They keep the windows cracked in most rooms so it’s drafty and the radiators don’t seem to work or they’re not on. The Moroccan rug Laurent pulled out of the attic for Lily is musty smelling and so is the… Read More ›
Memoir
Bringing it all back home
The shower at Laurent and Nanou’s isn’t like the ones back home, it’s an exposed clawfoot tub with no shower lining. They keep a squeegee the size of a broomstick beside it to push the water into a central drain…. Read More ›
What the French would do
More of the pfeffer schnitzel with the light brown sauce and French fries, a side salad and dessert: what looks like little sugar-coated, deep fried donuts is an apple cake thing with a vanilla sauce, fresh whipped cream, fruit garnish… Read More ›
Erste und Letzte (firsts and lasts)
That first walk up the Himmelsleiter was the best and darkest, my first morning back in Germany. The Himmelsleiter, that long set of narrow steps up the vineyards, through the spooky underpass beneath the train tracks in the dark, crossing… Read More ›
Vivid Youth
Tired as I was I still had that Christmas morning feeling of excitement that had me wanting to get out of bed. I’d been up since 01:11 and committed myself to staying in bed until 3. Something about 3 vs…. Read More ›
First Sunday in Germany
Trying to sleep on the plane. Amazing you can sit right next to someone in close quarters for ten hours and not say a word. Bisecting Canada and then Greenland. Always the longest slog, inching down over Iceland with the… Read More ›
The lift
For as excited as I was to be back in Europe I knew I’d miss my daily routine back home. Especially the drive to the park in the early mornings down the long, straight road. It’s curled like a tongue,… Read More ›
New moon
It’s the first day of fall. The new moon rose this morning but being the new moon, no one noticed. Sitting with The Cure’s 1989 album Disintegration, it feels like the end. The end of an important decade for the… Read More ›
Homestead style
The morning sun was an angry red dot, a burning ball of flame coming through the trees. The sun made the leaves golden pink; it lit everything with a glorious soft tint. All the trees were leaning or bent and… Read More ›
No dry nights in fest season
Right about now the shit would be hitting the fan in my mom’s small village in southern Germany. The Winzerfest wine festival, which only happens once every two years, was in full swing. And by the looks of it the… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 