absorption
The intense focus of two dogs discovering a third. The two immediately strain at their leashes and begin to sniff; one of them attends to the third dog's face, the other delicately samples the hindquarters.
crotchety
My foot is slightly swollen and pained. It reminds me of a grumpy companion on a road trip, complaining about distances, uncomfortable car seats, and slight jolts along the way.
currency
The cashier is incredulous when a customer pays her in dollar coins; she at first thinks they're fake, like amusement park tokens. She's new to this country, but thought she'd learned everything about the money; she tells another cashier that a trip to the mint is in order.
elusive
The young child's mind is good at eluding experiments that try to tap into the earliest years of language use; a researcher can feel like a naturalist crouched in a tangle of vines and shrubs, hoping for a chance to cast a net at a sly and mysterious creature.
haft
In some other world, a character I've become acquainted with holds her sword at the ready.
nice
She's someone who's genuinely nice. I don't mean that in the bland way in which 'nice' may be used, when you can't think of a stronger or more interesting quality. She is a fundamentally nice person, and it's a pleasure to be in her company.
rudder
I think I have a firm grasp on the story, but the draft I'm working on drifts off course, and not in a mostly delightful or illuminating way. But at least I get some insights into the characters from this unexpected deviation, along with some words that I'd like to keep working with.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Week in Seven Words #21
accented
Out in the hall a French woman and a Russian woman speak in English, their voices bright and cordial. Soon after, a Greek woman speaks boisterously on the phone, sometimes in English and other times in her native tongue. In a different time and place, two men from Ireland harmonize together on a stage and banter between songs.
limpid
On a day when heat chokes the air and cars snarl along the road, I listen to limpid music; it spills and flows over all the other sounds - horns, brakes, birds, the stutter of machinery, conversation, the creak of trees in the wind.
loop
We could easily have taken the bus, but why not walk? Without walking we wouldn't have as much time to talk, or see the river at thirty minutes to midnight, or come across that sculpture with the words carved into it from several different languages, French and Greek included.
pluvial
There's a primordial fury to the rain; it mashes up the ground, crackles on the windows, and clots the air.
sundered
In the wake of the storm, trees stretch out leafy and shattered on walkways, cars, and roof corners. Branches lie in all angles on the sidewalks and sometimes dangle in the embrace of other branches that have remained aloft and intact.
tunefulness
Music in a long dark room lit with candles in glass, the illustrations on the walls crowding around to listen in shades of red, white and black. With voices that fit well together the musicians sing about old love, new love, a laughing universe, what it would be like to be a work of art, and how they're traveling around in search of feet; at one point they invite a friend to jam with them on the guitar, and she's in a trance, so happy to be up there playing and part of the music.
wresting
It's a song he once knew by heart; now he wrestles different passages out of the piano. Whenever he comes to a lacuna in his memory, he sits with fingers splayed across his forehead and stares with a puzzled frustration at the keys.
Out in the hall a French woman and a Russian woman speak in English, their voices bright and cordial. Soon after, a Greek woman speaks boisterously on the phone, sometimes in English and other times in her native tongue. In a different time and place, two men from Ireland harmonize together on a stage and banter between songs.
limpid
On a day when heat chokes the air and cars snarl along the road, I listen to limpid music; it spills and flows over all the other sounds - horns, brakes, birds, the stutter of machinery, conversation, the creak of trees in the wind.
loop
We could easily have taken the bus, but why not walk? Without walking we wouldn't have as much time to talk, or see the river at thirty minutes to midnight, or come across that sculpture with the words carved into it from several different languages, French and Greek included.
pluvial
There's a primordial fury to the rain; it mashes up the ground, crackles on the windows, and clots the air.
sundered
In the wake of the storm, trees stretch out leafy and shattered on walkways, cars, and roof corners. Branches lie in all angles on the sidewalks and sometimes dangle in the embrace of other branches that have remained aloft and intact.
tunefulness
Music in a long dark room lit with candles in glass, the illustrations on the walls crowding around to listen in shades of red, white and black. With voices that fit well together the musicians sing about old love, new love, a laughing universe, what it would be like to be a work of art, and how they're traveling around in search of feet; at one point they invite a friend to jam with them on the guitar, and she's in a trance, so happy to be up there playing and part of the music.
wresting
It's a song he once knew by heart; now he wrestles different passages out of the piano. Whenever he comes to a lacuna in his memory, he sits with fingers splayed across his forehead and stares with a puzzled frustration at the keys.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
From the mind of Lemuel Moody
The Portland Observatory is the last of its kind in the US - an old maritime signal tower, now preserved as a museum and as a great viewing spot overlooking Portland, Maine and the adjacent water and land.
Before new technology came along and made it obsolete, you stood at the top with a telescope, sighted approaching ships, and used flags to signal how many and which kinds of ships were coming, so people on the docks could get ready for the arrival and the unloading of cargo.
It was constructed and initially manned by a retired sea captain, Lemuel Moody. An enterprising and meticulous individual, he lived nearby with his wife and brood, who spent significant chunks of their childhood running up and down the stairs:
These days, along with footsteps, other sounds you hear regularly from the stairs are the words "watch your head", followed by a loud hollow thud.
The lovely views make up for the minor headaches.
You can also spot patterns that at ground-level would go unnoticed.
And once you're back on the ground, don't forget to look up.
Before new technology came along and made it obsolete, you stood at the top with a telescope, sighted approaching ships, and used flags to signal how many and which kinds of ships were coming, so people on the docks could get ready for the arrival and the unloading of cargo.
It was constructed and initially manned by a retired sea captain, Lemuel Moody. An enterprising and meticulous individual, he lived nearby with his wife and brood, who spent significant chunks of their childhood running up and down the stairs:
These days, along with footsteps, other sounds you hear regularly from the stairs are the words "watch your head", followed by a loud hollow thud.
The lovely views make up for the minor headaches.
You can also spot patterns that at ground-level would go unnoticed.
And once you're back on the ground, don't forget to look up.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Week in Seven Words #20
almost
Moments when I'm close to something, so close and I don't realize it, and later I know that I've turned away too soon.
effloresce
On nearly every street I come across roses. They grow in cluttered gardens, among scraps of metal and plastic toys. They poke through chain-link fences. They thrust themselves up the sides of houses, twine around trellises, and peek over porch rails. Their heads sometimes bow towards the bright green grass.
geometry
The strange shape of sunburns - circling my leg exactly where my socks begin, or my arms where my sleeves end; patching around my knees and calves where I didn't apply suntan lotion evenly, or framing my left wrist where my watch has kept the skin beneath it pale. My skin is sore in triangles, trapezoids, and ellipses.
lighthouse
In the daytime there's an elegance to it, perched on a rocky ledge above the rush and murmur of the bay.
promenade
Quiet streets overlooking the ocean, where boats are peacefully scattered. The air smells like salt water, flowers and mown grass. The houses are large and silent, multi-layered with wide windows, balconies, porches with white wicker chairs.
seawater
When I approach the sea I try to guess what color I'll find it. A misty melting gray in the fog, or fracturing the sunlight on a clear bright day. A hard gemstone blue, or light blue with dark folds and white foam.
tranquil
At the peak of the old maritime signal tower, with a view of rooftops, sea craft, and water all around, I sit next to a soft-spoken guitar player. There's sunshine, music, and from time to time the clomp of people climbing the winding wooden steps.
Moments when I'm close to something, so close and I don't realize it, and later I know that I've turned away too soon.
effloresce
On nearly every street I come across roses. They grow in cluttered gardens, among scraps of metal and plastic toys. They poke through chain-link fences. They thrust themselves up the sides of houses, twine around trellises, and peek over porch rails. Their heads sometimes bow towards the bright green grass.
geometry
The strange shape of sunburns - circling my leg exactly where my socks begin, or my arms where my sleeves end; patching around my knees and calves where I didn't apply suntan lotion evenly, or framing my left wrist where my watch has kept the skin beneath it pale. My skin is sore in triangles, trapezoids, and ellipses.
lighthouse
In the daytime there's an elegance to it, perched on a rocky ledge above the rush and murmur of the bay.
promenade
Quiet streets overlooking the ocean, where boats are peacefully scattered. The air smells like salt water, flowers and mown grass. The houses are large and silent, multi-layered with wide windows, balconies, porches with white wicker chairs.
seawater
When I approach the sea I try to guess what color I'll find it. A misty melting gray in the fog, or fracturing the sunlight on a clear bright day. A hard gemstone blue, or light blue with dark folds and white foam.
tranquil
At the peak of the old maritime signal tower, with a view of rooftops, sea craft, and water all around, I sit next to a soft-spoken guitar player. There's sunshine, music, and from time to time the clomp of people climbing the winding wooden steps.
Friday, June 18, 2010
A bit of Boston
This week I took a few vacation days and headed to Portland, Maine (more on that planned for future posts).
I passed through Boston on the way back home and had enough time to walk around a little; these are some photos I took along the way between North Station and South Station.
Temple Street - a narrow, quiet lane, with lovely flowers and no traffic:
And at the southern end of the street, the State Capitol House:
Let's zoom out and make it more imposing:
(Though it can't be too imposing with a "Let's Go Celtics" banner.)
Nearby businesses with political themes:
and a bar honoring the amendment that made its legal existence possible:
A group of students on a historical tour, with their guide in historical get-up. Can history ever successfully compete with cold sweet desserts?
I rest here for a while. Boston Commons is a great place to crash and relax.
Or flirt beneath a fountain's cool spray.
The enchantment continues in South Station:
Where there's an unexpected string quartet performance, right in the train station; Mozart accompanied by boarding announcements:
I passed through Boston on the way back home and had enough time to walk around a little; these are some photos I took along the way between North Station and South Station.
Temple Street - a narrow, quiet lane, with lovely flowers and no traffic:
And at the southern end of the street, the State Capitol House:
Let's zoom out and make it more imposing:
(Though it can't be too imposing with a "Let's Go Celtics" banner.)
Nearby businesses with political themes:
and a bar honoring the amendment that made its legal existence possible:
A group of students on a historical tour, with their guide in historical get-up. Can history ever successfully compete with cold sweet desserts?
I rest here for a while. Boston Commons is a great place to crash and relax.
Or flirt beneath a fountain's cool spray.
The enchantment continues in South Station:
Where there's an unexpected string quartet performance, right in the train station; Mozart accompanied by boarding announcements:
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
"Why don't you come and have a cup of tea?"
When so much of the news focuses on crime, deception and melodramatically bad behavior, it's great to read about people like Don Ritchie:
For almost 50 years, Don Ritchie has lived across the street from Australia's most notorious suicide spot, a rocky cliff at the entrance to Sydney Harbour called The Gap. And in that time, the man widely regarded as a guardian angel has shepherded countless people away from the edge.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Week in Seven Words #19
bled
For a moment I think the cream-colored wall has shed blood. But it's a cardinal, swooping down from the roof in one liquid red glide.
blurry
It's an inarticulate day; rain is slurring down the windows.
marionettes
Out on the sunny lawn they grunt and kick high, their fists held close to their chests. Every few kicks they rotate a fraction, their legs jerking up.
poised
There it is, a suitcase by the door, a backpack beside it, both waiting for early morning.
rainstick
I imagine that the sound of wasted time, of hours pouring away with little to show for their passing, is that of a rainstick - a slippery, hollow sort of sound, mildly pleasant and lulling.
squirrels
It's an afternoon of squirrels. They rear up, vigilant and still, in patches of tall grass or clumps of broad green leaves. They drape themselves on the backs of benches or pick furiously at fast food and candy wrappers. One of them twitches in fright when a butterfly lands on its tail; it goes leaping across the grass, body bristling.
tectonic
Tectonic tensions underlie his life. On the one hand, he is rooted in and nourished by beliefs and practices that are centuries-old; on the other, he craves the latest thrills, wants to seek the newest trend-setting city or neighborhood and insinuate himself into its rhythm and life.
For a moment I think the cream-colored wall has shed blood. But it's a cardinal, swooping down from the roof in one liquid red glide.
blurry
It's an inarticulate day; rain is slurring down the windows.
marionettes
Out on the sunny lawn they grunt and kick high, their fists held close to their chests. Every few kicks they rotate a fraction, their legs jerking up.
poised
There it is, a suitcase by the door, a backpack beside it, both waiting for early morning.
rainstick
I imagine that the sound of wasted time, of hours pouring away with little to show for their passing, is that of a rainstick - a slippery, hollow sort of sound, mildly pleasant and lulling.
squirrels
It's an afternoon of squirrels. They rear up, vigilant and still, in patches of tall grass or clumps of broad green leaves. They drape themselves on the backs of benches or pick furiously at fast food and candy wrappers. One of them twitches in fright when a butterfly lands on its tail; it goes leaping across the grass, body bristling.
tectonic
Tectonic tensions underlie his life. On the one hand, he is rooted in and nourished by beliefs and practices that are centuries-old; on the other, he craves the latest thrills, wants to seek the newest trend-setting city or neighborhood and insinuate himself into its rhythm and life.
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