The Herbert Hoover Button.

In the home I grew up in, wordplay (emphasis on punnery) was the primary form of communication. At some point, at the age of oh, maybe fifteen, it suddenly dawned on me that other people, ones who are not related to me, have conversations over dinner. Weird, right?...

Hi there, November.

Somehow, astonishingly, it is the time to passage between months again. I’m not sure how that happened. I am taking a deep breath and invoking all the superpowers of easy transitions. Okay! Exit and entry. Passaging out and passaging in. Let’s see where...

Hello, September. Let’s passage in.

It’s time to say hello to September, isn’t it. I have been avoiding this. Surprise! Mostly because September means the chagim: all the complicated Jewish holidays and the New Year. The cheshbon nefesh (literally: soul accounting) that goes along with that....

Shelter.

Whenever I am at the bus stop, I remember that its secret name is bus shelter. And then I whisper: SHELTER. I fill up on shelter. I breathe it in, as a quality that lives somewhere inside of me and is sparked by this moment of remembering it. Collarbone lungs. Wally...

Beach.

Hmm. I do not remember when this was. Twelve years ago? That seems about right. Summer. On the beach. Maybe 6pm, going on 7. Warm, sun-drenched. But not heat in the way that afternoon is heat. Sitting in the sand. Watching the water. The best water, because this is...
The Fluent Self