Week in Seven Words #583

This covers the week of 3/21/21 - 3/27/21.

biota

The season begins with crocuses, progresses to turtles.

fending

Spiky seed balls plinking on car windshields and roofs, as if the trees are defending against an invasion.

observing

Interesting to see who comments on the new glasses and who seems not to notice.

skateboarders

Two skateboards. On one, a young man holding a leash. On the other, a bulldog at the end of the leash. They skim along at a relaxed pace, both of them looking cool and poised.

substitutes

Her brain is largely hijacked by alternate realities, other versions of herself that command her thoughts.

superstore

The superstore is a comforting place because it never seems to run out of anything. It promises abundance.

uniformity

They all look like they go to the same hairdresser. Their hair is in the same ponytail, some threaded through a cap. They all wear yoga pants, short jackets, and big sunglasses, and they clutch a coffee in one hand, a phone in the other.

Week in Seven Words #555

This covers the week of 9/6/20 - 9/12/20.

cavernous

Multiple huge escalators in a shopping plaza that used to serve crowds. Now we glide down in near silence.

contrived

Restaurants try to recreate indoor spaces outdoors, with booths that are mostly enclosed. Lively music and colorful decorations are attempted distractions from the stink of the streets and the roar of passing trucks.

determinedly

A fuzzy gray dog shambles up to people for petting. He interrupts a girls' volleyball practice, as his owners tiredly call him back.

earthlings

Among the trees, there's a semi-circle of toddlers, moms, and nannies. Dancing in front of them are three entertainers with masks and face shields. They look like aliens who can't quite breathe our Earth air. But these interplanetary visitors have done their research and know the words to such classics as "The Wheels on the Bus."

sleepily

Mellow sun. We eat a snack by the river, while making conversation and looking out at the Statue of Liberty. By the time we return to the subway, my head is swimming with sun and sugar, and she looks like she's on the verge of a nap.

unearthly

The fungus looks like custard, or like a brain. Something that isn't quite natural. The hollow of a tree has birthed it.

wilted

The park's website instructs us to reserve a time for our visit and show up with tickets. In the park itself, staff have marked the main path with fat circles to show everyone where to stand socially distanced. But very few people are present. The park also lacks its typical displays of art, and the plants look dull, as if they're understimulated from the shortage of visitors.

Week in Seven Words #545

This covers the week of 6/28/20 - 7/4/20.

competitiveness

These days, I'm playing more Scrabble than I have in years. In one game, my opponent creates four seven-letter words. In another game, a different opponent creates two. I'm playing against people who treat Scrabble as a serious pursuit. More than a mere game, it is, at times, a primal conflict.

misdirected

I'm trying to find my way through a beautifully wooded part of the park. There aren't many paths, and I'm sure I know where I'm going, but each time I try to end the walk at a pond, I end up on the edges of a baseball field. The woods keep delivering me to baseball, and I don't even like the sport.

overheated
Dead-eyed people in dusty, faintly pretty parks. A small fountain protests the heat.

patriotism

Throughout the day, there's little evidence of celebration. No flags in windows, and people aren't dressed in red, white, and blue. The one exception is a jogger in shorts that stretch the American flag across his posterior. The first time the day feels celebratory is at night, during a TV broadcast of fireworks – shimmering bursts of liquid color.

pondside

Our walk has earned us front-row seats to massive algae growth. 

rediscovering

For the first time in months, I set foot in a bookstore. The store is mostly empty, and I don't buy anything, but I like being able to walk around and touch the covers, read the jackets and blurbs. 

somewhat

"You always think you're going to do something wrong," she tells me, and my reaction is torn between "Not always" and "Yeah, you have a point."

Week in Seven Words #531

This covers the week of 3/22/20 - 3/28/20.

barrage

Social media: callousness, fear mongering, and a little bit of fun.

connects

They organize a worldwide hour of prayer. At such and such a time, say the following psalms, and know that even if you're alone in your room, others are praying with you.

dubiously

Masked dog walkers in the dark. They look furtive, as if they're doing something that's only borderline legal.

flinty

They're concerned but also feel a grim satisfaction over what they see as a long overdue humbling for arrogant humans.

groceries

At night, the grocery store is mostly empty. The few shoppers are listless, moving as if a breeze is pushing them about. A Beach Boys song plays in the background ("Good Vibrations"). From under shelves of snack foods, a rat emerges in a thick blur of motion. It vanishes under a shelf of drinks. 

islanded

They've recently made their yard more drought resistant. Islands of plants in the midst of small colorful rocks. They take refuge in it now, settling on folding chairs to breathe in the crisp air.

topical

Strangers asking me if I have enough toilet paper is something new.

Week in Seven Words #530

This covers the week of 3/15/20 - 3/21/20.

forage

They trawl through several stores, buying bottles of water where they can.

hurrying

Her semester cut short, she's flying home on short notice from thousands of miles away.

insecurity

His temper is fraying. He's stressed out about the tanking economy and deeply worried about his job.

mixed

We pass joggers, kids playing basketball, a temporary memorial to synagogues destroyed during the Holocaust, many trees, an obelisk, rows of stores closed.

peacefully

On a bench in the garden, a woman is reading. Three patient, relaxed dogs are nestled around her.

unstick

Ducks with white and black backs peel away from the water.

uptick

Some people are going about with masks. More than during the previous week. They give the streets an eerie feeling, normal daily activities mixed with strangeness and unease.

Week in Seven Words #529

This covers the week of 3/8/20 - 3/14/20.

cancellations

In one day, most of my calendar evaporates. One cancellation after another. Businesses close. Classes are cut short.

elsewhere

I ask her why she's looking through Zillow. "Escapism," she says.

reportedly

Mixed messages from politicians, pundits, health experts. I wonder if I'm underestimating the seriousness of this virus. Or maybe it hasn't fully sunk in that we're in deeply unusual circumstances and nobody knows how any of this will turn out.

restlessly

Distracted during synagogue services, my eyes and mind roaming the room. 

speculations

We're in a building that tomorrow we won't be able to enter. We talk about the virus and how people think it spreads. We have little idea of what we're talking about. Sharing things we've heard on the news produces a mixed effect: heightened anxiety combined with the relief of unburdening some of our anxieties.

stockpile

The supermarket is clotted with thick lines. People are stocking up.

strangeness

By this point, I'm used to working from home. But it's not the same now. There's an intensified uncertainty and a constriction. The city where I live has become much less familiar.

Week in Seven Words #516

This covers the week of 12/8/19 - 12/14/19.

aromatic
The holiday market is a dense, sweet-smelling mass of pine and cider. Clustered booths of ornaments, jewelry, scarves, and glossy desserts are overrun by curious and restless shoppers.

doubting
She questions my safety to a ridiculous extent. Sometimes I wonder how much of what she voices is concern versus a vague impulse to undermine my sense of competence.

frosty
It's so cold outside, our fingers are burning with it, as if ice is being rubbed all over them. The metal seats pour more cold into our butts and backs. We huddle into ourselves and share a small bag of lime ranch potato chips.

hospitably
The bookstore where I donate a bunch of DVDs has a friendly, barn-like feeling. You're expecting authors to roost in the rafters, dropping pages of their latest drafts.

slammed
The subway doors slam against my arms, punishing me for my unwillingness to wait for the next train.

spiritless
The second bookstore looks like the backdrop to an upscale magazine photoshoot. It's stylish, with lots of dark wood and gleaming hardcover books, but it feels inert and uninviting. You could easily imagine a few models in overpriced clothing posing next to the pristine cookbooks. An area devoted to books on wine is close to the children's section. There are no kids around.

withdrawn
He's tired, so his thoughts spiral inwards. His eyes glance off the rows of trumpeting angels, the massive tree in the background, and the crowds holding up their phones to capture the scene.

Week in Seven Words #515

This covers the week of 12/1/19 - 12/7/19.

algebra
For one kid in the group, algebraic equations can't be fully trusted. The variables are weird and nebulous. Arithmetic is more familiar ground; one can walk on it sure-footed.

filler
Slogans, self-promotion, and meandering intros leave much less time for substance.

flashes
When asked, she says she doesn't like any books, movies, or shows. Just the Internet, here and there, like funny little things she sees on Snapchat.

litter
Trash bins are scattered liberally around the park. The trash itself is scattered liberally around the bins.

niche
Somehow it's still in business, but I'm not complaining: A tiny movie theater that shows interesting but unpopular documentaries to an audience of three or four people.

outside
We arrive at the supermarket as it's closing. Left outside, we stare through the glass at the last few shoppers while the freezing wind batters us.

shutting
One of the politicians on stage says, "We're all glad about the city's minimum wage laws." From the audience, a woman who owns a small business raises her hand and begins to express some kind of doubt or disagreement. The politicians swiftly talk over her, to get the town hall event back on track, they say. Because even during the Q&A, they need to maintain a tight, controlled environment that allows for only certain kinds of questions or opinions to surface.

Week in Seven Words #507

This covers the week of 10/6/19 - 10/12/19.

bullet
In an old spiral notebook, I start a bullet journal, and so far it's working well. The method at first seems cumbersome, but in practice it's pretty easy to use, and there's no need to make it fancy.

commercial
It's a home with an aggressive commercial quality, like the set for an ad. There's little that's personal in it.

entorhinal
Her mind is ravaged by dementia, so she doesn't realize she's at a Yom Kippur service. She thinks it's some kind of simcha, like a wedding party. "I can't dance," she keeps saying. "Oh, there's the wall," she cries, her fingers tracing the mechitza.

hunting
Searching for a hat in a department store. Racks and racks of clothes, people rifling humorlessly, each item subjected to sharp inspection.

richness
Golden chrysanthemums, a golden haze to the afternoon.

space
Praying part of the time outdoors, alone, in the cool air.

whiff
The movie theater lobby smells like a dank basement toilet. The movie itself is like an air freshener. Beyond being light and pleasant, it doesn't leave a strong impression on me. What I remember more strongly is the walk afterwards, late into the evening.

Week in Seven Words #500

catch-all
She uses "heavy" to describe anything big or adult-like.

decoding
Even though he's more experienced with JavaScript than I am, he can still find it perplexing. Like why 2019 gets interpreted as a number even though it was typed as a string.

drenching
Right after we step into the store, the wind picks up, and the storm rushes through the streets like an overflowing river.

impatience
I'm caught up in a flurry of impatience with myself. But impatience is preferable to feeling undeserving and inadequate.

salesmanship
The salesman, crimped and white-toothed, hovers too much, but he does point me to something worth buying.

self-sufficient
An old woman walking with her spine perpendicular to her hips refuses help with her bags. She's holding one in each hand, and they seem to balance her.

warily
The doctor's office is tucked below street level. It looks grubby and shabby, and the air is thick with the tang of disinfectant.

Week in Seven Words #445

advising
With a confidence that comes from distance and emotional detachment, she advises her friend over the phone to end the relationship.

avidity
The band plays jazz by the green-tinted lake. Their most enthusiastic fan is a toddler in a stroller who complains when his parents try to roll him away.

bazaar
The basketball courts have become a bazaar for arts, crafts, and colorful clothes.

feedback
After finishing her lecture, she gets a smarmy remark from an older man that's countered by an encouraging and thoughtful remark from an older woman.

hello
She keeps her sunflowers tilted toward the front door, so when visitors step into her home, the flowers surge at them in a bright greeting.

twangs
He strums a guitar beneath a spray of wisteria. There's no melody, only spurting chords.

view
She has moved into her apartment below ground, and her horizon is a potted plant, a rodent trap, and a padlocked cellar door.

Week in Seven Words #443

damply
She spreads her coat on the floor and invites two kids to squash up on it for a story. Raindrops squeeze from the coat into the carpet, as the pages of the picture book flip.

duodenum
I head deep into the belly of the store, which is full of glitter, stickers, crafts, and lines as long as intestines.

how
He says that after a tragedy people shouldn't ask 'why,' they should ask 'how.'

misdirect
They use arguing as a strategy of escapism. If they're full of outrage over one thing or another, they can avoid dealing with other emotions and underlying problems.

reticence
"What do you do?" they ask him. "I think of myself as a philosopher," he says, and seems to mean it. As he is silent for most of the evening, and gives brief, vague replies at other times, it's difficult to determine what he thinks about.

torn
He wants to grieve on his own. But he's also terrified of being alone at a time like this.

unmentioned
We're going to pretend that there's no reason (and maybe there is no conscious reason) that we haven't seen each other in a while.

Week in Seven Words #441

balconies
I walk past compact homes with cute balconies. On each balcony, there's a small circular table kept company by a pair of empty chairs – many little scenes set for conversations outdoors at sunset, a drink in hand, a view of the sleepy street.

bland
The shopping center is cold, clean, and gleaming. It has a vague cologne smell and an atmosphere of emptiness.

curiously
The sunflower peeks into the rear windshield of the SUV.

insightful
Sometimes, the people who understand me best are authors I've never met.

regression
I stay out of the discussion because of the rampant infantilization. The participants generally want to scream their point of view without hearing a bit of disagreement. Disagreement makes them feel bad. In the course of their tantrums, they threaten people's jobs, reputations, and safety.

scurry
When I step out the back entrance of the building at night, a rat immediately scurries past my feet, brushing the tips with its body. It disappears into the shrubs and not through the open door, I think.

toppling
At the gym, a man listens to a comedy podcast while doing yoga. He keeps laughing and falling out of position.

Week in Seven Words #394

fantastical
We lean on each other as the train sways. Our feet adjust to accommodate the extra weight of the other person, and I smile to think we're like a four-legged, two-headed creature.

lighter
He's best to be with when he's feeling soft-hearted and full of fun. The years drop from him, and he wants a laugh and good company.

longing
Etta James is calling for a Sunday kind of love through the speakers of his laptop.

long-suffering
She looks fragile in the driver's seat of the SUV and in the pale wash of its interior light. The courage in her comes out in a tired smile.

magnifico
It's the sort of day where the highlight is hearing "Bohemian Rhapsody" at the supermarket. Not a lackluster cover band performing it, but Queen itself.

tablecloth
The lake looks like it's covered in brown oilcloth and dribbles of spilled pea soup.

traits
"Money doesn't change you," he says, "it just shows you who you already are." So if someone turns mean and stingy (or kind and generous) when they acquire money, did they have those tendencies all along?

Week in Seven Words #385

cadence
The barefoot woman on the terrace is singing as she arranges her body into meditative poses. Her voice, clear and high, reminds me of the music of Hildegard von Bingen.

dissolve
The tiramisu melts at the touch of the fork.

efficiency
I feel like a package on a conveyor belt, directed first to the booth with the camera models, then to a counter for processing the order, followed by another counter for the payment, and then to the pick-up area, until I'm finally deposited through the automatic doors to the curb.

enjoyment
The first thing that delights him about the trip is the length between stops for the express train. For her, it's the garden where she hovers over flowers with her camera.

functions
Exploring an herb garden: the spidery magic of milk thistle, and sharp, refreshing scents of rosemary and sage. The gardener gives a talk on women's medicine in the Middle Ages, including plants, like birthwort, that led to serious health problems. At one point, she begins referring to menses by its old-fashioned euphemism, "the flowers." Someone becomes confused about which flowers she's discussing.

pictorial
The accuracy of the text is questionable, but the illustrations are compelling, inviting the reader to discover obscure connections between plants and people.

twist
Her horror story begins with a man sitting alone on a boulder in the woods. It ends with a giant, murderous avocado bursting through a kitchen door.

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.

Week in Seven Words #356

carping
Today, I'm an eyebrow that isn't properly tweezed. Tomorrow, I'll be a forehead pimple. By which blemish will I be assessed the day after?

drift
They express their political stance by posting a meme or buying a product featured in a feel-good commercial from a large corporation.

flatulence
He has made the mistake of giving broccoli to the dog.

pedagogy
They're stuck with an indifferent teacher who asks nothing and accepts almost anything. In response, they ask their teacher almost nothing and ignore almost everything.

poise
When only the orchestra is playing, the violinist stands calmly, surrounded by the storm of music.

punctual
I tell her that I need to talk to her mom for a couple of minutes, then I'll be ready to play. At the two-minute mark, she pops up from behind a cabinet, startling me and reminding me of my promise.

tickle
The wind feels like dozens of gentle pats to the face.

Week in Seven Words #341

automated
The express checkout machines are marvels of futility. People run their coupons back and forth to no effect, swipe cards that aren't read, feed bills that get spit out. A sign flashes. "Help is on the way," intones a ghostly female voice. Does anyone come?

cheery
As we pray on a Friday evening, an ice cream truck starts to crank out music, and we laugh.

commiserate
People who are suffering don't need to hear that they should have had perfect foresight; that if only they'd acted perfectly and anticipated a dozen possible eventualities, they wouldn't be suffering.

moribund
An old fridge, speckled with mold, its belly full of warm food.

spilling
Sometimes when she talks she falls into a rhythm similar to stream-of-consciousness. It doesn't really matter who she's talking to; she just needs to empty her mind of stories and details. Sometimes she expresses a hope or wish, or she makes things up to give the impression that her days are full of excitement, accomplishments, and closeness to people.

targeted
Insults that contain a truth I'm squirming to avoid.

withdrawing
It hurts watching kids quickly give up on something because they're afraid of looking stupid.

Week in Seven Words #259

audacious
A cockroach scales the chrome and neon walls of the ice cream parlor like a sci-fi hero.

bluster
A storm whips the houses, cloaks the streetlights.

chagrin
She doesn't want to admit to buying the junk food for herself, so she claims it's for friends or family. It gets me annoyed with how much guilt and shame is associated with food (with some brands even labeling their products 'guilt-free'), as if shame or guilt will reliably motivate people to make healthier choices long-term. And as if it's shameful to have some dessert.

choo-choo
He asks me what I'm sentimental about. The first thing that comes to mind: trains. I still have sentimental ideas about taking a train trip across the US. I know I'm romanticizing Amtrak. Amtrak, of all things. I know about the possible difficulties of long distance train travel, especially in this country, where it's not a popular way to get around. But I really like traveling by train (even in subways sometimes, when the cars aren't crowded). For more than several hours? I don't know. I haven't done it yet.

fostering
What makes for a good friend? Someone who can respect you and accept your essential self. Who can challenge you without belittling you. You can grow, and they will not insist that you need to stay the same or make yourself smaller to suit them. They will not demand that you stick to an outdated version of yourself or a version of you they've built up rigidly in their minds.

sensuously
She presses a lemon to her ear, pauses, puts it down. Picks another one to listen to and decides to keep it. Then she moves on to the peaches. She rolls them against her cheek, one by one, until she finds the peach with the most pleasing caress.

variation
Imperfections enhance beauty.

Week in Seven Words #230 & #231

230

amazon
Stolid and tall, drifting ahead of us like the mast on a ship.

dyed
Red and yellow kayaks, like slices of fruit candy, bobbing on the river.

fissures
They work hard to create the impression of a shared reality, even as their hearts splinter.

grousing
We have no solutions, only complaints. But it's reassuring to find people who complain about the same things. The shared noise is heartening.

haunting
The whine of pigeons flapping by my ears.

mutants
Fisherman by the railroad tracks, what will he find? Rubbery fish? Tires that have come alive with fins and scales?

refrigerated
Harried women in a chilly supermarket; they're carefully made-up, their eyes fogged.

231

attenuated
In a battle that spans multiple eras and realms, who will win: Plants or zombies?

embracing
The pond is still and lets the sky steal across it. It's a safe place for the sky to settle down a short while. No waves or ripples will chase away the clouds.

fidgety
Goal: To rush to the end of the piece and then dance away from the keyboard.

fretting
One trait I want to avoid as much as possible is fretfulness. I don't want to lie prostrate before my fear and call attention to myself with it.

inexorability
He had the vague hope that if he stopped doing anything, time itself would stop. Instead it's flowing around him and nudging him along, while he struggles to keep his footing.

regenerating
I like community gardens grown in old broken places. A scarred part of the city now bears vegetables and redolent plants.

taste
Enough people say they like something, so then others like it too. And some dislike it just because too many others like it.