Saturday, November 22, 2014

Growing Up

Brand new baby, one week old, about the size of a loaf of bread, curled up in the crook of her father's arm. He stands and sways, rocking her back and forth to the rhythm of the music coming from the playlist he made for her.

"Something So Strong" comes on, and he smiles and starts lip syncing along.

"I've...beeen...feeling so much older," he half-sings to her, and she is so small, and as big as the world.

At the Opening

While the woman (older, an artist, and self-proclaimed "kind of a big deal"), regales Katie with her wisdom, I talk publishing with her gentle husband. He's thin and with a shock of white hair on top, but tan and sharp, and an accent I later learn is Israeli.

"So I started doing silverpoint drawing - you know this? Ancient technique, you draw with silver on clay treated paper and the oxidation - you know this? - makes the mark."

Friday, November 21, 2014

Make-Up Work

So on the walk home, we discuss the speaker we just saw.

"I thought, hell, I know as much as this guy," I say.

"Yeah, and he didn't answer anyone's questions," she replies.

And we go home and do the work, instead of listening to motivational speakers, and things are a lot better.

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

Scruffy, Part II

"Nice beard," says the sarcastic co-worker as sincerely as she's capable of saying anything. "You've really got the whole scruffy writer thing going there."

"But what's with those sides?" she asks, calling attention to the less than stellar growth on my cheeks.

"Yeah, I never really grew a full beard before," I admit, rubbing my hand along the mange I've made so far.

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Attention Must Be Paid

The softest, fuzziest, cookie-monster blue onesie cannot prevent this baby from screaming his displeasure to the entire subway car, and all of his mother's efforts to placate him are for naught. She rolls his stroller back and forth, squeaks a toy at him, speaks to him in soothing tones, all of which just makes him screw up his face and screech harder, inconsolable.

Off the train, in the tunnel between subway lines, a guy wearing enormous headphones raps loudly to the music in his head as he strolls between the rushing commuters. He acts like he doesn't care, like he's too cool to care, as he enunciates every syllable and carefully avoids checking to see who's checking him out.

Monday, November 17, 2014

Apologizing for Existing

"And I feel like I'm really writing better, and like maybe I'm...,"

"Valid?" she chimes in.

"Yeah, like I've got something to say," I say.

"And that you don't need to apologize to the cashier at the grocery store," she adds.

Sunday, November 16, 2014


I look out the back window on the fall morning backyards between the buildings, trees yellowed, wall covered with browning leaves. A gray sky looks the other way above, indifferent.

"It's not exactly ominous, the sky," I say.

"It's just overcast," she replies.