Category Archives: writing

Two-faced Janus

Posted on January 23, 2019 by

It felt lighter in the afternoon than it should, for this time of day. January turns itself around like that. The gardener came for the first time in a while, worked his ass off raking beds, blowing down the pavement, … Continue reading →

Posted in prose, writing | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

The sandtrap

Posted on January 22, 2019 by

There was not much new to the new year now, it seemed. Driving across the state, I ate a bag of wasabi-flavored smoked almonds in about 30 minutes, taking it by the handful, popping them one by one, wiping the … Continue reading →

Posted in prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

Sunday’s flattened head

Posted on January 20, 2019 by

On the five-hour drive to Brad’s cabin I kept it cool in the car to stay awake, to keep my cold tolerance up. Driving across the state to the east, how it all flattens to farmlands and big skies, windmills, … Continue reading →

Posted in identity, Memoir, writing | Tagged , , , , | 12 Comments

Peace and distance

Posted on January 11, 2019 by

On the day Bowie died, I drove from Stratford to a small town where I met Tish Farrell, a blogger friend. She made lunch and we talked about writing and traveling, and then I said goodbye and drove back down … Continue reading →

Posted in Memoir, travel, writing | Tagged , , , , | 13 Comments

A different plane

Posted on January 4, 2019 by

Life has led me here. Charlotte climbed down the steps from her bunk bed, and went downstairs to the kitchen. The dog circled and collapsed by our bed. Outside, the wind kicked up and the rain came on.  I reflected … Continue reading →

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N/A

Posted on January 2, 2019 by

I woke at 5, brewed the coffee, and lit a candle. Maybe the first morning in two years I’d woken without any alcohol the night before. I’d done a dry January enough times now, I’d developed some nostalgia with it. … Continue reading →

Posted in Memoir, writing | Tagged , , , , , , | 22 Comments

On Sundays and holidays

Posted on December 30, 2018 by

We spent the aftermath of Christmas on Whidbey island, a town called Langley, so idyllic they still have phone booths with free local calls, wild bunnies, signs in the shop windows promoting inclusion, views of the water, a bell to … Continue reading →

Posted in identity, Memoir, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , | 17 Comments