Tag Archives: Memoir

The last Sunday in September

The drive from Portland to Seattle on a Sunday morning in early fall. Fog lifting, leaves changing, the look of the clouds. Later how the fire consolidated down to a few logs glowing red. The pink in the western sky … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , | 4 Comments

The last day of the fair

Going to the fair was less about going to the fair and more about reliving past times we wanted to hold onto. I’d never noticed it before, but all the rides were basically the same. In the same positions even. … Continue reading

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

Kaleidoscope of life and death on the PCT

On the fourth day we rested only a couple hours from the last camp, still in the burn area. It was already getting hot by mid morning and I got there before Brad, eager to secure a camp. There was … Continue reading

Posted in death, writing | Tagged , , , , , | 13 Comments

The phone can’t see what’s really real

The month wore on. Though it was cool at night I left the windows open to hear the rain slap the patio. The light was different now, and struggled to make it over the trees. The grass had gone to … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, parenting, writing | Tagged , , , , , , | 22 Comments

Letters and passageways (3): Rob and Paul

This is a series of rewritten journal entries from the summer I spent in the south of France, the first entry here. Rob and Paul seem like an unlikely gay couple to me, not knowing what gay couples are supposed … Continue reading

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

Letters and passageways (2): Shawn and Seamus

This is a series of rewritten journal entries from the summer I spent in the south of France, the first entry here. Shawn Lee is my favorite bartender at my favorite bar, The Six Arms. He is often smiling, and … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 12 Comments

Letters and passageways: the summer of ’98, south of France

I went back to that summer I spent in the south of France, to recall what I could from my journals, letters, and photos. They resurfaced with the news of a friend who’d died, I’d last seen there—and played on … Continue reading

Posted in writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 22 Comments