Sunday Seen & Heard 4.10.22

On Sunday mornings, I try to get up early and post up in a neighborhood coffee shop for writing practice. I read a chapter of Natalie Goldberg’s Wild Mind: Living the Writer’s Life and spend 10 uninterrupted minutes capturing my surroundings.


My alstroemerias are dying. Their bright orange has faded into a dingy yellow and they droop. I wonder if it dishonors the goddess I’m invoking to leave them that way. They’ve been dead all weekend. I should have thrown them out. But I’ll replace them this morning, so no big deal? Let’s hope Bast isn’t too cross with me.

The shadows in my living room are my favorite thing. This apartment is not great, some would consider it run down. But the hardwood floors and the light playing through the windows make it perfect. I can’t imagine living in a “nicer” place without this much sunlight. Or the huge radiator in my living room that signals a time and city left behind. That’s what it is. This is an old city place. It has character. A personality.

In the background, the sweet dulcet tones of the Merriam Style YouTube channel fill the room. I’m learning more about my lines. Soft dramatic. Sharpened-soft. How long sleeves and drapey (drape-ish?) pants compliment my long vertical. That I can get away with non-obscene (that is not the word I want there but I can’t think of a better one) not-super blingy, costumey jewelry and thank God for that because I don’t do garish. Wrapping my mind around “drama” is a journey in and of itself. I have no plans to adopt an 80s Bob Mackie aesthetic.

The tree outside my middle window buds with spring. Green bulbs sit proudly on its branches. A dare to the notoriously temperamental Northeast Ohio April weather. Snow again. Go ahead, they taunt. They’ll get exactly what they want, too. Probably just in time for Easter next Sunday.

Traffic is slow on the street outside. This corner where city meets suburbs still slumbers, not quite ready to start the day. The windows on the apartments across the street are new and I envy them. Who do I have to bribe to get new windows?

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a girl named rob

I used to be "skinny black girl." I'm now a slender woman on the other side of 35 with no new moniker who is not quite interested in writing under her given name. Still writing my life, a day (or some months) at a time. Also, still black.

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