Binary Sea
Don’t tell anyone this, but last year I dreamed of being in middle-of-nowhere-Michigan while wandering the beautiful streets of the El Barrio district in Barcelona.
Common Ground
We park up against the failing fence near the bathrooms. We get out of the car, feel our feet on ground, and keep talking. A lot has come before us here.
The Longest Distance
When I wake up in the middle of the night, the first thing I do is check my legs. Often, during the night, I kick off my covers and wake up with my legs cold to the bone.
Sitting In the Aisle
You don’t talk to people on the Metro. You don’t talk to coworkers, you don’t talk to friends, and you especially don’t talk to strangers. Talking is the mark of the tourist.
Longing for Roots
So what do I have? I have my ancestors. I can’t visit them, anyway—most are long dead—so distance doesn’t matter. Still, though, this litany of names acts as a sort of symbolic rootedness.
A Muttering of Ducks
I fill a basket with crisp lettuce and Swiss chard. A raspberry finds its way into my mouth. I close my eyes, breathe deep, and finally feel my shoulders relax.
How We Learn
I realize this sounds rather impressive, a Hebrew “intensive” packed with flow charts, tense paradigms, parsing worksheets, and a severe lack of cognates.
Wait For It…
I sat back, dumbfounded, as these realizations came trickling in. I felt a little sheepish that it took so long for me to figure it out. God got a well-deserved slow clap.
Beach Bah Humbugs
But if I’m being honest, I kind of hate the beach. If I must go to the beach in the summer, I prefer going before 9 a.m. or after 7 p.m. You know, with the runners or the couples.
Somewhere in Middle America
We drove into the night, and every five to ten miles, we’d see a light in the distance. A farmhouse, no doubt. People live there, no doubt. Where do they get water? Groceries? Where do they go to school?
