The sound of my kids upstairs in the morning singing, getting ready for school, the same nonsensical sound as birds in spring, makes you wonder why they really sing, if it’s to sooth themselves. I get to fix them toast… Read More ›
blogging
How it felt before the storm
Though the storm had started I took Ginger for a walk. It was raining harder than you can imagine, and the frogs were going nuts — like a scene from the bible announcing something auspicious, or maybe they just wanted… Read More ›
The motivations of a ghost
When I took my first sabbatical in 2009, I left in July and came back mid-November. With the way it worked, you could go for up to six months and return to your old position but after that, and up… Read More ›
The last of the pulled pork sandwiches
There was a time we used to just sit and watch our kids’ swim lessons at the Y and it was cute and sweet but that time has passed, and the last two days I take my laptop and wait… Read More ›
Fantastic Erratic: on muses, flow, and writing in spurts
When I started blogging, I posted for the first three years without a single visitor, not even my mom. It didn’t matter because, a.) I didn’t really understand (and wasn’t interested in) social media, b.) I didn’t think my writing… Read More ›
Some may say I’m wishing my days away
On Saturdays we only play reggae. I set the iPod by genre, select All, and it starts with Augustus Pablo, 1 of 275 songs, and ends with Serge Gainsbourg. It takes all day. When Laurent and his family were here… Read More ›
Blog posts are bread crumbs the birds can’t eat
The look of the sky today started pink but ended gray, and as I went walking I worried, did I have enough to break off to find my way, or would I get lost in the forest and the others with so little,… Read More ›
Last postcard from Pinklightsabre for ’15
Happy holidays from Bill, Dawn, Lily and Charlotte…I will be out of the office from 16 December 15, returning some time in January. Until then, if this is an emergency please turn off your computer, go outside, and look deep… Read More ›
The inner rings of meta-ness, Inverness
Monday. Put on a new shirt, examined the tick bite for a ring, realised we have too much stuff. Is there any point to unpacking it, to let it breathe? Seems all this packing is an emotional thing. Carrying more… Read More ›
Red Virginia Creeper
Sitting in Laurent’s kitchen over an old farmhouse table he’s trying to describe what Capon means, the castrated cock he cooked the last time we were here in Metz around Christmas, and when he says castrated cock he suddenly looks… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 