4/18: The ownership of the waterfront here still surprises me. The beach is empty save for a single man on a cell phone. We don't go three feet before seeing the first sign: Private Beach. Private. Private. No Trespassing. Everywhere we try to go, the water is being owned.
4/19: We're an hour early for the ferry, so G. plays on a run-down playground on the reservation. We watch kids fly a kite in the yard of a discount fireworks store.
4/20: The Canadian radio loves this day.
4/21: I talk to my sister about her upcoming trip to Sudan, and when I ask if she's scared, she says, "I used to be." She wants a recommendation for a funny book, and I can think of none. When I ask what, exactly, she'll be doing there, she says, "Researching stuff." I laugh but don't pry. All the NGOs have been sent out of Sudan, but here is my sister, heading in.
4/22: My mom threatens to fake cancer to keep my sister home.
4/23: My baby sister leaves today for Sudan for six weeks. She loses her cell phone just before she goes.
4/24: Today, when I wake, I wonder where she is.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Friday, April 17, 2009
Week Three, Spring Quarter
4/11: At the market, the balloon man takes one look at L's dad and says, 'Is it Republican day?' I laugh and laugh.
4/12: It's Easter. We don't go to church. We sit around eating peanut butter eggs and preparing ourselves for loss.
4/13: The clouds spite us, stubbornly refusing to move until it's too late.
4/14: The car is rusted underneath. The bottom half of the body is covered in white dust. It looks like it's fading out.
4/15: Inside the package, there are falling-apart books and pieces of candy.
4/16: A huge bumblebee gets trapped in the house. I'm interested in things that get trapped inside: birds, bats, mice, lizards (in Florida). How desperate both the people and the animal are to get it back outside, and how impossible it seems to make that happen quickly.
4/17: G. wakes at 2am, ready to play, for no apparent reason.
4/12: It's Easter. We don't go to church. We sit around eating peanut butter eggs and preparing ourselves for loss.
4/13: The clouds spite us, stubbornly refusing to move until it's too late.
4/14: The car is rusted underneath. The bottom half of the body is covered in white dust. It looks like it's fading out.
4/15: Inside the package, there are falling-apart books and pieces of candy.
4/16: A huge bumblebee gets trapped in the house. I'm interested in things that get trapped inside: birds, bats, mice, lizards (in Florida). How desperate both the people and the animal are to get it back outside, and how impossible it seems to make that happen quickly.
4/17: G. wakes at 2am, ready to play, for no apparent reason.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Week Two, Spring Quarter
4/4: Mutant Berry Slurpee doesn't sound good.
4/5: A guy outside Wasabe Sushi hocked a lougie on the window as we left. A few minutes later, we heard him do it again. And again. We turned around, watched him keep doing this all the way down the block.
4/6: It's like a street party here when the sun comes out. People swim in the lake, even though it's too cold. The air is filled with footballs and volleyballs and soccer balls. The children run deliriously around the playground.
4/7: A guy on Holly wore shorts and a trenchcoat.
4/8: G. and I run up and down the hotel hallways in our socks.
4/9: I come home to find the aloe in pieces on the floor. This aloe has been with me for a long time. I called it Grandma because it produced so many aloe babies, who had more babies, and I ended up with dozens of mini-aloe plants. I couldn't give the things away. But I was always kind of proud of Grandma. So when she got thrown in the trash today, I was sad.
4/10: Along the road, someone has lined up eight grocery carts. They stand there like tourists, unsure where to go next.
4/5: A guy outside Wasabe Sushi hocked a lougie on the window as we left. A few minutes later, we heard him do it again. And again. We turned around, watched him keep doing this all the way down the block.
4/6: It's like a street party here when the sun comes out. People swim in the lake, even though it's too cold. The air is filled with footballs and volleyballs and soccer balls. The children run deliriously around the playground.
4/7: A guy on Holly wore shorts and a trenchcoat.
4/8: G. and I run up and down the hotel hallways in our socks.
4/9: I come home to find the aloe in pieces on the floor. This aloe has been with me for a long time. I called it Grandma because it produced so many aloe babies, who had more babies, and I ended up with dozens of mini-aloe plants. I couldn't give the things away. But I was always kind of proud of Grandma. So when she got thrown in the trash today, I was sad.
4/10: Along the road, someone has lined up eight grocery carts. They stand there like tourists, unsure where to go next.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Week One, Spring Quarter
3/31: G. wakes up in the night saying, "Chocolate cake."
4/1: Growing up, my mom used to make us prank lunches to take to school. Raw potato slices in our sandwiches was one. Napkin sandwiches was another.
4/2: My dad reports that in Orlando, more and more businesses are closing up. A new one each day, it seems like, he says. It's eerie. Like he's living somewhere else.
4/3: Being a night owl is considered a sleep disorder. It means your circadian rhythms don't work like everybody else's.
4/1: Growing up, my mom used to make us prank lunches to take to school. Raw potato slices in our sandwiches was one. Napkin sandwiches was another.
4/2: My dad reports that in Orlando, more and more businesses are closing up. A new one each day, it seems like, he says. It's eerie. Like he's living somewhere else.
4/3: Being a night owl is considered a sleep disorder. It means your circadian rhythms don't work like everybody else's.
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