Week in Seven Words #87

circuit
I visit DC on Day 2 of the National Book Fair. Tents, crowds and long lines spill over the flattened grass of the Mall. In each tent presides a writer, installed behind a microphone. The books are pricey. It isn't what I imagined it would be, and find that the best parts of the day surround the fair: the Botanic Gardens, the sculpture gardens with fountains, the reflecting pool by the Capitol, the Holocaust Museum, beautiful Union Station, and beyond the Washington Monument the World War II Memorial where the water mirrors stars and powerful quotes are inscribed in stone.

multiplex
I think of two people I know who, more often than not, are humored by others. I also think of how much they know, and how they sometimes reveal a surprising hidden talent or unsuspected well of knowledge.

orchidology
At the US Botanic Garden you know you've arrived at the orchid room because nearly everyone has a camera out with the zoom on. People hover before each flower and curl their bodies towards it; they purse their lips in concentration and tilt their heads, making minute adjustments to their cameras.

strengthening
During services the shofar sounds quietly mournful, pitiful even, except for the longest notes, which are sure and strong and seem to have no end.

Tashlich (תשליך‎)
The trees fold the cool air around us, and the air has lost its city smell. We stand by the water tossing in pieces of bread to symbolize the casting away of our sins. The water simmers and churns with hungry fish that slide open-mouthed against each other. Soon a turtle joins in, bobbing among the fish like a gray balloon.

thoughtful
Teenagers from DC wander through the Holocaust Museum unsupervised. They're quiet and respectful. They light memorial candles in silence and pause before names and passages of text.

unlooked-for
A mass evacuation from Union Station; apparently there's a fire in some part of the building. The first thing people do when they get outside is take out their cell phones, either to snap photos or to inform someone that they'll be delayed. A pearly pink sunset follows, as the fire engines scream their arrival and lights flash. I get the feeling that, even as they're frustrated or anxious, most people are enjoying this turn of events to some extent; it's not a catastrophe, and it makes for an interesting story to dramatize at work or at home the next day. Even muttering about the delay brings a kind of pleasure.

Week in Seven Words #6

evaporation
It's not the first time this has happened: seeing the text of a story or poem in a dream. While dreaming I read it, took delight in it, but now that I'm awake the words have vanished, and I can't remember them. Some people have told me that this sort of phenomenon isn't real the way I want it to be, that my waking mind is just filling in some blanks afterwards. But I know I had something, and that it went missing and left no visible trace. I like to think the words are still somewhere in my mind and that they'll come out some other way.

grounded
The first stinging insect of the season that I've spotted. It writhes against the paving and looks like a sharp bright bead in the sunlight. Something probably struck it down; its wings twitch uselessly.

rats
One kind of classic conditioning experiment carried out on lab rats is a startle experiment, in which a rat in a cage is subjected to a very loud sound (which may be paired with a milder warning noise or other stimulus that the rat will come to associate with the imminent fright). Where I live the building-wide fire alarm system has been malfunctioning from early afternoon to early evening; unlike the rats in some of those experiments we don't get the benefit of a warning each time the next ear-shattering fit of shrieking starts up. Also unlike the rats, we at least have the liberty of leaving when we're fed up.

stranded
In the middle of a pedestrian lane sits a cast-iron chair; it was left there probably as a joke of some kind. The chair has delicate curved armrests, and its back has been molded into the shape of a heart. I crouch and peer through the heart at the cloudy sunset down the lane, at the bare trees, a passing biker and a small knot of people discussing their dinner plans. The chair looks lost and a little forlorn, unmoored from a circle of identical chairs chained to a table twenty feet away.

sunshiny
At lunchtime I leave my coat behind when I take a stroll. The sun is warm on my shoulders and neck.

tidy
The hole in the wall has been repaired. The wall is now a clean smooth off-white, and the smell of paint permeates the room. By the side of the bed there's also a small new rug, rainbow-striped; first thing when I get out of bed each morning my feet land on a splash of sharp colors.

voluminous
The train station late at night. The ceiling expands in a pattern of red and gold. The announcements sound like faint echoing chants. Aisles and benches are empty and clean. Here and there a few people sit bowed over their luggage, dozing until it's time for them to depart.

Of fire alarms in the middle of the night

My apartment building has a building-wide fire alarm system. Management routinely tests this fire alarm system. Said system repeatedly malfunctions, going off with no provocation at all. It sounds like a shrieking chorus of colossal crickets. Crickets that crop up at all hours of the day (or night), including 1:00 a.m., when you're sleeping and it's snowing outside and really all you want is to remain curled up in bed, but that alarm is relentless, and you need to escape.

So it's good to think of the positives. I appreciate that there isn't an actual emergency. I appreciate my bed more, and my blankets. I like how it's a bonding experience for the people in my building - standing outside on a snowy street, in pajamas and enormous coats. How there's beauty in the nighttime with snow falling, a kind of secret quietness to it (because really snow is something that tends to surprise you the next morning, as if it appeared suddenly and not after a night's quiet work).

So glad to be back in bed now though.

(Trying not to think of the safety implications of a fire alarm system that sounds repeated false alarms.)