I went back up the Himmelsleiter but took a different route. It was my first time here in January. After a moody walk in the Jack the Ripper fog the night before I was ready for a walk in the… Read More ›
Travelogues
The days run away like wild horses over the hills
15 Jan 25 Another sleepless trap, tonight in my mom’s 15th-century house, below freezing outdoors and not much different in. She wasn’t joking about how cold it gets. There’s no heat to speak of that makes it to the bathrooms… Read More ›
LH 491 to Frankfurt
14 Jan 25 Of course it is impossible to fall asleep on a plane like this. My body, my life’s longest friend, is my greatest foe. Bent in on myself, folded askew, I feel everything. The ankle tendon, the lower… Read More ›
Famous last words
It is hard to imagine things ever being better than this: me in pajamas and slippers with no socks, the days inching out of darkness and peach colored, both my parents still alive and our kids happy, my wife still… Read More ›
The remember when
We would have rung in the new year in the Pennsylvania house, my third and last Christmas with Shana, the year mom and John gifted us airfare to Europe, my first time there. Like most rookie tourists we’d jam all… Read More ›
Where are we now?
I’d never flown into Germany in January and pictured it somehow colder and wetter, though resolved to make do for four weeks with just rolled-up clothes in my carryon and not check a bag. Bono had written an essay on… Read More ›
That last winter in the UK
Days of clouds and rain, low light. Light between eight and four with the rest more about the dark. Stripped of any daily responsibilities her life lost purpose and being a doer with nothing to do she went a bit… Read More ›
Chantez, chantez
Laurent told my mom he had to go to the car to get some things, and gestured for me to join. It was the kind of gesture that implied wrongdoing, a wink from across the table. We were in the… Read More ›
Invocation
I gave up looking for Emmett’s body and made my way back up the hillside, to the house. The dog had escaped the Invisible Fence, through the snow, without a trace of his footprints, just vanished. It was January, 1998:… Read More ›
Getting out of the labyrinth: Trying to finish Portrait so I can get on with my life
I thought it would be a good idea to do this again, to read James Joyces’s A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. But instead, I’ve gotten wrapped around the axle with the author, his conflicts with the… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 