The recent "Ask a Grown-Up" episode of "This American Life," which apparently aired a week ago but came piping out of my Echo on Sunday, concluded with a beautiful story from Ira Glass about his close friendship with a woman thirty years his senior.
Halfway through, I became exhausted and sat cross-legged on the floor of the shower — the water pelting down on my hunched back, echoing up and filling my head with nothing but its steady pounding.
Witty, too, and the peerless scene in which he's "persuaded" into kingship – "since you will buckle fortune on my back" – had echoes even of Sherlock, in its managing simultaneously to patronise and wheedle.
There were also voicemails on my cellphone that echoed the messages of the texts.
But, I couldn't undo the look on my face that echoed the disappointment in my words.
"We tried a new recording technique on this CD where there was no reverb, no echo on my voice, and it sounds like I'm right there in the room," she said.
When I posted your question on my Facebook page, several echoed this one: "When my fiancé and I marry, I'm only inviting those who are supportive.
My research on prodigies echoed my study of children with other differences.
And the city itself, its cafes, bookstores and complex network of winding streets, created a mosaic that even today I see echoed on my stage in the dense mix of gesture, word, sound, image and symbol that constitute the materials of my abstract theatrical style.
I shiver in the water, letting the salt dry on my shoulders, listening to the echo of my breath in the snorkel.
