25 Jan 25 Yesterday we drove to France to spend the weekend with our friends Laurent and Nanou, their kids Romane, Valentine and Mathis, a new baby boy named Hector. Driving across Europe I felt expansive. In two or three… Read More ›
journal writing
The big eraser
23 Jan 25 After days of it the fog finally broke and everything looked crystalline or coated in confectioners’ sugar, flocked. Before bed I read Anne Lamott’s memoir, the scene of her with her dad that day at the beach… Read More ›
Belongings and belonging
22 Jan 25 In the morning the frost looked like snow on the rooftops and roads and made for art photography that never came out right. I liked the town better when it was empty and closed down and imagined… Read More ›
Figures in the fog
21 Jan 25 All the rooms in mom’s house were irregular, the lines along the ceilings sloped or sagging. The toilet in her bathroom angled downwards. The problem I had with the old photos and going through them was they… Read More ›
Farmlands and homelands
20 Jan 25 It is another night with the heat pad. The ancient looking heater by my bed worked for a few days but then I made the mistake of fiddling with the knobs (there’s no clear on/off logic) and… Read More ›
The days run away like wild horses over the hills
15 Jan 25 Another sleepless trap, tonight in my mom’s 15th-century house, below freezing outdoors and not much different in. She wasn’t joking about how cold it gets. There’s no heat to speak of that makes it to the bathrooms… Read More ›
LH 491 to Frankfurt
14 Jan 25 Of course it is impossible to fall asleep on a plane like this. My body, my life’s longest friend, is my greatest foe. Bent in on myself, folded askew, I feel everything. The ankle tendon, the lower… Read More ›
Famous last words
It is hard to imagine things ever being better than this: me in pajamas and slippers with no socks, the days inching out of darkness and peach colored, both my parents still alive and our kids happy, my wife still… Read More ›
On Jackson Street
I used to come down to Pioneer Square over my lunch hour to kill time. When my job didn’t matter much, no one cared if I was there, and I’d roam the side streets and street corners dreaming. Old Seattle,… Read More ›
Long division
When I woke I really didn’t know where I was. Still divided between two places, two time zones, two bedrooms. But there was the clock on the side of my bed anchoring me to this place: home-home. And after being… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 