Friday, June 28, 2019

Week in Seven Words #465

We watch a movie and wonder why it was made. But we don't wonder why we're watching it to the end. The couch is comfortable. The company is undemanding and pleasant.

They pass some time with songs, a dance routine she made up with her friends, and random odd dribbles of entertainment on YouTube.

The dog strains on his leash towards the cat hospital.

The herbal smell of floor wipes, the wood floor glistening.

Each pretty house is like a storybook. Open one, and the rooms and the people would pop out in colorful illustrations.

Walking through a chill spill of rain to an overcrowded restaurant.

On her scooter she attempts to go over a speed bump slowly, as if it's a hill she's scaling.

Tuesday, June 25, 2019

Week in Seven Words #464

The small box of chocolates is a gift of appeasement, and I'm pleased to be appeased at this moment.

It's important to trust in small tasks. To fight the tendency of trying to catch up by doing too much all at once, failing, and feeling discouraged.

The surface of the lake looks like crinkly photographic film, black and white.

The day is fading, leaving a last gentle imprint of light on windows and bricks. We walk in silence.

For a minute, he embodies laziness. He lies on the floor. Pretends to need other people to tug him to his feet and into motion.

We enjoy a discussion that makes us feel cozy and connected, in a room many stories up with a view of steel and blue shadows.

None of the foods are appetizing. Not the sticky muffins, not the pretzels crackling like dry grass. But we appreciate that they've been laid out for us; we weren't expecting refreshments.

Thursday, June 6, 2019

Week in Seven Words #463

They've booked a room next to an indoor swimming pool. During each pause in the lecture, we hear splashing and giggles.

He murders time with an online game in which something that looks like a decapitated bunny head rolls around in tunnels.

Mandarin cinnamon tea, a small high table, a conversation that flows for an hour.

It hits me again how much isn't taught at school. Even basic academic knowledge. So much gets picked up at home or in other places, like an after school activity or visits to a library, a museum, or a park.

I try without success to show a gratifying level of excitement about a gift I have no use for. I wish I could have prepared for the moment somehow.

We walk through cold streets where glowing, cheerful lights are strung. I carry a sparkling blue bag full of chocolates.

The dog tries to investigate the inside of my mouth. A couple of hours earlier I ate beef, and she's wondering if there's more to my mouth than the scent. Maybe I'm holding back on her, hoarding meat in my cheek pouches.