Cities I Love, Cities I Miss

Harriman Park: Hampton, IA

Monkey bars, swings, bike rides, slides, running, tag, sunshine.

Berlin Wall: Berlin, Germany

Forgotten, tourist, history, erosion, photos, lonliness.

Skagen, Denmark:
Study tour, frost, yellow paint, sunset, waves, art, bus rides, windows.

Paris, France

Disbelief, anxiety, uncanny, friends, stench, love, luggage, appetite.

Stories to take home

My half price finds on this very very wet and gloomy day:

This is a classic! $1.00

I was very pleased to find this in clearance. A discarded library book, the cover of my copy looks more like a washed out green cloth: $3.00

Picked this up because it looked wonderfully strange. Later, I discovered it is dedicated to Maurice Sendak - even better! $1.00

floor plan

my boundaries have been redefined
by room-specific expectations ---
windows mirror streets and closets
house winter coats and boxes of books
and all the bulky excess of togetherness.

i pull the sheet down from the window
and you are sitting in your favorite chair.

Our Abode

Pillow Talk

Him: "My goal is to read ALL the books."
Me: "Oh, you mean like all the books we own?"
Him: "No. I mean like, ALL the books."
Me: -laughter- (Folks, he's serious).

Heirloom Rifle

For Rick
The present has muscled its way off my tongue.
We are building, dear: soon we'll have spare
rooms and a fireplace and a collection of shape-
less boxes and borrowed furniture. We will rifle
through our new space and hang photos and ration
the money we spend and the food we eat. Your body

is a room to me - you are a structure in my house, a body
of security and curiosity. The taste on my tongue
is bittersweet bliss as I patiently store my spare
change and count down the days until love takes shape
in elegant wood beams and plaster walls. Sometimes I rifle
through your things when you're gone and steal a ration

of your canned good memories. Can you ration
love, I wonder? Can you dole out a partial body
of affection piece by piece: lips-teeth-tip-of-the-tongue?
My affection for you does not waver. When time is spare
you still rest your head on my shoulder and hold the shape
of me against your frame as if I were an heirloom rifle

waiting to be cradled and fired. I never liked to rifle
through the past for very long. I was able to ration
my expectations and wait with you, plan with you. The body
of our experience rests softly in the crease of my tongue.
In the beginning, I could tell your limbs were lonely and spare
so I lifted you off the page like a detail or a shape

from my favorite painting. Love can re-shape
hearts with fast fury, leaving lovers unattended to rifle
with happiness - a commodity impossible to ration.
Eventually, we learned to find strength in the subjective body
of coincidence and the void that flickers at the back of the tongue.
The void houses my snakebite dreams and the spare

rib in the dirt. Bones and marrow and other spare
parts of some divine idea nestle there in the mud, a shape-
less attempt at a beginning. It's like the world's rifle
is cocked and loaded and love is the only thing left to ration
out salvation. You know how to calm my body
down like an antidote placed on the tongue.

Our story rolls off my tongue and anything I have to spare
is yours. I am determined to shape the world that rifles
through me - to ration out hope as if it were born of no body.

The First Year

Last year at this time I was still in my dress (I kinda wanted to put it on today but it's stashed away in a box in storage) mingling with family and friends in downtown St. Paul. What a wonderful day it was!

One of the first trips Rick and I took together was spring break 2006 to Tucson, AZ. I took this picture of him on a hike up in the mountains surrounding the city. I can remember how incredibly happy I was to be sharing new experiences with him. Today, nearly 5 1/2 years later and with one year of marriage under our belt, I can say that I am one lucky girl and I love him so so much!

Snapshots

Nothing like family meals on a sunny afternoon at the lake.

My first completed baby blanket for a friend. I guess I got the knitting gene.

Grandma Ruth at Kabekona on her birthday. I love her expression.

Rest and Recreation

The windows were open all night.

This morning the cool air curled up next to me in bed. I dozed, remembering that I am off for the next week. My mind quickly wandered to thoughts about what to pack, briefly concerning myself with the weather and the way the lake will look in the afternoon. The leaf shuffle outside finally got me out of bed and now the day is stretched out ahead of me like two lane traffic.

Stop and go, stop and go.

Wherever it is that we're going, dear, we're getting closer.

scraps & strays

*
the implied volume of limbs
shifts the air in gestures and gusts
and i lust for random acts
that love can only touch.

*
darkness as a familiar face,
someone i smile at in the hall-
way and awkwardly eat with
when no else is around.

*
the earth: a giant, a board, a circuit.

*
you held my waist
but i surged ahead of you ---
a love-sick spring in my step.

*
so love me love my words, my song.

*

Pivotal Prairie Moment

This afternoon at work I was looking up bizarre holidays to put on the schedule for next week (I also actually WORK at my job, don't let this fool you). One of the gems I stumbled upon was "Bad Poetry Day" which brought me back to Mrs. Anderson's fourth grade class and the FIRST poem I ever wrote. At some point during that year our class went on a field trip to a nature reserve - if you've ever been to Iowa you can pretty much visualize what a field trip to the prairie would entail. Our assignment was to bring a notebook and pencil and find a place in the tall grass to sit quietly, observe our surroundings, and write a poem.

Although I don't remember the whole thing, I do remember the first half of my first poem:

As I sit on the prairie

Gazing up at the sky

I see a bird pass

And I feel as if I could fly!


But it's also so nice

With all the insects and birds

Who do their work busily

Without any words.


The poem goes on to talk about sunlight and tall grass and by the end I am waving good-bye from a fluffy white cloud. Oddly enough, that was the pivotal moment when I realized how thrilling (and fairly simple) it was to achieve rhythm with words. My nine-year old self was hooked. Cliche? Sure. But I grew up in Iowa, folks. You do the math.

Prospective Route

I can point to you on the map
winding in and out of streets named for past presidents and plants and birds and states.
I always thought street names were important: Ulysses Avenue or Ladybug Loop or Grand Boulevard are by design reassuring -
there is something architecturally sound about the way they sound.
Every day on my drive home I overlook the interstate during rush hour. I skip flat stones of relief across the current
of stalled folks on their way to somewhere, strangely thankful to be
just another car in a line of cars in a city of too many cars (we're all just waiting to crash into each other).
I like to map out where you are and link boulevards and avenues to numbers and houses
and all the fixtures of love and its affairs.

Heart Swell

It floors me the way limbs depict



lines of strength and (vulnerability)



and grace. And grace,



how are you so physical?



How can you s t r e t c h tendons



and rip muscle/tissue like paper?



You are an artist of injury.



My heart swells at the sight of such thought-



ful negative space

and so much flesh.

Riddle Me This

Written in conjuction with C.B.T. and E.R.K.

*If a tree falls in a forest and no one's there to see it, did it still fall?
*If it's not the 4th of July and the corn is knee high, what year is it?
*If you can't read a sign, what does it say?
*If Sarah is crouched in the baby swing, how many adult swings are available?
*If you are in St. Peter but the clinic sign says Mankato, where are you?
*Why would anyone book a direct flight to the Mankato Regional Airport?
*If the fire hydrants are orange, should you assume the city has colors?
*If you are in the car and someone exclaims "Oh! Rigor mortis!" what position is the roadkill in?
*If you drive past Moses Sheep Farm and you don't see any sheep, what kind of farm is it?
*Are birds necessarily sober?

Balloon List

We've all heard of bucket lists - many of us probably have our own list started. What will we accomplish before we die? What will make us feel adventurous, wild, free, and fulfilled? Of course we all know that it just boils down to accepting our own mortality, and if jumping out of an airplane or sailing around the world makes death easier, then by all means go for it.

I had a conversation with my mother and grandmother this weekend and they came up with the concept of a balloon list. Instead of going the route of "100 Things To Do Before You Die" we were thinking more along the lines of "100 Things You Don't Have To Do Ever Again." My grandmother is in her eighties and there are things that she can't do or simply doesn't WANT to do anymore, like swim in a lake or paint the exterior of the cabin or host coffee parties for the church ladies or attend a book club she doesn't really enjoy anymore.

I feel it's a little

early in my life to

start thinking too much

about a balloon list, because

I haven't lived enough to know

what I can really afford to let

go of yet. I still have several

balloons tied to my wrist

that cause me stress

or anxiety or

sadness.

O

l

l

l

l

l

Someday I will be able to toss my gravity-defying bouqet behind me and never look back. It is a comforting thought.

In the meantime, skydiving is a go for next spring.

claustrophobic

there are clothes on the bed
and you're sleeping next to me,
stretched out like this gray
afternoon lull.
i can cope with this type of weight,
this type of sunless, out-of-season
lapse (as long as it doesn't last too long).

the rooms are overbooked
and everything smells like rain.

I can forgive (almost) anything.

My goal for the past month or so has been to have TWO good days in a row. Maybe my problem is how I classify a "good" day. What is your definition?

Today was good, though. Today was enough. Today, I appreciate the beauty around me and the strange but good things life has given me.

On that note, I am recently obsessed with "So You Think You Can Dance" and Emily Dickinson. I can forgive anything when I have her to come home to and that show to watch twice a week.

rooms and sky

Home from Kabekona...

...and I am full of odds and ends just waiting to be tied up into text.
Here are some thoughts from the weekend:

My grandfather turned 84 today. He fought in WWII from 1944-1946.
The daisy field in front of the cabin is about to bloom.
I tried a pickle on Saturday hoping it would surprise me. GROSS.
I finished knitting my first hat yesterday!
Every ounce of stress in my body seems to disappear when I know there is a lake outside and my family is in the next room. It is quiet, but so good.
I heart Norway pines.
I felt something crawling inside the front of my shirt during church yesterday. I had to get up and leave in the middle of the service because there was a TICK in my bra. A true PK moment.
*pictures to come*

Happiness is

a place to rest your head.

Carved Out

Devotion manifests
like small stones
sliding beneath
the balls of my feet,
smooth and circular.
I know there are limits
as love struggles
to keep its shape,
but you define
the ground and where
we should build
like initals
carved in wood.

Rooms full of sun

Rick planted a variety of herbs, cabbage, and peas from the farmer's market in the sunroom this weekend.

This leafy monstrosity has a life of its own.

Did I mention my husband bakes pies?

3 cups of fresh strawberries and 3 cups fresh rhubarb from the farmer's market this morning.

Weaving the lattice homemade wheat crust.

Almost ready to go in the oven!

Hot out of the oven!

Canopy

If life was flexible

like air: invisible

and free, I'd cast a line

or two about our love

and its debris.

Meet my new machine

My Mom and Grandma snagged this little machine for me at the Textile Center silent auction last weekend: $35.00. I am pretty excited.

Sense of Direction

On this day five years ago it all began. We drove around all night, watching stars and road signs but really just looking at each other. It was like we had both been pinned on the same point on the same map and decided simultaneously to head in the same direction.

I love this road that we're on, by the way.


Happy Anniversary, honey!

Survey Says

Unintentional tragedy: I think I killed a bird in the parking lot this morning.

Random act(s) of kindness: An older gentleman held the door for me at the gas station when I was buying milk for the store. And a woman at JJ's complimented me on my shirt.

Wish for the day: A walk by the river. Or maybe a few games of ping pong.

Miscellaneous event: A woman from Cyprus placed an order for Moroccan Mint and a TeaSource poster. Also, I hung long paisley curtains with string and paper clips and staples in the front window at work.

Song of the day: Relator - Pete Yorn and Scarlett Johansson

Two Sundays Ago

I guess I like the yours in mine, the keeping of the heart.

Not Today

It's rare that I say the things I mean to say (even now).
Here are a few things I know:

The general public will never cease to baffle me (yes, even you).

I still don't know where I stand half of the time, but I have mastered the philosophy of fake it 'til you make it.

I love the drive home.

I am overwhelmed daily by extreme love, extreme unrest, and extreme reserve. Maybe someday I will wake up and finally accept the things that everyone else already seems to know.

Happy Birthday to my dear husband!

Resolve

Words can't grow skin

or fit into splints. They don't read

road signs or feel the comfort

of warm hands. Words reason

with isolation as a phantom

body, broaching desolate

boundaries of consciousness

without water or stars.

A time to walk

Sipping some Golden Tip Yunnan and lamenting the end of the weekend. On the bright side, I am leaving for New Jersey on Thursday so that is mildly exciting. I have never been that far east (sad, I know) and although most of my time will be spent at an exposition center, it is still something. It holds lots of potential: customers, mostly.

I started a new book on the drive back from Milwaukee: so far so good. It is called The Lost Art of Walking by Geoff Nicholson. More on this later - I have always been a lover of walks, especially as a way to get to know a place and a way to relive a place over and over and over. Currently, it is too late and too dark to go for a walk (although the full moon is stunning tonight) but the calendar is only two and a half weeks from SPRING and the snow is melting off. There's nothing like a good thaw. And spring is a wonderful time to walk.

Totals for a half day

White lies told today: 2

Times I thought about you: 236

Phone conversations: 3 and counting

Hours at work: 4

Dollars spent: $40

Experiments: 1

Gradation

I have been writing a lot lately, and it feels great.

A couple weekend trips are in my future - I love roadtrips and lift offs.

I am trying to appreciate each day and bring some new light to this dark season.

These are a few of my favorite things.

Martha's House by Edith Kunhardt. I checked this book out so often as a child that when we moved away, the librarian let me keep it.

Paul, you used to be 100 feet tall. Babe, you always made me laugh.

Princess Cafe, Iowa Falls, IA. I remember mirrors, gumball machines, and my family.

Dear Anxiety,

THE WORLD IS A BEAUTIFUL PLACE. RELAX.

Love, Sarah

Warmth and Want

Hello again, it's been awhile.

I have retreated into routine these past few weeks: working, relaxing at home, sleeping, repeat. It is altogether rewarding and altogether ordinary. I love going to work every day and I love what I have to come home to. It has been a time of transition and even though it hasn't all been easy, I am learning to fit into this new mold.

I do, I do

It was about the time
the snow fell
and the bed was left unmade
for days and days
that we met in this new place
of unrest, equipped with weather
reports and alarm clocks.
Love, informed by instability,
rose to greet us
responding with warmth and want.

So to speak

Almost done with the first week in my new full-time position and I am loving it!

Next week will be the real test, though.

*Our landlord is in Costa Rica until the end of March so Rick and I are playing house so to speak. It's pretty great - and I am pretty lucky.

Week 1

Thanks to my friend Alison, I was inspired by the 365 day photo project she has undertaken. Though I haven't been taking photos EVERY day, I am going to attempt to post photos each week. I hope to improve my skills, capture daily life, and appreciate this beautiful world!

This is my new glass teapot! We are steeping "Fairy Lilly" which blossoms with a vibrant red and white flower. Rick watches as it unfolds.

We made homemade chili last night! Here are the kidney beans rinsed and ready to go.

Adding the final spices to the chili before letting it simmer for 4+ hours...hmmm...

Working on New Year's cards for family and friends.

A few weeks ago we moved my family piano into the house. It's pretty old, and the as you can see the pedals need some extra support.

The ivory may be coming off the keys, but I have practiced for countless hours on this instrument and still get endless enjoyment from it.

Disembodied Head

The sheer scissor weight

Of your pillow crease

Perforates our space

And after you've gone

I wedge myself there

Like an account on paper.