Thursday, February 17, 2022

Week in Seven Words #579

This covers the week of 2/21/21 - 2/27/21.

Two people at opposite ends of a room. They're holding books, but they aren't reading. When will they talk to each other?

It's the first time I've been to synagogue in a year. The room downstairs has been organized into islands of chairs. Some islands have one chair, others two. The service is quieter.

Birds taking off and landing on the feeders, while nearby a chunky squirrel stares, waiting his chance.

The slip squish of mud. Everywhere mud. Most people grumble, but one kid is discovering the joy of a puddle in a field caked in mud and slush. He's not the one who will be washing his clothes later, which is part of what makes him happy.

Sitting in the pool of warmth from an outdoor heater, the cold air pressing in but pushed back.

Our relationship has cooled from genuine warmth to superficial friendliness.
Tired of online events. The small, detached faces, the audio that fails, the lack of energy, the lure of other browser tabs.

Week in Seven Words #578

This covers the week of 2/14/21 - 2/20/21.

We used to sit in this room with its floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and the lamplight on the red couch.

They don't have sleds, but they do have bellies, so they slide down the hill head first, eyes squinting against the dazzle of sunlight on snow.

Beyond the dense branches there's light, white and faintly purple.

The silence of snow falling. At the bus stop, he says a brief prayer.

She's gained access to the roof, and from there, she feeds birds.

The fact that I have a good night's sleep is worth commenting on. I don't take it for granted.

Without his job, his days have turned to jello.

Sunday, February 13, 2022

Week in Seven Words #577

This covers the week of 2/7/21 - 2/13/21.

The role she's been asked to audition for is an improbable one: the effortlessly gorgeous, socially awkward female nerd who's such a dork but never really says or does anything unattractive, she's just, you know, a dork with glasses and fashionable heels.

The pond is clinking with ice, the shores crusty with slush and mud.

I meet him for the first time beside a tree with a heart-shaped knot.

Low branches turned to lacework by the snow.

The head and torso of the snowman are propped up on a bench, like a grim warning from the snowman mafia. ("Double-cross us, and you too will be disassembled before you melt.")

It's cute how the author thinks that pairing a character in his 60s with a woman in her 20s is edgy.

"My problems," she says, "are about not asking for help when I need it, and getting the kind of help that holds me back."