The kids have gone through the advent calendars and left the empties on the floor. Laurent is cooking a chapon for Christmas, which he translates as a castrated cock, good and greasy. Eight kids aged 4-11, seven of them girls,… Read More ›
Travelogues
Cave
I bought a collection by Rilke at Darvill’s bookstore on Orcas Island, hoping it would free me from a year without writing. The store is small, warm, and jam-packed with books. A chime goes off when the door opens, and… Read More ›
A simple truss
Mom got a turkey for us at the market while we were in France. But then Eberhard told her she should take the plastic off, and cook it right away or we’d get sick. So she took the plastic off,… Read More ›
WYSIWYG
Two days in France, eight kids aged 4 – 11, seven of them girls: the 10 and 11 year-olds are allowed to drink Champagne. We eat lunch just before 4, then dinner at 11:15. They all drink coffee afterwards, about… Read More ›
The Chair of Forgetfulness
It is a small world on the Internet. The Web expands and contracts, and as it moves, we are all connected to it. Dawn calls it The Chair of Forgetfulness because when she sits down to look into it, time… Read More ›
Lost in the Funhouse
We took the kids to the Hofmeister in Bietigheim, for the drop-off play area. You sign the kids in, they give you a pager, and then you just leave them there while you shop. I was trying to remember the… Read More ›
Fog
Fog comes from a temperature imbalance between the earth and the atmosphere, I think. It also comes from a food/alcohol imbalance, and it’s thick here today. Any night that starts at the Christmas market with Gluhwein and the decision to… Read More ›
Garden
When we get emails from the pre-K school, the subject line just says Garden. It took me a while, but I figured out this is because Charlotte’s grade level there is called Garden. When my mom thinks Merlin needs to… Read More ›
Fachwerk
The “Fach” in Fachwerk sounds like Bach, along with the phlegmy part at the end. It describes the half-timbered style of houses in my mom’s town, and translates literally as framework. The timber is exposed, and the infill is comprised… Read More ›
White Space
I got my foot stuck on the baby gate earlier this week and went down on my side, yielding a bruise the size of a small country. It is hard being empathetic: while it gives you the appearance of emotional… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 