open, flowing fast.
When I wasn’t thinking about anything, which was much of the time, I thought about not running too fast and pushing through tough moments
10 Things
a class-sized group of kids down in the oak savanna — running above, I heard their voices, then saw them hiking below the mesa on the winchell trail
passing a guy on veterans bridge — I was about the say hi when I noticed he was talking into a phone
the surrey kiosk is up — today, on a wednesday, it was empty and closed
running down the locks and dam hill, passing a man, exchanging greetings — hello / hi
encountering a series of bikers — spaced far enough apart that I wondered if they were together — the first two had bright headlights on
from behind, the faint noise of bike wheels moving very slowly, finally passing — a woman very upright in a bright yellow jacket biking very casually
explosions of white blossoms on some of the trees lining the trail
a mower at wabun, the smell of freshly cut grass
the parking lot at veterans home was crowded and full
a moment: running just north of the 44th street parking lot — shadows then suddenly more light: a net or web of shadows, some sprawled, some with little circles at the tips (the buds of trees)
When I saw these shadows I stopped running, pulled out my phone, and took a few pictures. A thought: this net of shadows would be the grid/net obscuring the text of a NYer essay. I’ll have to play around with it. As I kept running, I thought about shadowboxes and silhouettes and playing around with them in a visual poem. I stopped twice more to take shadowed pictures.
12345678910
I decided to post all the pictures that I took so I could study them some more. I like imagining these shadows as a net or a veil, a weaving/gathering of threads/strings/lines that affect my view of what is beneath them. Here it is the sidewalk, on the NYer page, it’s the words.
a thought: I’ve been trying to create neat and precise (well, precise-ish) grids of lines to mimic the Amsler grid, but does that really express/show how I see, or how I feel about, the words as I try to read them? What if I drew a “normal” grid directly on the text and then made the grid elevated above it more slanted, askew, not straight or orderly?
a few hours later: I made another frame out of cardboard and then tried to turn it into a loom that I could thread a grid on. Unsuccessful. Too hard to cut the slats enough so I could wind thread through it. I’m not completely giving up on this idea, but I think I’ll take a break from it. A little discouraging, but that’s okay. I think I just need some time to build up the skills to figure it out.
4 miles up wabun / down locks and dam 59 degrees overcast
It is supposed to rain all day tomorrow, so I ran today. Warm — shorts and a short-sleeved shirt. Spring! I ran south on the trail. Lots of bikers but no reckless biking. I almost wrote that I forgot to look at the river, or that I don’t remember what I saw when I looked at the river, but then I remembered that I noticed it at the bottom of the locks and dam hill. Blue-gray and choppy,
sight of the day:a little kid (2 or 3?) hanging over the edge of a part of the wooden fence on the edge of the hill leading down to the oak savanna, an adult holding onto them tightly. What can you tell from a scene while running of a little kid with their back to you? Not much, I guess, but it felt like the kid had a wonderful curiosity, and the adult with them was supporting/encouraging/safeguarding it.
running thoughts: I felt strong and more confident, having run the 10k race yesterday. I ran too fast — I need to slow down! After the run was finished my achilles felt a little strained or strange or both. One of my funning YouTubers has achilles problems and they keep them in check by doing calf raised after every run. Maybe I should try that?
10 Things
smell: cannabis somewhere nearby
a cardinal’s pew pew pew call
a bike peloton (15-20 bikes) on the paved path
someone on e-bike zooming by on the road
more green buds
some empty benches, some occupied
someone on a bike biking alongside a runner — marathon training, maybe for Grandma’s Marathon?
a white car speeding down the locks and dam hill, turning around, then speeding back up it
gnats! one landing on my check near the edge of my eye — I could see a black spot in my peripheral vision
the boot hanging off a stalk in a neighbor’s yard is still there, a month later
holes
Today I’m experimenting with different ways to visualize my Holes 4 poem:
you look at words. you don’t see the gaping hole. you see seltzer fizz and a nothing that is something not sharing its secrets.
First, I cut up a ziploc bag and made dots in it with a pencil. This looks like fizz or static or snow, which is cool. A problem: you can feel it, but you can’t really see it. How to make those marks show up? Then I cut the static ziploc into the shape of my blind spot — actually, I cut out 20 of them. It’s still not visible, but I like the texture and the idea of making the visual less visible. I think I’ll use these somewhere.
After spending some time with distressed ziploc bag and not getting anywhere, I tried a different approach. First, streamline the poem, get rid of the fizz, and get over the idea of trying to represent fizz or static. Here’s the new version of the poem:
you look at words, you don’t see the gaping hole, you see a nothing that is something not sharing its secrets.
When I shortened the poem, I was able to “find” it on four instead of six of the pages of the new yorker essay.
Next, instead of trying to make fizz, I decided to distress a new sheet of ziploc plastic with a criss-cross pattern. I really like it!
view 1view 2
I really like this way of distressing the plastic. And, it’s easy to do and to replicate! When I put it directly over the text of the essay, it didn’t obscure the text enough. Soon I realized that it needs to be at a slight distance. I keep coming back to the idea that these poems need to be 3-D. How should I do that?
6.4 miles* falls to lake to ford to falls Get in Gear 45 degrees / drizzle
*I started my watch before the start line and we didn’t take the tangents so we were weaving around the course.
A good start to marathon training. Probably By far, the slowest 10k I’ve ever run in a race (partly due to a port-a-potty stop 3 miles in), but Scott and I ran together, we felt strong, and we didn’t stop for any walk breaks. A big mental victory, especially in that last mile, which seemed to last forever.
Near the beginning of the race, as faster runners were passing slower runners, I had 3 people in a row clip my elbow as they ran by. I asked Scott, do I run with my elbows sticking out? He said no, but I’m not so sure.
I can’t remember what Scott talked about, but I remember talking about pro runners running with wide elbows to claim space on the track, and the music they played — My Way — at the house with the bleachers on the marathon route. I talked about past versions of this race — we run it at least 5 times, probably more. I remember we were talking about how many races we’ve run total. I guessed at least 50. Scott looked it up on his spreadsheet: 65.
Just before mile 4, an older woman rang a cowbell and chanted this:
It was awesome in its awkward earnestness and deadpan delivery. It prompted me to start chanting and talking about chanting with Scott. I did my classic triple berry chants for a few minutes. Scott said that doing this would drive him insane. I said that it helps keep me focused.
The last mile seemed to go on forever but I found some energy at the end to pick up the pace. It felt so fast, but it was really only about what I used to run as an average pace for an entire 10k. Wow, I have slowed down as I have gotten older.
10 Things
the gentle tapping of rain on the port-a-potty roof
little kids chanting, go! go! go!
an enthusiastic woman behind me in the start corral responding to the announcers, how is everyone feeling? with a shriek
the pavement was wet and felt slippery under my shoes
several non-racing runners calling out to some runners, go mill city running!
frequent big cracks in the asphalt
crossing the ford bridge, hearing a white car continuously honking as they drove by us
wild turkeys! in a yard — I didn’t see then, just heard another running point them out to someone and then another runner calling out to the turkeys, hey turkey! gobble gobble!
feeling the rain falling mid-race and not caring
nearing the finish line — not seeing it, but close enough to hear the crowd — hearing an air horn go off
