Tag Archives: aging

Inside a broken clock splashing the wine with all the rain dogs

The rain now is that rain we associate as November rain in the Northwest. It has its own aspect, like no other. It is not a rain to be fucked with, and comes on hard and fouls up the roads, … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 30 Comments

‘Theft by finding’

Sure, I was still the same but my face was starting to look smudged in those new photos where I looked older. The forehead exposed, the jaw gone slack, the eyes hollowed out and the skin, less color to it. … Continue reading

Posted in humor, Memoir, parenting, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , | 17 Comments

The corrections

No matter how much I worried I was growing apart from my kids (or vice versa), there was still time. I picked Charlotte up after work and asked where she wanted to go for dinner. We drove to Issaquah and … Continue reading

Posted in humor, identity, parenting | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 17 Comments

‘Wax and wane’

By the time we got to the end of October I was done with it. The Halloween decals on the windows, the witches and skulls…it seemed to go on forever, like it should have been over by now. The skeleton … Continue reading

Posted in death, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 14 Comments

The same deep water as you

We went back to the old elementary school, Charlotte’s last year, for the annual Halloween bash. Dawn and I stood in the playground feeling tired and out of sorts, trying to make out the identities of kids running by as … Continue reading

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

October 14, 2018 (Sunday) Sadly, I let myself get too annoyed often and it cut into my enjoyment of life. We rode in the Pilot to the pumpkin patch, all six of us, and I reminded Loren and Lily to … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , | 27 Comments

October 7, 2018 (Sunday) In the den with the fruit flies on the couch I lay listening to the tic of the clock, the dog shifting, the sound of a jet outside, and nothing else worth noting. We are each … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , | 14 Comments