delightful
"I hope I never get tired of this stuff," she says, about cartoonish sculptures on the 14th Street platform of the A and C subway lines. She doesn't want to become jaded.
dining
We eat burgers in a lovely cellar-like restaurant, noisy but cozy.
immerses
She's demolishing a large bag of potato chips while watching a Korean soap opera on her phone.
learned
During the first half of the class, she acts as if she knows everything, and only gradually becomes more open to seeing new ways of solving problems. Others never develop that openness.
patience
The instructor acts as if he has clumsily assembled his patience out of plywood. With each question, each hand waving in the air, it splinters.
sofas
Some of the sofa cushions feel like taut air bubbles shifting under me. One of them, though, has just the right balance between staying firm and giving way.
upper-class
Two elegant, well-groomed dogs are crossing the plaza with a mincing walk, and I wonder if they're 18th century aristocrats who have been reincarnated as canines.
Showing posts with label furniture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label furniture. Show all posts
Sunday, March 8, 2020
Monday, October 9, 2017
Week in Seven Words #364
chip
A sunlit, sterile store displays several rows of small devices.
flourishes
During the subway ride, she asks about each stop and what you could see in the local neighborhood. A proprietary feeling for the city comes over me. It doesn't matter if a subway station is grimy and rundown; I look on it with fondness, because it has become my grimy and rundown station.
miniature
The furniture from centuries ago looks doll-like, as if the people then were not only smaller but more delicate and fragile.
motorboat
A high-speed boat skips like a stone across the river.
neonatal
The baby wears a striped hat. She squirms from time to time in her sleep. Her sleep seems intent, energetic.
posing
They dab, dance, and toss their hair on the videos they make with a lip-syncing app.
postpartum
It's a quiet ward, which is surprising. The hospital room has a dim evening glow. For the moment, the baby is being weighed and measured in the nursery. A nurse, who strikes me as sincerely caring, quietly speaks to the mother, both about what to expect in the coming hours and about a maternal health issue that needs to be monitored.
A sunlit, sterile store displays several rows of small devices.
flourishes
During the subway ride, she asks about each stop and what you could see in the local neighborhood. A proprietary feeling for the city comes over me. It doesn't matter if a subway station is grimy and rundown; I look on it with fondness, because it has become my grimy and rundown station.
miniature
The furniture from centuries ago looks doll-like, as if the people then were not only smaller but more delicate and fragile.
motorboat
A high-speed boat skips like a stone across the river.
neonatal
The baby wears a striped hat. She squirms from time to time in her sleep. Her sleep seems intent, energetic.
posing
They dab, dance, and toss their hair on the videos they make with a lip-syncing app.
postpartum
It's a quiet ward, which is surprising. The hospital room has a dim evening glow. For the moment, the baby is being weighed and measured in the nursery. A nurse, who strikes me as sincerely caring, quietly speaks to the mother, both about what to expect in the coming hours and about a maternal health issue that needs to be monitored.
Wednesday, October 7, 2015
Week in Seven Words #264
blanching
The fluorescent lights wash the life out of her face. She stares at me with smudged eyes.
channeled
It occurs to me that I'm only really learning at this point in life what to do with anger. Before, my conscious attitude towards it was, "Don't have it" and "Feel guilty about having it." I hadn't really thought of it as a healthy emotion, although - when confronted, understood and directed in mature ways - it definitely can be. Denying it is self-destructive.
erudition
Books with gilt-edged pages bursting out of mahogany shelves.
mean-spirited
It's not ignorance that bothers me so much as people acting triumphant about what they don't know. They're proud to not make an effort to learn or think about something, even while sharing their opinion or making decisions about it. They smirk at my frustration, like they've beaten me at a game I never agreed to play. At this point, I try not to engage with them, or I don't show much of an emotional response when I do. Easier to do when there's no personal connection between us; but also manageable when there is, though that involves giving up on a part of the relationship.
regressing
When someone tries to take their problems out on me, one thing I do is picture them the way they looked as young children. This makes their adult-sized tantrum less stressful. Though they want me to parent them and deal with their problems for them, I don't want to be a stand-in for their mother.
sweetened
Pink stickers, Hershey's kisses - little things that brighten a run-of-the-mill evening of homework and TV.
undeterred
He stares at the orange, pink and white floral sofa. Then shrugs and arranges himself elegantly on it.
The fluorescent lights wash the life out of her face. She stares at me with smudged eyes.
channeled
It occurs to me that I'm only really learning at this point in life what to do with anger. Before, my conscious attitude towards it was, "Don't have it" and "Feel guilty about having it." I hadn't really thought of it as a healthy emotion, although - when confronted, understood and directed in mature ways - it definitely can be. Denying it is self-destructive.
erudition
Books with gilt-edged pages bursting out of mahogany shelves.
mean-spirited
It's not ignorance that bothers me so much as people acting triumphant about what they don't know. They're proud to not make an effort to learn or think about something, even while sharing their opinion or making decisions about it. They smirk at my frustration, like they've beaten me at a game I never agreed to play. At this point, I try not to engage with them, or I don't show much of an emotional response when I do. Easier to do when there's no personal connection between us; but also manageable when there is, though that involves giving up on a part of the relationship.
regressing
When someone tries to take their problems out on me, one thing I do is picture them the way they looked as young children. This makes their adult-sized tantrum less stressful. Though they want me to parent them and deal with their problems for them, I don't want to be a stand-in for their mother.
sweetened
Pink stickers, Hershey's kisses - little things that brighten a run-of-the-mill evening of homework and TV.
undeterred
He stares at the orange, pink and white floral sofa. Then shrugs and arranges himself elegantly on it.
Wednesday, December 24, 2014
Week in Seven Words #237
congested
Most of the air in the room has been absorbed into the furniture - chairs stiff with disuse, a piano that would croak at the touch of curious fingers.
essence
"We should all be well," she says, peering at us with eyes that see nothing but cloudy shapes and light.
fried
Old homes by the ocean criss-crossed by power lines, their bricks glowing and their gables peeling away.
prospects
In the fountain - coins, litter, and a water-logged postcard; maybe someone making a wish about the next place they'd like to visit.
smolder
The smell of cigarette smoke off a leather jacket can be attractive in passing.
splotches
A courtyard: sticky fruit on stone hexagons.
unfurled
Ferns in a blue vase on a balcony, with the river below.
Most of the air in the room has been absorbed into the furniture - chairs stiff with disuse, a piano that would croak at the touch of curious fingers.
essence
"We should all be well," she says, peering at us with eyes that see nothing but cloudy shapes and light.
fried
Old homes by the ocean criss-crossed by power lines, their bricks glowing and their gables peeling away.
prospects
In the fountain - coins, litter, and a water-logged postcard; maybe someone making a wish about the next place they'd like to visit.
smolder
The smell of cigarette smoke off a leather jacket can be attractive in passing.
splotches
A courtyard: sticky fruit on stone hexagons.
unfurled
Ferns in a blue vase on a balcony, with the river below.
Friday, November 28, 2014
Week in Seven Words #234
afloat
A chair floating legs-up in a lake, like a creature from Seuss.
busted
A building grinning through broken teeth.
civilized
A well-to-do woman from San Francisco sits beside me on the bench. She asks several questions about New York - recommendations for museums, etc. - and after each suggestion, she points out that in San Francisco there's something better. "You have fine museums," she says, as if she fears I'm deeply offended. "But…" And here she tells me another thing that's wrong with New York, in tones of gentle regret. I hope she doesn't guess how amused I am by our conversation.
deposits
The lake has a marble quality to it, light and glass as you look to the floor of the shallows and find pink rocks and twisted scrap metal.
guardedness
I'm becoming better aware of what resources I can spare for others and what I should better protect. Another line of defense against those who alight on other people's emotions in a vampiric way.
heartsease
To make train fare, he tries selling artwork, some of it not his own. Out of a book he's torn a detailed sketch of a pansy drawn in three colors. One dollar for it.
pressured
A morning of quiet sidewalks and still trees. The air doesn't move, and the sun pounds on my head.
A chair floating legs-up in a lake, like a creature from Seuss.
busted
A building grinning through broken teeth.
civilized
A well-to-do woman from San Francisco sits beside me on the bench. She asks several questions about New York - recommendations for museums, etc. - and after each suggestion, she points out that in San Francisco there's something better. "You have fine museums," she says, as if she fears I'm deeply offended. "But…" And here she tells me another thing that's wrong with New York, in tones of gentle regret. I hope she doesn't guess how amused I am by our conversation.
deposits
The lake has a marble quality to it, light and glass as you look to the floor of the shallows and find pink rocks and twisted scrap metal.
guardedness
I'm becoming better aware of what resources I can spare for others and what I should better protect. Another line of defense against those who alight on other people's emotions in a vampiric way.
heartsease
To make train fare, he tries selling artwork, some of it not his own. Out of a book he's torn a detailed sketch of a pansy drawn in three colors. One dollar for it.
pressured
A morning of quiet sidewalks and still trees. The air doesn't move, and the sun pounds on my head.
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Week in Seven Words #130
compensatory
In the absence of music, I hum more.
cyborg
He's a lean, mean furniture-moving machine, hefting tables, chairs and a futon without pausing for breath. Sort of like the Terminator, but instead of hailing from a post-apocalyptic future he works for a group that accepts donated furniture. He has no visible emotional expression but cheers us up considerably.
inspiration
The day is long and hot, and the moving van is filling up with bags, boxes and bins. The experience is worthy of a song parody, and he gets started on one during his nth elevator trip.
jetsam
The accumulated clutter was symbolic of baggage I needed (and still need) to get rid of.
shambles
It's happened again. Their relationship has gone down in flames.
shredding
I feel like an industrious rodent, hunched over tearing paper apart with my busy paws.
slotted
The shirts are all on the shelves in rippling textures and rainbow colors.
In the absence of music, I hum more.
cyborg
He's a lean, mean furniture-moving machine, hefting tables, chairs and a futon without pausing for breath. Sort of like the Terminator, but instead of hailing from a post-apocalyptic future he works for a group that accepts donated furniture. He has no visible emotional expression but cheers us up considerably.
inspiration
The day is long and hot, and the moving van is filling up with bags, boxes and bins. The experience is worthy of a song parody, and he gets started on one during his nth elevator trip.
jetsam
The accumulated clutter was symbolic of baggage I needed (and still need) to get rid of.
shambles
It's happened again. Their relationship has gone down in flames.
shredding
I feel like an industrious rodent, hunched over tearing paper apart with my busy paws.
slotted
The shirts are all on the shelves in rippling textures and rainbow colors.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Week in Seven Words #89
coiling
They're sitting in the kitchen making long colorful paper chains to loop around the walls of their sukkah. The decorative chains spill over the kitchen table and pool and heap on the floor.
decumbent
Hit by an illness first thing in the morning, I find that the world is shaky when I'm out of bed. I stay under the covers, reading by the light that slides in through the blinds.
furtherance
I learn again that it's best not to put off doing something good and worthwhile with the complacent thought that there will be another opportunity for it soon.
illustrative
As I'm reading them picture books about a spiffy giant and a Gruffalo and a snail that travels the world on a whale's tail, she asks me why the pictures show some things but not others; for instance, if the story tells you that a fox ran off and hid, the picture only shows you the hiding part but not the running part. After I tell her that everything can't be shown, and that the people who write and illustrate the books have to pick and choose, her older brother starts to talk about how in movies you can't see what's going on with all of the characters either; when one character's story is on screen, other characters are off-screen, with things happening to them that we can't even see but maybe will only hear about later.
lucent
On my walk home, bright globes of light burn on either side of the path. It's nighttime and a fresh new day has begun.
precipitation
The tables and chairs are beaded with rain water.
unawares
Scrabble Junior can be as challenging as regular Scrabble, simply because Scrabble Junior lulls you into a false sense of security.
They're sitting in the kitchen making long colorful paper chains to loop around the walls of their sukkah. The decorative chains spill over the kitchen table and pool and heap on the floor.
decumbent
Hit by an illness first thing in the morning, I find that the world is shaky when I'm out of bed. I stay under the covers, reading by the light that slides in through the blinds.
furtherance
I learn again that it's best not to put off doing something good and worthwhile with the complacent thought that there will be another opportunity for it soon.
illustrative
As I'm reading them picture books about a spiffy giant and a Gruffalo and a snail that travels the world on a whale's tail, she asks me why the pictures show some things but not others; for instance, if the story tells you that a fox ran off and hid, the picture only shows you the hiding part but not the running part. After I tell her that everything can't be shown, and that the people who write and illustrate the books have to pick and choose, her older brother starts to talk about how in movies you can't see what's going on with all of the characters either; when one character's story is on screen, other characters are off-screen, with things happening to them that we can't even see but maybe will only hear about later.
lucent
On my walk home, bright globes of light burn on either side of the path. It's nighttime and a fresh new day has begun.
precipitation
The tables and chairs are beaded with rain water.
unawares
Scrabble Junior can be as challenging as regular Scrabble, simply because Scrabble Junior lulls you into a false sense of security.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Week in Seven Words #51
alphabetical
At his birthday dinner his daughter slips letters under our plates. At some point in the evening we will each come up with a different blessing and well-wish for him that starts with the letter that we got.
beckon
The elevator doors open revealing two rows of empty chairs, facing forward. I imagine stepping in, sitting on one, and being whisked away to a floor that doesn't exist.
expedition
The delight of finding that all the library books on the list are there, exactly where they should be on each shelf. On the way to the checkout counter I cradle them against me as if they are newly born and in need of a home.
gradient
The pleasant shock of a warm room after a long walk in the windy cold.
illusion
On a Thursday evening, looming deadlines seem distant.
refection
The edge of the spoon skims across the stew; pieces of fish, potato and carrot brush against each other. The spoon sinks deeper, tilts, fills with chunky creamy stew. The lunch hour lasts longer if you linger over each spoonful.
zoological
In my mailbox I find a glittering gold bag containing an insectile windup toy and a small blue dog.
At his birthday dinner his daughter slips letters under our plates. At some point in the evening we will each come up with a different blessing and well-wish for him that starts with the letter that we got.
beckon
The elevator doors open revealing two rows of empty chairs, facing forward. I imagine stepping in, sitting on one, and being whisked away to a floor that doesn't exist.
expedition
The delight of finding that all the library books on the list are there, exactly where they should be on each shelf. On the way to the checkout counter I cradle them against me as if they are newly born and in need of a home.
gradient
The pleasant shock of a warm room after a long walk in the windy cold.
illusion
On a Thursday evening, looming deadlines seem distant.
refection
The edge of the spoon skims across the stew; pieces of fish, potato and carrot brush against each other. The spoon sinks deeper, tilts, fills with chunky creamy stew. The lunch hour lasts longer if you linger over each spoonful.
zoological
In my mailbox I find a glittering gold bag containing an insectile windup toy and a small blue dog.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Week in Seven Words #49
clinch
A quick fierce hug when words sting and words can't wholly mend.
den
I've made my home a little winter den, where I've holed up most of the week, picking away at work, reading by lamplight, storing up some energy for the coming months.
giddy
Tipsy on daiquiris and the wildest thing they do is play Scrabble. I love them.
imploring
Outside the library, as I tuck books into my backpack, a squirrel hops up on the bench beside me. It cocks its head at me and crimps its hands close to its chest. I wish I had something to give it.
kleenex
The snow looks like tissue paper torn up and puffed on by the wind.
petrology
Watching the sunrise on a heavily clouded day. The sky starts off charcoal, lightens to lead, shifts to cobalt and settles at last on the tranquil blue-gray of an agate stone.
tabletop
A pool of light, a game board, a plate of rolled figs covered in coconut shavings.
A quick fierce hug when words sting and words can't wholly mend.
den
I've made my home a little winter den, where I've holed up most of the week, picking away at work, reading by lamplight, storing up some energy for the coming months.
giddy
Tipsy on daiquiris and the wildest thing they do is play Scrabble. I love them.
imploring
Outside the library, as I tuck books into my backpack, a squirrel hops up on the bench beside me. It cocks its head at me and crimps its hands close to its chest. I wish I had something to give it.
kleenex
The snow looks like tissue paper torn up and puffed on by the wind.
petrology
Watching the sunrise on a heavily clouded day. The sky starts off charcoal, lightens to lead, shifts to cobalt and settles at last on the tranquil blue-gray of an agate stone.
tabletop
A pool of light, a game board, a plate of rolled figs covered in coconut shavings.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
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.
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.
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