Author Archives
Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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We turned back
It was so dark this morning the sun didn’t come up until 8 and when it did no one noticed, the rain came back. Even the bistro lights were confused (they’re on a timer), they came on thinking it was… Read More ›
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Dog ghost prose, one Friday
There was a study they did on foxes, on domesticating them. They set up shop near a den and began luring the foxes closer with treats and talking to them sweet. Of course the foxes liked it and started sticking… Read More ›
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The unknowingness: too many reflections, too much time reflecting
I spent almost two years out of work which was good, but a bit too long. It felt like oversleeping, a self-induced fog. And because I’m a project manager and have to organize things, I think my time out of… Read More ›
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Starbucks customers express outrage over green cups, take to the streets demanding explanation
I worked at Starbucks from the mid ’90s through 2014, a period of ups and downs and ups, when things like Frappuccino and breakfast sandwiches (and oatmeal) happened, the sometimes amazing success that came as a sort of surprise, the… Read More ›
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What I learned and didn’t learn in 20 years of work
My boss asked if I could help pull together information for a report. The report was going to the then CEO (Starbucks, 1997). I was young, 26, eager to help. There were about a dozen people who owed me content… Read More ›
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The first square
It was a strange night. Lily dressed up like Audrey Hepburn, with the gloves and the dress and the pearls, a cigarette holder, and Dawn put her hair up in a bun—and while I was at work I realized she’d… Read More ›
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A bad ear
Happy Halloween from pinklightsabre.com, and thanks for reading! Thanks to Kevin Brennan at WHAT THE HELL and Indie-Scribable for the mask inspiration. Bill This post provisionally titled, “The Very Strange Way In Which Life Leads You Down A Corridor To… Read More ›
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A bath one Saturday night
I hadn’t taken a bath in more than a year, never time for a bath, always something else but when you look at the bath when you’re buying the house, the bath seems like such a good idea and it was… Read More ›
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That last fall in Arbroath
This time last year we were getting ready to leave Arbroath, Scotland for Halloween in Inverness, at the mouth of the Loch Ness, with much anxiety from the kids on what that would mean for our trick-or-treating plans. We had… Read More ›
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On the dead
Every other Saturday the gardeners come, but I will never know all their names. They are in the back now blowing out leaves, tearing out the dead, raking up beds, making it all go away— But the next morning the… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 