Author Archives
Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
-
Bloggus Interruptus
LILY’S BLOG WROTE BY LILY P—- HERSELF! EXSTREMLEY RECOMENDED BY EAGACATORS! It was another disterbing day. Jackson had pushed her into a pile of pebbels. Alison started to giggle. Mason told Henry. At lunch,I… Read More ›
-
What’s worth than birth
Today’s my day, 1970: born across the street from the Allentown Fair while my dad was having a hamburger and my mom labored. They were 21, met in the laundromat, my mom folding my dad’s laundry. Married two months later,… Read More ›
-
Prism
Paying the neighbor kid to blow the leaves off our sports court. Awakening to the glow of a laptop, hours before sun. Before, I used to just sit here in the morning, letting the coffee sink in and thinking about… Read More ›
-
Steering Committee
There were about 30 in our steering committee meeting yesterday, too many to count. Luckily we had some anchors there, who helped facilitate decision-making, but at the end of it I felt I had been sucked dry. We went on… Read More ›
-
Temple Run
We’ve managed to get Lily off my laptop and onto the iPad. Yesterday, I counted five computer devices in our living room (excluding our phones, which were elsewhere). Temple Run is the gateway drug into the iPad, for Lily. Using… Read More ›
-
Token
The blog is a token dropped in a deep well. The days spin around themselves, wobble, and fall. Life is you figuring it out publicly, sometimes getting it right.
-
WFH
Left work early yesterday, sick. Probably could have muscled my way through it, but by the time I had told everyone and made arrangements, I’d have looked flaky for saying never mind. Caught a cab to the bus stop, then… Read More ›
-
Don’t follow me
People used to take newspapers into the bathroom, now they take their smartphones. Just because you can check the weather while you’re on the toilet doesn’t mean you should. But we do. I have bruises I don’t remember and my… Read More ›
-
Beginning
The coffee maker is a riot of sound, of gargling: it’s the Fourth of July climax when it sounds off and beeps three times, declaring it’s done. I’ve been through the ritual that starts by the light of the closet,… Read More ›
-
Sunday, Awake
Yesterday we sat on the sofa and listened to Mark Kozelek’s record Among the Leaves. It’s rare we get to sit and listen to a record, rewind to follow the lyrics and read along. The slow transition of light and… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 