2/14: Snow sculptures wait under lights across the street from my hotel.
2/15: The plane feels like it's descending too quickly -- it always does, but especially today -- so I keep talking like my voice alone will keep us in the air.
2/16: No one seems to know when spring comes to Bellingham. July, some people tell me. It's already here, others say.
2/17: The word Olentangy conjures both the river -- the muddy water, the yellowish froth -- and the mini-mall.
2/18: G. has a fierce fast-ball, and he can aim, too, and when he aims at you, you're in trouble.
2/19: A girl with curly hair at the childcare place is throwing a fit when we arrive. The other kids mostly watch her, and one boy keeps going down the slide over and over.
2/20: Peeling corn at the counter, and throwing the husks on the floor.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Friday, February 13, 2009
Weeks Five and Six
1/31: In the museum parking lot is an upside down car, like a sculpture.
2/1: We sit in the basement and pass around 3-d glasses for the commercials.
2/2: A whole flock of thrush appear in the yard one day, tons of them, in the bushes and on the roof. Creepy.
2/3: I get an email from something called Babycenter.com, the subject of which is "7 Signs Your Baby Loves You." I delete it right away.
2/4: Brown lawn, ficus trees, pine needles covering the front lawn and threaded through all the bushes. All the houses look like Metairie.
2/5: In the restaurant, the wind blew through the brick wall behind us. You could put your hand down and feel it. I ate my catfish with my coat on.
2/6: We drive an hour to see a movie, then eat Italian food in a place that has autographed posters of Michael Bolton and Cheap Trick on the walls.
2/7: A band in Tupelo called -- I kid you not -- White Noise.
2/8: At the bar, a woman told a story about speed dating and how she ran into her student. We drank Blue Moon.
2/9: The presents: biscuits and a kid's cowboy hat.
2/10: We are all trying hard to breathe.
2/11: Home remedies that don't work: salt water, apple cider vinegar, grapefruit extract, chamomile, steam. Over-the-counter medicine that doesn't work: all.
2/12: A woman on the shuttle has come to Chicago to see a lawyer. She doesn't say what for. Just that she needs a hotel near Indiana Street because that's where the lawyer's office is.
2/13: I hear about the plane that crashed into a house from the TV in the elevator, between floors, and I gasp and cover my mouth, a reflex, and then get off on the wrong floor and wander the halls for a while, wishing I was home.
2/1: We sit in the basement and pass around 3-d glasses for the commercials.
2/2: A whole flock of thrush appear in the yard one day, tons of them, in the bushes and on the roof. Creepy.
2/3: I get an email from something called Babycenter.com, the subject of which is "7 Signs Your Baby Loves You." I delete it right away.
2/4: Brown lawn, ficus trees, pine needles covering the front lawn and threaded through all the bushes. All the houses look like Metairie.
2/5: In the restaurant, the wind blew through the brick wall behind us. You could put your hand down and feel it. I ate my catfish with my coat on.
2/6: We drive an hour to see a movie, then eat Italian food in a place that has autographed posters of Michael Bolton and Cheap Trick on the walls.
2/7: A band in Tupelo called -- I kid you not -- White Noise.
2/8: At the bar, a woman told a story about speed dating and how she ran into her student. We drank Blue Moon.
2/9: The presents: biscuits and a kid's cowboy hat.
2/10: We are all trying hard to breathe.
2/11: Home remedies that don't work: salt water, apple cider vinegar, grapefruit extract, chamomile, steam. Over-the-counter medicine that doesn't work: all.
2/12: A woman on the shuttle has come to Chicago to see a lawyer. She doesn't say what for. Just that she needs a hotel near Indiana Street because that's where the lawyer's office is.
2/13: I hear about the plane that crashed into a house from the TV in the elevator, between floors, and I gasp and cover my mouth, a reflex, and then get off on the wrong floor and wander the halls for a while, wishing I was home.
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