Tag Archives: journal writing

Nice light from not much light

Posted on December 3, 2018 by

I went looking for the Jerry Garcia carving in the cutout by the lower greens, on the Halsey side, like the guy said. But it was foggy and damp, and what looked like Jerry on the other side of the … Continue reading →

Posted in Memoir, parenting, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 21 Comments

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

Posted on November 28, 2018 by

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’

Posted on November 26, 2018 by

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
Posted on November 22, 2018 by

November 22, 2018 (Thanksgiving). I went back in time to the chauffeur’s flat, that place we stayed in a remote corner of Scotland one Thanksgiving, unlike any other. Near some small, port town on the coast by the ferries over … Continue reading →

Posted in Memoir, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 23 Comments

The corrections

Posted on November 20, 2018 by

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

The rhythm of trees falling down

Posted on November 10, 2018 by

Twelve days in a row writing the same marketing copy for a project we started in July that was supposed to end in September. Sitting at my desk in the bedroom while the sun set reading it a final time … Continue reading →

Posted in writing | Tagged , , , , , | 18 Comments

‘The pink opaque’

Posted on November 4, 2018 by

Surprisingly, all the muscle I once had in my chest has loosened and now feels like a boob when I cup it in my hands. The kids lost or broke all the cell phone chargers, so we ordered more from … Continue reading →

Posted in humor, Memoir, technology | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 15 Comments