disconnecting
I see people tuning out of politics because of the craziness overload. The feeling of disconnect is understandable. But with greater disengagement, particularly from people who are more sensible and moderate, there will also be greater extremism and corruption.
fractions
He understands pieces of the math – a rule about square roots, another about order of operations – but how to bring it all together? That's the really tough part. The word problems are especially confusing.
gaps
On adjacent blocks: luxury developments and project housing. Few storefronts, except for a convenience store almost walled-in by construction scaffolding. Sidewalks mostly empty.
gusting
Along the water, the wind almost carries people away like bits of fluff.
mob
The gleeful malice of people who know they have the mob on their side. For the time being they can avoid accountability and critical self-reflection. They're all pumped up and ready to tear other people apart, the easier the target the better. None of this is about courage.
strain
Signs of his nervousness: showing up late and taking frequent bathroom breaks.
temperate
An hour of mild conversation at a cafe, like a soak in tepid water.
Showing posts with label neighborhoods. Show all posts
Showing posts with label neighborhoods. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 30, 2019
Tuesday, November 27, 2018
Week in Seven Words #437
creations
They're on the rooftop garden, sketching. Paths made of loose stones coil through the grass and overhanging plants. Blanket flowers burst from the greenness in pinwheels of red, orange, and yellow.
heaped
The art installation is a pile of boots, basically. It's a work of calculated indifference.
intently
A young man on the subway recites his own poetry. It's clumsy, in parts, but earnest. He speaks it with sincere intent and force of thought.
invitingly
To reach the porch of the pink house, you would walk on a path of uneven paving stones, past flowering bushes, under a trellis, and between two tables covered in a cloth patterned with sunflowers.
rehearsed
The children are arrayed before their parents to dutifully sing.
various
The neighborhood is a mix of quaint shops, charming cafes, industrial barrenness, churches, and patches of greenery.
yield
When the weeds are cleared away from the container, what's left is a lone pepper.
They're on the rooftop garden, sketching. Paths made of loose stones coil through the grass and overhanging plants. Blanket flowers burst from the greenness in pinwheels of red, orange, and yellow.
heaped
The art installation is a pile of boots, basically. It's a work of calculated indifference.
intently
A young man on the subway recites his own poetry. It's clumsy, in parts, but earnest. He speaks it with sincere intent and force of thought.
invitingly
To reach the porch of the pink house, you would walk on a path of uneven paving stones, past flowering bushes, under a trellis, and between two tables covered in a cloth patterned with sunflowers.
rehearsed
The children are arrayed before their parents to dutifully sing.
various
The neighborhood is a mix of quaint shops, charming cafes, industrial barrenness, churches, and patches of greenery.
yield
When the weeds are cleared away from the container, what's left is a lone pepper.
Saturday, June 9, 2018
Kingsland Wildflowers: A Little Greenpoint Surprise
Last Sunday, I visited the Greenpoint neighborhood in Brooklyn for the first time. They had an Open Studios event where local artists allowed visitors to stop by and look at their ongoing work.
I found myself less interested in the art than in just walking around the neighborhood.
One highlight was Kingsland Wildflowers, a small, scrappy oasis in a heavily industrial section of Greenpoint.
On Open Studios day, people were out on their fourth floor terrace and the rooftop garden sketching.
Some were strolling.
The metallic domes in the background are from the Newtown Creek Wastewater Treatment Plant. The neighborhood is also home to multiple scrap metal yards. Kingsland Wildflowers fits in to this theme of renewal, reuse, and reclamation.
I found myself less interested in the art than in just walking around the neighborhood.
One highlight was Kingsland Wildflowers, a small, scrappy oasis in a heavily industrial section of Greenpoint.
On Open Studios day, people were out on their fourth floor terrace and the rooftop garden sketching.
Some were strolling.
The metallic domes in the background are from the Newtown Creek Wastewater Treatment Plant. The neighborhood is also home to multiple scrap metal yards. Kingsland Wildflowers fits in to this theme of renewal, reuse, and reclamation.
Wednesday, October 11, 2017
Week in Seven Words #365
courtly
He tips his hat and wishes me a good afternoon. It's sunny out, and he's serene. It really is a good afternoon.
dab
Fingerprints of sunlight on faded brick and joyful murals.
felinity
In the gap between brownstones, there's a fenced off dirt plot, studded with rocks. Two cats inhabit it. One sprawls on a bed of sunlight. The other watches me with menacing alertness.
horseplay
Kids seize each other in headlocks outside the department store in front of the mannequins and pink placards, as they wait for their mom to finish shopping.
neighborly
In their community, neighbors, friends, and coworkers will show up with trays of food in the days after childbirth.
neonate
She sleeps in a warm crescent against my stomach.
slumberous
With classes cancelled for the day, the campus is silent. A building with a crenellated tower casts a shadow over the grounds.
He tips his hat and wishes me a good afternoon. It's sunny out, and he's serene. It really is a good afternoon.
dab
Fingerprints of sunlight on faded brick and joyful murals.
felinity
In the gap between brownstones, there's a fenced off dirt plot, studded with rocks. Two cats inhabit it. One sprawls on a bed of sunlight. The other watches me with menacing alertness.
horseplay
Kids seize each other in headlocks outside the department store in front of the mannequins and pink placards, as they wait for their mom to finish shopping.
neighborly
In their community, neighbors, friends, and coworkers will show up with trays of food in the days after childbirth.
neonate
She sleeps in a warm crescent against my stomach.
slumberous
With classes cancelled for the day, the campus is silent. A building with a crenellated tower casts a shadow over the grounds.
Sunday, November 27, 2016
Week in Seven Words #314
absolution
They love talking about actions having consequences, until it comes to something they've done. Then, good intentions are all that matter.
absorbers
She writes a tribute to her friends, the three closest, who cluster around her when shockwaves spread through her life.
coagulation
The greatest gift her parents gave her, she writes, is a love of cheese. Cheese platters and wine are what hold her family together at home and abroad.
guesswork
We play charades. I act out a kangaroo. "Karate bunny!" she shouts. I try again.
moth
The boy runs straight at the headlights. He cries when his parents snatch him away.
rebounds
The basketball flies around like Flubber in the cluttered room.
unused
Dark windows and deserted streets tell me stories I don't know how to interpret. Some neighborhoods wither like unwatered vines, and it isn't always clear why.
They love talking about actions having consequences, until it comes to something they've done. Then, good intentions are all that matter.
absorbers
She writes a tribute to her friends, the three closest, who cluster around her when shockwaves spread through her life.
coagulation
The greatest gift her parents gave her, she writes, is a love of cheese. Cheese platters and wine are what hold her family together at home and abroad.
guesswork
We play charades. I act out a kangaroo. "Karate bunny!" she shouts. I try again.
moth
The boy runs straight at the headlights. He cries when his parents snatch him away.
rebounds
The basketball flies around like Flubber in the cluttered room.
unused
Dark windows and deserted streets tell me stories I don't know how to interpret. Some neighborhoods wither like unwatered vines, and it isn't always clear why.
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Week in Seven Words #155 and #156
Week in Seven Words #155
cat's cradle
The dog criss-crosses her leash around and through my legs.
contrasts
The weather, in a way, is perfect: a cloudy cold day, not too cold, the air fresh and scented with herbs and flowers. Because the garden is only half-alive, a sunny day might have made it seem burned out and dead. But the winter mist brings out every hint of color in the broken twigs and grey-green leaves.
disparity
Neighborhoods laid down side by side: slums and fast food joints giving way to gabled homes with chocolate trim.
espied
The bench, sheltered in the gazebo, overlooks the garden, the pale river, and the clouds.
expectations
Maps fire the imagination. This one has names like 'conifer slope' and 'aquatic garden' that sound intriguing but turn out to be a sodden hill and a fountain that isn't active in the winter.
likenesses
Cacti of all kinds: some look like rosettes on a cake, others like cold sorbet fuzzy with ice, others like balls of electricity.
surfacing
I like when the subway climbs out into the light and rattles alongside rooftops and billboards.
Week in Seven Words #156
blasted
A cold wind that seems to scrape out the inside of your skull.
dredge
Gristly duck and faded decor in a restaurant that was once great.
propionibacteria
In a span of five blocks we see something like 10-15 people in Elmo costumes. One of them has terrible body odor, so no one stands next to him.
pulverulent
A dusting of snow on the curbs and benches.
remuneration
Making money off my writing gives me a really good feeling.
spooked
When the ghosts start swarming out of sewer vents and subway stations, the dog yaps at the TV.
therapeutic
Through her dolls she tries to cope with her anxiety about broken bones and reassure herself of a speedy recovery.
cat's cradle
The dog criss-crosses her leash around and through my legs.
contrasts
The weather, in a way, is perfect: a cloudy cold day, not too cold, the air fresh and scented with herbs and flowers. Because the garden is only half-alive, a sunny day might have made it seem burned out and dead. But the winter mist brings out every hint of color in the broken twigs and grey-green leaves.
disparity
Neighborhoods laid down side by side: slums and fast food joints giving way to gabled homes with chocolate trim.
espied
The bench, sheltered in the gazebo, overlooks the garden, the pale river, and the clouds.
expectations
Maps fire the imagination. This one has names like 'conifer slope' and 'aquatic garden' that sound intriguing but turn out to be a sodden hill and a fountain that isn't active in the winter.
likenesses
Cacti of all kinds: some look like rosettes on a cake, others like cold sorbet fuzzy with ice, others like balls of electricity.
surfacing
I like when the subway climbs out into the light and rattles alongside rooftops and billboards.
Week in Seven Words #156
blasted
A cold wind that seems to scrape out the inside of your skull.
dredge
Gristly duck and faded decor in a restaurant that was once great.
propionibacteria
In a span of five blocks we see something like 10-15 people in Elmo costumes. One of them has terrible body odor, so no one stands next to him.
pulverulent
A dusting of snow on the curbs and benches.
remuneration
Making money off my writing gives me a really good feeling.
spooked
When the ghosts start swarming out of sewer vents and subway stations, the dog yaps at the TV.
therapeutic
Through her dolls she tries to cope with her anxiety about broken bones and reassure herself of a speedy recovery.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Week in Seven Words #86
abruptly
It's a drab gray street with little to see except for a parking garage and the neon-lit windows of an XXX shop. Expecting to soon put it behind me, I hear someone call out, and there they are, people who haven't been around in months. They've materialized across the street at the bus stop with their child.
germination
Sometimes at the end of a sluggish day, all the inspiration and energy that had stirred quietly beneath the surface will burst out like vines flowering in a bog.
hermetic
There will always be someone sitting alone on the grass talking to himself in the midst of other people.
ineffectual
A thundercloud looms over the city, delivering empty threats all afternoon. We walk undisturbed.
mutual
We feed off each other's enthusiasm.
standoffish
The fountain at Fitler Square is fenced off. It plashes with an aloof complacency at people who try to send their arms through the bars to touch the water.
transmogrification
Old brick homes with fanlights above the doors give way to derelict shops and cold glassy skyscrapers.
It's a drab gray street with little to see except for a parking garage and the neon-lit windows of an XXX shop. Expecting to soon put it behind me, I hear someone call out, and there they are, people who haven't been around in months. They've materialized across the street at the bus stop with their child.
germination
Sometimes at the end of a sluggish day, all the inspiration and energy that had stirred quietly beneath the surface will burst out like vines flowering in a bog.
hermetic
There will always be someone sitting alone on the grass talking to himself in the midst of other people.
ineffectual
A thundercloud looms over the city, delivering empty threats all afternoon. We walk undisturbed.
mutual
We feed off each other's enthusiasm.
standoffish
The fountain at Fitler Square is fenced off. It plashes with an aloof complacency at people who try to send their arms through the bars to touch the water.
transmogrification
Old brick homes with fanlights above the doors give way to derelict shops and cold glassy skyscrapers.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Week in Seven Words #79
chord
I love hearing people talk about a piece of writing that got to them in some way, whether they like it or not; the passion in their analysis is beautiful.
eyrie
The children's section of the bookstore is full of possibility and vision. Richly illustrated picture books show moonlit skies, animals reveling in meadows, wizards roaming the woods with wands flashing. The walls sing with color. It's sequestered from the rest of the store, a world apart from the blander adult aisles, the racks of sweatshirts and wrinkled magazines.
goodwill
I like this stretch of neighborhood, especially in the morning hours. On one side of the street there are trees and a branch of the public library; on the other side there's a post office, bookstore, and a smattering of tables beneath an awning. The day isn't too hot yet, people look pleasant and determined, and there are no lines at the post office.
planner
She buys me an 18-month planner. It has a pale green cover with gold butterflies and scrolling leaves.
reroute
On the phone she blocks me out, so I resort to email. For several minutes I type, explaining what it is I feel and why it is I need to be heard, a claim to attention I rarely make; and after checking that the words aren't angry or hurtful, but just too firm to ignore, I send it off instead of saving it as a draft that will never see the light of day.
rustle
The other room hums quietly with the T.V., with her footsteps, drawers opening and sliding shut. The place doesn't feel like a vacant shell.
tar
My fingers on the keys feel coated in it.
I love hearing people talk about a piece of writing that got to them in some way, whether they like it or not; the passion in their analysis is beautiful.
eyrie
The children's section of the bookstore is full of possibility and vision. Richly illustrated picture books show moonlit skies, animals reveling in meadows, wizards roaming the woods with wands flashing. The walls sing with color. It's sequestered from the rest of the store, a world apart from the blander adult aisles, the racks of sweatshirts and wrinkled magazines.
goodwill
I like this stretch of neighborhood, especially in the morning hours. On one side of the street there are trees and a branch of the public library; on the other side there's a post office, bookstore, and a smattering of tables beneath an awning. The day isn't too hot yet, people look pleasant and determined, and there are no lines at the post office.
planner
She buys me an 18-month planner. It has a pale green cover with gold butterflies and scrolling leaves.
reroute
On the phone she blocks me out, so I resort to email. For several minutes I type, explaining what it is I feel and why it is I need to be heard, a claim to attention I rarely make; and after checking that the words aren't angry or hurtful, but just too firm to ignore, I send it off instead of saving it as a draft that will never see the light of day.
rustle
The other room hums quietly with the T.V., with her footsteps, drawers opening and sliding shut. The place doesn't feel like a vacant shell.
tar
My fingers on the keys feel coated in it.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Week in Seven Words #18
diminution
I no longer admire her. I acknowledge her achievements, I respect her work and intelligence, but in certain ways - through carelessness, unthinking conformity, and a disregard for conscientious inquiry - she has diminished herself. Probably not to most people who know her - she's the same to them; but to me she's different now, a knowledge I hold to myself quietly and tiredly.
fireflies
When I walk home in the dark, fireflies tap at my elbows.
schlepp
Tote bags, grocery bags, a cart, multiple trips to the grocery store, then to the community house where I'm throwing this meal (I don't know how many people will show up, only that it will be more than the number who said they're coming) - and it feels good later on to just sit and watch everyone chatting and eating; getting a few quiet 'thank you's and some help cleaning up doesn't hurt either.
soothing
Vanilla yogurt on thin wafers - a cold sweet treat for a hot afternoon.
transported
My feet insist on walking. Across one river, beside another, down streets with cobblestones and giant flower pots, bright window shutters, fan-shaped windows, fountains, flower baskets hanging over painted doors, memorials, wreaths, sun and shadow, horses clopping, beds of crisp green grass. Different neighborhoods disclose secrets to me, down side streets that are still and golden.
untangle
There's a point where I can't stay at my desk anymore; the doubt has pressed in deep, and my thoughts have tangled up in absurdities. I head out, go to a quieter place where the traffic noise is muffled and the smell of grass and clover is intense. A few minutes after I leave, one of the problems resolves and the tension in me eases.
whirl
The fun of washing dishes past midnight, when I'm sleepy and a little swimmy with drink. The water whooshes into and over the pots, plashing and singing, racing in a bright stream.
I no longer admire her. I acknowledge her achievements, I respect her work and intelligence, but in certain ways - through carelessness, unthinking conformity, and a disregard for conscientious inquiry - she has diminished herself. Probably not to most people who know her - she's the same to them; but to me she's different now, a knowledge I hold to myself quietly and tiredly.
fireflies
When I walk home in the dark, fireflies tap at my elbows.
schlepp
Tote bags, grocery bags, a cart, multiple trips to the grocery store, then to the community house where I'm throwing this meal (I don't know how many people will show up, only that it will be more than the number who said they're coming) - and it feels good later on to just sit and watch everyone chatting and eating; getting a few quiet 'thank you's and some help cleaning up doesn't hurt either.
soothing
Vanilla yogurt on thin wafers - a cold sweet treat for a hot afternoon.
transported
My feet insist on walking. Across one river, beside another, down streets with cobblestones and giant flower pots, bright window shutters, fan-shaped windows, fountains, flower baskets hanging over painted doors, memorials, wreaths, sun and shadow, horses clopping, beds of crisp green grass. Different neighborhoods disclose secrets to me, down side streets that are still and golden.
untangle
There's a point where I can't stay at my desk anymore; the doubt has pressed in deep, and my thoughts have tangled up in absurdities. I head out, go to a quieter place where the traffic noise is muffled and the smell of grass and clover is intense. A few minutes after I leave, one of the problems resolves and the tension in me eases.
whirl
The fun of washing dishes past midnight, when I'm sleepy and a little swimmy with drink. The water whooshes into and over the pots, plashing and singing, racing in a bright stream.
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