Author Archives
Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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American Waste Story
The weekend was full of plans and I thought about them at the bar, while the Girl Scouts met back at our house. I timed it so I’d get home just as they were leaving and as I pulled into… Read More ›
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The scale, the mirror, the referee (Project Manager rant on roles, responsibilities)
My stomach made a creaking, shifting sound like an old battleship. I looked at the others in the conference room and they looked back at me, waiting for my reaction, would I acknowledge the sound and be embarrassed by it,… Read More ›
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Carried Away
It started with a night running barefoot on the university golf course and hugging a tree for the first time, convinced I could feel its life force swelling from the roots, then ended in the early morning at my new… Read More ›
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All’s well that ends as you like it
I acted in college, in a small theater in a small town called Erie, Pennsylvania. The theater was a former barn, and we huddled in tight in a loft upstairs with our make-up and dim light as the voices of… Read More ›
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Rethinking Pink Floyd
I was too young to connect with Pink Floyd in the late 60s or 70s the way others did. When they released the film of The Wall, I was frightened by it (the scene with kids falling into a meat… Read More ›
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Fourth Creek Trail Junction
We’re supposed to recreate the hiking-bonding moment with Charlotte, the same one I had with Lily, but we can’t because of a funeral, and I wind up taking both girls instead. That means carrying three sleeping bags, the tent, extra… Read More ›
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More and More, The Remote
I look at the painting but don’t recognize it, don’t remember where it came from, some faraway place, an alpine lake in blues, indigo, watercolor. I bathe myself in the sea salts of home. The smell of the pines outside… Read More ›
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Don’t Stop Believin’
Journey, Aerosmith’s ‘Dream On’: in my forming years of the 70s I latched on to these themes. I watched myself in the mirror, mouthed the words, and dreamed who I could be, with no limits. My kids are at that… Read More ›
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Bad work day rant, what we do for money
Almost as bad as a bad day of work is reading about somebody else’s. If you can make it funny and I can laugh at your pain, that’s different. If it becomes a form of therapy for you to cut… Read More ›
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A short rant on unwanted pets, a wish gone afoul
My cat thinks she can dazzle me with her stubbornness, but she has no idea what she’s up against. If she wants to stay out overnight and get her internal organs punctured by an owl’s talons that’s fine, as long… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 