We drove to Fremont, a neighborhood my kids have never seen that’s in Seattle and just 35 minutes from our house, and when we got there and saw the stone troll under the bridge, the tourists pulling over taking selfies,… Read More ›
musings
The last of the daily monastic offices
There was a problem with the house work I think. I couldn’t stop going between the laundry room and the den and lost track of who I was, I got covered in dog hair and slacks I wore across Europe… Read More ›
Most of them witches
In the manner of my mom’s partner Eberhard I held my head under the hand sink and let the cold water run over me and down my torso as I stood and grunted, examined myself and got dressed. It makes… Read More ›
Song for Friday, Monday, the weekdays
Worked into the tapestry of life is work itself, it’s inseparable, in fact it will loosen and destroy the fabric of life in its absence the way pests get into the woodwork or wardrobe and ruin you with holes. Work… Read More ›
Tourette’s
There are times I come out of the men’s room at the Microsoft campus and can’t remember where I am. I look left and right, I pick a direction and walk with confidence but it all looks similar and slightly… Read More ›
Stick this in your LinkedIn profile
When I met the other consultant the first thing I thought was god, he’s young and the next thing, god, I’m old…I’d been out of the workforce about a year, maybe two…but I felt much older than that, I felt… Read More ›
Irregular verb patterns and dreams
I went on the side of the house that still feels like the country and had a leak there, spied the full moon through the trees out too many nights in a row now, bleary eyed and runny; I saw… Read More ›
A branch the size of an oar on a medieval slave ship
I worked a couple hours in the yard cleaning up branches and breaking down limbs clipping, sweeping, yanking out roots and pruning, stuff we probably should have done in the fall—then just got in the car and drove out to… Read More ›
The circular references in stairwells and turnstiles
In the bath I wrote a poem comparing fruit to genitalia and in our den tried to relax but the record player’s so fussy it requires adjustment, like a harmony of adjustments between the settings for arm tension and anti-skating,… Read More ›
First listen of the White Album
I realized Loren had my copy of The Corrections I’d given him in the early 2000’s: he said it was that book that made him realize what kind of writing he does and does not like, and that one was… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 