April 22, 2015

Wild Turkeys

When I was a June twenty-two,
one week fresh from graduation,
I took a flight to Lubbock
and wore cowboy hats with friends
as young and sweet as grass.

One night we put on skirts
and tall boots and ambled through the halls 
of an old restaurant, bourbon and whiskey 
in glasses, all very kin to cigars 
and mustaches, dark with ranch wood.

The stars would be bright, the moon
uncommonly full in that wide sky,
so we stepped outside, a slight chill
wrapping down our boots and around
our ankles, expecting Texas.

Instead, the screams of a child--
two children? more?--broke the twilight,
and I gaped up--up, for they were in the trees, 
perched and wailing at the coming dark,
pleading in a language I couldn't decipher.

“Peacocks,” a man said, amused, thumb in his pocket.
I know because I stared at him in astonishment.

Pressed pants. No belt buckle. Thin tie.
No cowboy hat. Peacocks in trees, their tail feathers
draped extravagantly over limbs like evening
dresses, stars of blue and green and gold,
mad debutantes, filling out the harmony of oil rigs.

That night I removed my boots
and didn’t check for snakes.

And ten years later, while rocking my child
to sleep in a new home, dusk painting
the acre and a half in tree shadows--
all those Minnesota maples and oaks and pines--
my thoughts of twinkling little stars were interrupted

by hysterical laughter, a long throaty gobble--
two gobbles? maybe more?--and, though startled,
I didn’t need a man in a thin tie to tell me to look up.
Look up. Find the spirits in the trees. Open your windows.
Call back to them in the way you now know how.

PS: Happy Earth Day, all.
Hope the sun is shining where you are.

March 1, 2015

What I've Been Intro - Winter 2015

Hi all,

This one will be short on descriptions, but long on heart. What I mean is: I have never been so busy in my life. What I mean is: the winter is cold, work is great, my son is beautiful, family is important, sleep is restless, and the lists are miles and miles long. Don't be mistaken -- this is all our doing, whether consciously or not. You see, we've gone and bought a house. A fixer-upper. We close tomorrow. 

It's all about to get very very interesting.

So, friends, that, among many other reasons, is why I've spent less time here recently. However, it cheers me to know I can come back whenever I feel the desire. Like today. Like right now, as I type these letters into words and press publish, as I share something of my life, and genuinely hope you do the same.

Below is what I've been into these last three months (when I wasn't creating lessons and grading essays and signing documents and filing taxes and contacting contractors and building the biggest Mega Blok towers the world has ever seen, etc. etc. etc.). 

How about you?

  1. O Pioneers! by Willa Cather 
  2.  Thomas and Beulah by Rita Dove
  3. Macnolia by A Van Jordan 
  4. Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore by Robin Sloan
  5. The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
  6. Fun Home by Allison Bechdel
  7.  The Things They Carried - by Tim O'Brien
TV & Movies:
  1. Downton Abbey, season 4 -- Don't ruin season 5 for me, people! Just don't.
  2. Good People -- Pretty predictable plot, but still fairly entertaining.
  3. The Dark Matter of Love -- Fascinating story about international adoption.
  4. Marco Polo -- Because it was on Netflix, and why not?

Articles, Essays, & Posts:
  1. "Why poor people stay poor" by Linda Tirado
  2. "You're doing allowance wrong" by Ron Lieber -- Because apparently I'm thinking about these things already? 
  3. "Model Mother" by Enid Irwin Madara -- A beautiful piece of writing.

Finds & Arrow Signs:
  1. Thumbtack -- Great website if you're planning on doing any kind of project that requires expertise
  2. Nextdoor -- Another website that's basically a social network for your local neighborhood
  3. Apostle Island Ice Caves -- Currently, I'm the travel-vicariously type. But if you can, go here! Then tell me all about it.

February 5, 2015


One Tuesday afternoon, a month or so ago, I lay stretched out on my bed, my not-quite-two-year-old son cuddled between my arm and body, reading poetry aloud.

"Before I was sixteen / I was fast / enough to fake / my shadow out," I read.

"The instructor said, / Go home and write / a page tonight. / And let that page come out of you-- / Then, it will be true."

"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--"

I placed my lips against my boy's brow, feverish, my fingers running along the length of his arm, loose and languid, reading over the top of my worry. Reading because the sound had soothed him, had taken him away from the limbs of his discomfort. Reading.

"Sundays too my father got up early / and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold, / then with cracked hands that ached / from labor in the weekday weather made / banked fires blaze. / No one ever thanked him."

Sometimes he would mumble against me, wheeze a little, cough. He was exhausted. Had been trying to fall asleep for over an hour. We had walked and rocked. Been in his bed and mine. Drink a little water, I'd tried. Just close your eyes. But I wonder what it is to a very young child, to feel fire and ache, to fight against a foreign, inexpressible thing. He would not give in even to slumber, and clung to me.

Should I read us some poetry? I'd said finally, a packet of poems on the nightstand.

And to my surprise, he stopped whimpering. Nodded. Sighed and let me lay him down, arrange the blankets, nuzzle in, turn the page.

"Go and catch a falling star, / Get with child a mandrake root, / Tell me where all past years are, / Or who cleft the devil's foot, / Teach me to hear mermaids singing, / Or to keep off envy's stinging, / And find / What wind / Serves to advance an honest mind."

That's poetry, I explained.

Poe-try, he repeated, matter-of-fact, a small scholar in a tweed vest nodding his head. Poe-tree. He was sick and loose and languid, but he was also next to me, slowed down and next to me, saying a little word that filled me with a rush of tenderness. Poe-tree. My son. Yes, my son: poetry.

"The time you won your town the race / We chaired you through the market-place."

"I stared and stared / and victory filled up / the little rented boat."

"I remember leaf-huts / we built / as children: / to crawl in and sit / listening to the rain."

Poetry, I said.

And he whispered it back. Whispered, because his eyes were glassy, because he was seeing it all, the sweet and wild tonic of words, in ways that I've forgotten, no longer so young, so open, so rapid, so endless, a basin of sounds and swirling images, a white page. Poe-tree.

I watched his eyelashes float up and down, his eyelids descending like heavy curtains. His lips parted. Out puffed a kind of sigh.

"There's not much to / these poems, just / a few words piled up / at random. / Still, / I think / it's good / to make them."

It's good to make them, I whispered. And touched his hair. And kissed his palm. And wrote poems in my mind for the rest of the night.

January 2, 2015

Temperance River State Park

May your new year be full of adventure and clarity.
(And lots of reading, writing, big hopes, simple dreams, and chocolate.)

xo from the north shore of Minnesota!

November 28, 2014

What I've Been Into - Autumn 2014

Hi all,

First, I hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving. It's my favorite holiday: gratitude, good food, and family. I hope you spent it with those you care about most.

This fall has given me a lot to be thankful for. My darling boy is just a few months away from turning two years old, and this autumn has been so full of his mind latching onto everything and finding ways to communicate that it's been, well, magical. How does a child just suddenly string a six-word sentence together? And his personality, this mini-man, who is forming in front of me? Tonight he was all about "running hugs," the kind where he takes off from across the room and propels himself into my arms, all while laughing his little boy laugh. Which is loud. Which is music. Amen.

Work has also been incredibly fulfilling. I love my life as a mother. But I also look forward to doing what I do inside of my classroom. I find such satisfaction in sharing literature with kids who want to learn! Who are engaged! Who are grateful--for their education, their teachers, their opportunities. The hardest thing about this new job is realizing I might never want to leave.

And I can't teach literature and writing without wanting to make some of it myself. I haven't exactly had an abundance of that thing called "free-time" lately (as you might deduce from my paltry list of movie and TV titles below), but--spurred on both by the energy of my students, the support of my professional community, and an opportunity to give a reading with local author John Jodzio earlier this month--I cobbled together enough time and motivation to write my first real piece of fiction in probably two years. Watching a toddler learn to use words is magical, and so is realizing that--rusty or not--I still can, too.

That about sums it up for me, folks. A lot to be thankful for. A lot to look forward to. Ideas. Space. Quiet. Joyful noise. A world that's cold, but also so very very warm.

Books (& two plays!):
  1. The Scarlet Letter, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, Oedipus the King (again). Rereading, though time consuming, is a powerful reminder of how valuable it can be to give anything in life more than one chance.  
  2. Old School by Tobias Wolff -- About a teenaged boy at a private school who is awkward and self-conscious and in love with books. Oh, how I put off grading essays in order to read this one! 
  3. A Room With a View by E. M. Forster -- I listened to this one on my way to and from school, and I have to say, I really enjoyed it. Probably a bit to do with the British accents and the big vocabulary words and Italy and the main love interest's name being George.
  4. The Plague by Albert Camus -- Weird. Weirder than anything I've read in a long time. But the rats crept into my dreams, so I guess that means it was successful?
  5. Fences by August Wilson -- A powerful, Pulitzer Prize-winning play about a black man and his family in the 1950s. Felt incredibly timely as I watched and read and thought about Ferguson.
TV & Movies:
  1. Catching Fire -- Watched this one quiet Friday night by myself anditwasgood.
  2. Django Unchained -- While introducing Huck Finn and discussing my students' exposure to slavery via media, many of them mentioned this movie. Ah, Quentin Tarantino. You would make an interesting history teacher, I'll give you that.
  3. The Politician's Husband -- Another British mini-series that found its way to Netflix, and somehow found its way onto our screen. After the final credits, the hubs and I both had a strong desire to watch some Downton Abbey.

Articles, Essays, & Posts:
  1. "We need to talk about injustice" by Bryan Stevenson -- I feel like I might have heard about this civil rights lawyer/speaker/writer before, but after hearing a recording of a talk he just gave locally, and now having watched his 2012 TED Talk, I'm certain I won't forget his name again. Challenging, important stuff.
  2. "Stories We love: 'In The Heart of the Heart of the Country' by William Gass" by Ann Valente --  A piece about that thing y'all know by now is at the heart of my heart: landscape.
  3. White Bean Chili -- Colder weather means we are cooking up soups and stews and crockpots over here. This recipe was simple and good.
  4. "Fall Colors Around the World" -- Because the colors this autumn really were stunning (and it's important for me to remember how lovely October was, since, you know, November has been a whole lot of below-freezing-is-it-March-yet-murk).
  5. "Fingerprint Words" by Matthew J.X. Malady. Something this ol' English teacher found pleasure in pondering.
  6. "Gate A-4" by Naomi Shihab Nye. Yes, just yes.

    Finds & Arrow Signs:
    1. Deerdorff Apple Orchard in Minnetrista, MN -- Delicious, beautiful, and there's wine!
    2. Barebones Harvest Festival -- I wasn't able to go this year, but I learned about it through a colleague, and it's definitely a way I will spend Halloween in the future.
    3. Betsy Bowen -- A wonderful local artist who works in woodcuts. I'm certain some of her illustrated children's books will find their way onto Elliot's shelves.
    4. Echinacea Goldenseal -- Right as the weather took a serious cold turn, both my husband and I were waylaid with terrible viral yuck--until, that is, our mothers stepped in with their soups and supplements, including this particular herbal powerhouse. We healed right up. Our systems are now solidly armed for winter.
    5. Chocolate croissants -- Thank you, French Club. That is all. 

    Hope you are well, friends. Thank you, as always, for reading along, commenting, and being a part of this community, no matter how much space exists between. An early Merry Christmas, and best wishes for the rest of your 2014.

    November 1, 2014

    Resilience: On Working and Mothering

    We have been having conversations lately, my son and I. Last night while I was putting on his pajamas, it was about the man on the road walking his dog. A week ago it was about porcupines, and how, for him, they have somehow come to mean "ouch." This afternoon, we looked at the leaves. They were so red--this one line of maples--and when I said, "Aren't they beautiful, El, all bright like that?" he said yes.

    "Yesss," he said, drawing out the sibilance, nodding his head. He looked up at me. He was wearing a winter hat. He was holding my hand.

    His father and I worry sometimes about him. More accurately, we worry about my leaving in the morning, followed by G's leaving from the daycare door, followed many several hours later with one of us returning, sometimes both (but often not before he's in bed), and how he interprets our comings and goings, how he feels about the drive away from home, if there is a part of him, come 3:30, 4:00 in the afternoon, that waits.

    Sometimes, after I've returned from work and picked him up and squeezed him and whispered to him and asked him about his day and interpreted his new words and kissed him and kissed him, I say, "Elliot, are you okay? You doing okay, little man?"

    "Yessssss," he says, and I hold onto that just like I hold onto his hand.

    As he has grown, and as I've progressed through motherhood, I've watched both of us relax into the new selves we continue to become. As a baby, he needed my arms to fall asleep, and the moment I tipped my body forward to set him down, he would feel it, tense up, resist the change and cling. Tonight, all smiles, he asked for his bed, for his Monkey and Morty and Blanket; he didn't even need me to sing our special song, although as I tucked his blanket around his body I sang it anyway. And I think about the way I was those first months, questioning everything, hours on the internet searching out the answers, puzzling over a little red dot an inch above his ankle. I still worry, sure, but he knows now about "shaking off" a bump or bruise because that's what I've taught him, and I suppose inadvertently it's something I've relearned, too: we are resilient.

    Someday I will be able to explain to him about work in a way that is more than a one-syllable word, this thing I leave for. I will be able to talk with him about Reuben and about Reed, about Zoe and Madeline, about the way certain students are curious and others funny and others afraid, about the way my heart is somehow big enough for these rooms of people. "I may come home tired," I will say to my boy, "but isn't it something remarkable that I never come home less?"

    I've asked myself: Can I do both well? Mothering and teaching, giving and giving and giving, and getting back.

    Let me tell you: The answer to this question isn't on the internet.

    We are each being pulled and stretched and pressed and bent. How can this not be our daily experience when life is so big? When there is so much to want--not things, but much. I will flail a little bit, dip my toes in the chaos. I'm convinced that if there is a truth to find, it is there.

    This afternoon, the wind picked up the maple leaves--those bright and brittle stars--and sent them flying frenetically, unpredictably, beautifully down the road.

    "Do you want to chase them, El?" I asked. And off he went, joyous, running and running, bending himself into the future, despite all the times before that he has fallen down.

    October 12, 2014


    These are the colors
    that flood the ears with whispers
    and rumors of rain

    October 3, 2014

    Ways to Say Autumn

    in Latin:  autumnus
    n French:  automne
    in Italian:  autunno
    in Spanish:  otoño
    in Portuguese:  outono
    in Arabic:  خريف
    in Lakota:  ptaŋyétu
    in Cebuano:  tingdagdag
    in Somali:  deyr
    in Greek:  φθινόπωρο
    in Chechan:  güire
    in Thai:  ฤดูใบไม้ร่วง
    in Persian:  پاييز 
    in Czech:  podzim
    in Finnish:  syksy
    in Japanese:  
    in Chinese:  秋天
    in Danish:  efterår
    in Dutch:  herfst
    in low German:  harvst
    in Old English:  hærfest
    in Icelandic:  haust

    Or, in Me:
    gravel-road drives
    dark earth and morning
    dried herbs
    wild rice
    tractors and harvest time
    warm cheese
    corners of swirling leaves
    dawn fog
    auburn skies
    I see you, you see me
    thinner trees
    cheers from fields on Friday nights
    warm soup
    hearty bread
    moon all golden, so high

    August 30, 2014

    What I've Been Into - Summer 2014

    Hi all,

    Well, I'd say summer is almost over, but the truth is summer has been in the rearview for me for over two weeks already. My new set of students filled up my new campus on Monday, and brought with them the very tangible feeling of fall. Make no mistake: it was still hot outside. But school is scholarly and high hopes and eager nerves and very much what's next. I am dog tired. And can hardly sleep for the thirty-two things on my to-do list. But also: how many folks can say they get this--this influx of life every autumn? Besides the kids and the content and the fact that, you know, I get to talk about books and words for a living, I am so grateful for the way the school calendar is cyclical, for the way even when it's harvest time, for me the world feels new.

    That said: summer was wonderful. WONDERFUL. So much time outside with my dear boy. There are ridiculous tan lines on my feet from my sandals, and this fact makes me grin, because the last time I had lines like these, I was twenty-one and living along the shores of the Chesapeake.  Do you know what this means? My eighteen-month-old son is keeping me young. And that is a beautiful thing, my friends--the way our children open us up to experiences we thought were past. 

    It was also a lovely summer in that Elliot really started to sleep well: full nights and predictable naps, sometimes for a few hours in the afternoon. And--fully rested from the night before--it was then that I propped up my feet and read. Lordy, was there reading going on at my house these last three months. Honestly, I stopped keeping track of all the smaller articles and essays and poems I consumed (not to mention board books); the list just would have been too long. But! But. The titles below comprise a smattering of where my brain has been this retreating season. 

    How about you? I would love to hear about your summer highlights. And I'd ask for book recommendations, but at this point? Maybe just the keys to your cabin in the Northwoods would do. :) 

    Hope you are well, friends. Think of me when you see those yellow busses! Education is such a privilege.

    Books (& a play!):
    1. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain -- It's been a long time since I read this one (an admission I will make for many books on this list). I found the Duke and King section a bit long, but I also found myself smirking and occasionally laughing out loud at certain shenanigans. Twain does know how to get you shaking your head, wondering at the craziness of the world.
    2. The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne -- Another reread from my high school days. For whatever reason, I remember not getting then What All The Fuss Was About. Having read it now as a mother, though, I came away with a much deeper appreciation of Hester, her role as a mother-rebel, and her strength. There are also so many philosophical conundrums/discussion points/questions... this one had me wearing out my pen's ink in its margins, and--nerd alert!--that kind of thing really gets my brain-blood racing. 
    3. The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Oh, the sentences. The sentences!
    4. Oedipus the King by Sophocles -- Although I've taught Antigone before, this was my first time through OtK. There was so much dramatic irony all the way through that I could hardly stand it--in a good way. Sophocles knew how to work an audience.
    5. Promises Kept: Raising Black Boys to Succeed in Work and In Life by Dr. Joe Brewster and Michele Stephenson. This was summer reading for my school's faculty. It was a fascinating and frustrating read, and--in the wake of Ferguson--incredibly timely. The authors came to our school to speak during teacher workshops. Although it's hard to pinpoint answers and solutions, the biggest take away was the importance of the what's next question. The fact that we have to ask it, and then think on it, and then do better.
    TV & Movies:
    1. Mad Men, Season 6 -- Eh. Getting tired of Don's remoteness. The masks we all wear, even from ourselves, yes, but... eh.  At least there was that amazing scene of Ken Cosgrove tap-dancing.
    2. Her -- Weird and colorful and full of love-letters and great lines, which, you know, I like.
    3. Game of Thrones, Season 4 -- We finished this season all hushed and heavy, and after its final episode, we crashed into the pit that is No-More-Episodes-Until-Winter.
    4. Sherlock -- I'm not really a crime-show kind of girl, so I was skeptical when a friend suggested this series after I bemoaned the loss of GOT. Happily, we really like it! The lead actors do a great job.
    5. The Killing -- After Sherlock,  we became completely sucked in by this crime series (it's official: we are Netflix junkies) (I think this is perhaps what happens when you are parents of young children with early bedtimes) (Yes?). The cliff-hangers at the end of each episode were extremely detrimental to my husband's and my need to Go To Sleep. I haven't felt that tied to a ticking-clock kind of show since, I don't know, 24?

    Articles, Essays, & Posts:
    1. "The Secret Rules of Adjective Order" by Katy Waldman. Because I'm a nerd.
    2. "The Gorgeous Nothings: The Envelop Poems of Emily Dickinson" by Michelle Aldredge. Because Emily Dickinson.
    3. "Give Me Gratitude or Give Me Debt" by Glennon Doyle Melton. Just some very practical advice on living simply an appreciating what you already have.
    4. "The Shortening Leash" by Jessica Grose and Hanna Rosin. Articles like this become ever more fascinating to me as my child becomes more independent. I'd love to let him just run off into the field/woods/wildblueyonder... but can someone give me a 100% objective answer regarding when that would be safe?!
    5. "On Self-Reliance" by Ralph Waldo Emerson -- Have I read this before? I must have. But it hit me as all new, and quite powerful. His quotes on the potential hollowness of consistency felt fresh and right on.
    6. "On Civil Disobedience" by Henry David Thoreau -- This might be revealing too much about me, but HDT was sort of my high school literary crush. Lots of Walden reading. Lots of writing down his quotes on post-it-notes and affixing them in my locker. This essay reminded me of my sixteen-year-old-self, how earnest I was, and how little I really understood about the Transcendentalists. I'm very much looking forward to reading this essay with my students and talking it all out.

      Finds & Arrow Signs:
      1. Thai Chicken Curry Flurry -- Coconut milk! Delicious.
      2. "Teaching With Heart: Poetry That Speaks To The Courage to Teach" -- An anthology of prose and poetry that I just happen to have contributed to. Some great work if you are looking for inspiration or a perfect English-teachery gift.
      3. "Descant" in Midway Journal -- A short story I wrote in one fell-swoop while reclining on a dorm room bed at Vermont College of Fine Arts. I'm pleased to see it in this fine publication.
      4. Highway 61 along the St. Croix River Valley -- Although I've been to the southeast corner of Minnesota many times, its beauty never ceases to impair the safety of my driving. "Look! Look there!" Thank you, dear Signe, for falling in love and marrying a farm boy from Rollingstone. May your happiness vault up into the sky like these cliffs.