1/24: I heard that in Mansfield, Ohio, someone keeps a herd of buffalo off I-71.
1/25: We run into this one former babysitter everywhere. At the movie theater, she's passing out popcorn.
1/26: Tape, it turns out, doesn't stick to brick.
1/27: There's some sort of firefighter training today. They all look at me as I pass like I'm eavesdropping.
1/28: I'm imagining that G's cough has taken on a life of its own. It's another resident in our house. It demands a lot of attention and wears everybody out.
1/29: Outside my window, deer startle at the sound of the jackhammer.
1/30: Kinds of weather I haven't yet written about: hail, avalanches, auroras, tropical storms, eclipses, Nor'Easters, heat bursts, tsunamis, volcano eruptions....
Friday, January 30, 2009
Friday, January 23, 2009
Week Three
1/17: A group of people walk down to the beach at Larrabee at sunset. They are wearing hoodies and carrying plastic cups of wine. The cups are full. The people are somber.
1/18: The phrase "double bird strike" sticks with me.
1/19: More than the pain, it's that feeling of falling that stays with me all day. That moment when my brain was trying to correct what was happening as it was happening, as if I could just revise this scene and right my bike. Like when my dad would take me on the Tilt a Whirl, and my sisters and I would lean, lean to make it swing the other way. Falling is what remains. Not hitting. The ground has disappeared, replaced with my steady movement toward it, a line forever approaching zero.
1/20: It is so cold, this day when everything changes. A woman's breath hangs on the shoulders of people in front of her. Her cheers are all wet and light. They don't float so much as climb.
1/21: The room is packed, and the guy sitting in front of me smiles at everyone. Like he's thrilled to see us, me, people he's never seen before. Like we are who he's been waiting for. After I read, he grins and claps, and he is so dainty, and he is so lovely.
1/22: There is a page on Facebook for fans of Aretha Franklin's inauguration hat.
1/23: Graciela's brother died of appendicitis, so they are returning to Oaxaca. Mom showed the girls a map of where they were going because they didn't know. She tried to point out all the places her kids live, but her map didn't have Africa so she couldn't show them where Erin was. They were disappointed.
1/18: The phrase "double bird strike" sticks with me.
1/19: More than the pain, it's that feeling of falling that stays with me all day. That moment when my brain was trying to correct what was happening as it was happening, as if I could just revise this scene and right my bike. Like when my dad would take me on the Tilt a Whirl, and my sisters and I would lean, lean to make it swing the other way. Falling is what remains. Not hitting. The ground has disappeared, replaced with my steady movement toward it, a line forever approaching zero.
1/20: It is so cold, this day when everything changes. A woman's breath hangs on the shoulders of people in front of her. Her cheers are all wet and light. They don't float so much as climb.
1/21: The room is packed, and the guy sitting in front of me smiles at everyone. Like he's thrilled to see us, me, people he's never seen before. Like we are who he's been waiting for. After I read, he grins and claps, and he is so dainty, and he is so lovely.
1/22: There is a page on Facebook for fans of Aretha Franklin's inauguration hat.
1/23: Graciela's brother died of appendicitis, so they are returning to Oaxaca. Mom showed the girls a map of where they were going because they didn't know. She tried to point out all the places her kids live, but her map didn't have Africa so she couldn't show them where Erin was. They were disappointed.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Week Two
1/10: At the fish store, everything is expensive but the fish.
1/11: A woman in skull pants carrys a baby all done up in pink.
1/12: There's nothing fast about fasting.
1/13: A man on the bus with a sweet-looking guide dog talks on a cell phone. The dog's collar says it is a therapy dog. "Yeah," the man says to his phone. "You going to tap that?"
1/14: This morning, everyone walks through the heavy fog with their heads bowed, silent until the seagulls cry out, as if in alarm.
1/15: Someone in Bellingham is selling advice for $5 on craigslist.
1/16: My commute: from Oriental Avenue to Indian Street.
1/11: A woman in skull pants carrys a baby all done up in pink.
1/12: There's nothing fast about fasting.
1/13: A man on the bus with a sweet-looking guide dog talks on a cell phone. The dog's collar says it is a therapy dog. "Yeah," the man says to his phone. "You going to tap that?"
1/14: This morning, everyone walks through the heavy fog with their heads bowed, silent until the seagulls cry out, as if in alarm.
1/15: Someone in Bellingham is selling advice for $5 on craigslist.
1/16: My commute: from Oriental Avenue to Indian Street.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Week One
Each Friday, post a list of the observations you've come up with that week. I'll list mine, and then you can post yours as comments. Since this is a short week, you'll only have three.
Week of 1/8:
We pack the last of the snow into snowballs, and we stand in the rain and aim at the trees.
On the news, a man stands with his hands in his pockets while his house floods.
G's plastic rocking horse is creepy because 1) it has no teeth, and 2) it neighs even when no one else is in the room.
Week of 1/8:
We pack the last of the snow into snowballs, and we stand in the rain and aim at the trees.
On the news, a man stands with his hands in his pockets while his house floods.
G's plastic rocking horse is creepy because 1) it has no teeth, and 2) it neighs even when no one else is in the room.
Welcome to the 451 Project
The 451 Project is a class project where students post a single observation every day.
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