Here We Stand

(3/29/14)

2:56a – I blinked and March finished in a succession of quick minutes as winter instead of spring.

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As the lion that began March roared solidly through the last weekend of the month with flurries and rain, puppies and I traded concrete and real estate for fields and trees – multi-story city parking lots for the peaceful oasis of Martin Gap Road – where we holed up back in central Pennsylvania again, bleating as contentedly as little lambs. There, we were warm in piles of blankets and couch pillows, full on tacos and Texas chili and cornbread, happy with friends and old companions and baby chatter.

We played in mud, filling our lungs with the damp scent of soaked and dripping pine boughs. We ran in grass, willing our legs to forget the memory of asphalt for soft, squelching ground. We slept in late, stilling time into slow hours drinking coffee with bedhead in pale morning light. We talked in turns, spilling stories that mixed with crumbs on the candlelit tabletop deep into the night.

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Winter is finally settling into warmer drizzles, and I’m ready for the next phase of things. Similar to when I left New Mexico, lately I’m wondering where I belong – what I should be doing with my time and my energy, my life – and so I think on it during long walks with puppies or late night drives from Brooklyn to Huntingdon.

“Where, where is the town?/Now, it’s nothing but flowers” . . . 

Though I’m questioning things and am unsure of my place once again – grey city or blue mountains, wide horizons or high rises – I’m more at ease this time with the mild disquiet that comes along for the ride over the criss-crossing cruxes on life’s roads. Paths run unknown from dirt to gravel to highway and back, all of them alternately alarming or beautiful, in slanting light with the right mind, with good company and a banana for the road.

Seasons change, and places change, and we change, moving and growing and rising like a creek after heavy rain – threatening to flood and overflow the banks – but often not. Like ducks in a muddy pond, we swim in and out at intervals. But so long as we keep quacking and floating, giggling our way together, I think we got it, we got it.

Je vous aime. Be well, my favorites.

- Sarah

Stronghold

Central Pennsylvania remains one of the strongholds of my heart.

Spending four years of college there – as well as countless months, hours, and minutes always visiting for long weekends and hootenannies since then – keeps it as fresh and deep inside of me as a cold, clear spring in the desert. It is always bubbling forth and is a forever embedded and nostalgic place that centers me and rekindles who I am when I go there. It is simplicity.

Be well and full of love.

- Sarah

 

Supreme Moments

(9/14/13)

It is a special kind of clean to soak off the grubby sweat and dirt from seven long hours in the car with a bubbling hot tub, then dive in a cold pool and later shower off the chlorine.

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Four months ago – when fall had not fallen and heat still shimmered brown between buildings, heavy and thick as bubbling caramel – pups and coons and bears headed from northern cities and climes into the southern south, to the northernmost Carolina. From even further and wider than we traveled, cousins came from the west and elsewhere to meet at two great, giant houses on stilts – separated by reeds and a neat path along a pond – near the Outer Banks beach of Corolla.

All told – at our most numerous – we numbered 20 humans and six dogs, most of us with the same ruddy blood flowing in veins, rising, and warming with the sun as pink as our skin did the first two days of the trip.

For a glorious week, we laughed from hot tubs on dusk-lit porches, rose to see sunrises of the same color, and ate bagels, doughnuts, and barbecue to fuel our bodies for swimming, digging, paddling, burning, rowing, and sleeping before doing it all again the next day.

It was a lovely time of family and talks, full of good medicine and closeness.

(9/17/13)

Supreme moment – fox digging for crabs, windswept shore, seafoam, sunrise. 

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Despite getting sick almost immediately upon arrival and existing without a voice for over a week, those days were full of supreme moments.

Something about going there of a September, escaping stressful, pivotal times in my life for even a little while, like two years ago, resets and empowers me.

Be well, you – I love you all, and I’ll love you always.

Only eight more months till next year, guys.

- Sarah

 

 

 

2014!

It’s 2014 now.

It was projected by some that it would be very good, a strong year, steadfast, even keel, full of hard work and steady habits – and hopefully this proves to be so.

We’re 17 days in, and – already – it is a doozy.  The 405 hours and 40 minutes that I’ve so far experienced of this year have been full to brimming, full to bursting, and full, full, full – of friends, of songs, of quotes, of shaves, of laugher, of icy drives, of cabins, of Blockus, of logs, of engagements, of sadnesses, of loss, of work, of emptiness, of fragility, of bronchitis, of twisted wrists.

It irks me sometimes that the new year is born in the winter. For a fresh second, all is vibrant, prospective, open, and possible, as colorful and warm and radiant as the fireworks blasting over the city at midnight. Days later, the glitz of that attitude is difficult to remember as you trudge through the slush of the beginning of winter, three months of extra layers, fogged up glasses, and hat head ahead of you in the dark chill.

But no doubt if it came in the spring, with new grass to match the new year, it would seem all mud and rainstorms, hail and damp clothes.

C’est la vie.

But what a beautiful vie it is, often, when some nights you can nest into big leather chairs for good TV, or awake in warm sleeping bags next to best friends with sunlight on your faces as it glints through hanging icicles, or read endless books on drizzly afternoons to inquisitive boys who talk to the moon.

Or as you sit eating sushi alone on a Friday night in a house that isn’t yours, but is still homey.

Life is all there in all its loveliness and mundaneness and its work and tears and miracles.

So I toast you, 2014, despite your endless typos and corrections caused by wrists with casts, and your tissues crumpled next to water glasses, and your unwelcome changes, because you are still so beautiful, and full of the ones I love.

Be well, my darlingest darlings.

- Sarah

 

 

 

 

Matt + Katie

The first time I met Matt and Katie, we were at my dear Bear’s house for a potluck, and they cheerily blew up the stairs and into the tiny apartment with a supremely delicious dish of mac-and-cheese.

From those first hellos and handshakes, it was only a short time before I stood in a black box theater in Rehoboth, Delaware, laden with cameras and equipment, watching them kiss and laugh as husband and wife.

They are delightful, and so was their wedding. I wish I could shoot events like it every weekend – full of happiness, love, and happy faces I love, stuffed with barbecue and dancing under perfect lighting.

Some photos by the illustrious Doctor DBB, who was my solid second shooter and whom I paid in delectable shrimps, at his request.

Be well, my pets. I am confident your two rad, beautiful selves will have equally rad, beautiful babies.

Huzzah, and congratulations Matt and Katie!

Love, Coon

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