Mondays are best for jazz.
journal writing
Blacking out the friction
Of course I remembered the name Dick Boac, he worked at Martin Guitars as an “archivist,” a Falstaff type. But I couldn’t remember anything more about him because he was John’s friend, and John died more than 10 years ago… Read More ›
The self-care hair problem
This week we all went nuts.
Filling holes
The firepit, my bloody toe. We slept with all the windows open and it felt like camping. Four years later and we finally moved that mound of soil to the vegetable garden. It takes a global pandemic for us to… Read More ›
I wonder why the wind
The most perfect night. Perfect is a superlative, so it can’t be topped. There’s no “more perfect,” or most perfect, it’s fine on its own, it’s perfect. The first really warm day when everything takes on a different feel. The… Read More ›
Back and forth, again
I remember it’s the end of April and think back four years ago, when we came back from Germany.
It doesn’t go out like a lamb
They said everyone needs to work from home and the vibe on my floor was a kind of evacuation mode in slow-mo.
Sunday roadside stands
The rain fell so hard I stood in the doorway watching it, letting in the cool, clean air.
Spirit is time-reversed to your body
I remembered the smoked turkey we had in the meat locker from Easter and started fantasizing about eating a leg, just standing in the kitchen and taking it by hand.
A question of degrees
Upstairs someone was either crying or laughing.
Bill Pearse 