This is a series of posts written from my mom’s house in Germany. I came and went by way of the side door leading to mom’s Hof, an outdoor patio of sorts. The side door has an old medieval-style metal… Read More ›
Memoir
From the morning
Mom and I drove to a nearby village to a men’s clothing store looking for traditional-style German sweaters, the kind they wear with lederhosen. Instead I found a pair of knickers that tie below the knees, a style you don’t… Read More ›
Touching from a distance
Every day we went for an ice cream at the Italian place, then to Berne’s for a coffee. We ordered the same thing each time: the stracciatella Eis, then two Kaffe normales, a large water with gas. Then we’d sit… Read More ›
Kodachrome
Mom still had the non-alcoholic beers I’d left two years ago and surprisingly, they tasted the same. We went to the mall to buy her a pop socket for her phone and I helped clean up her file storage, then… Read More ›
Frets and fingers
Somewhere mom got this new painting, possibly from the old barn they just cleaned out, of a medieval-looking village by a tall stone wall beside a flowing river. It isn’t her village but could be, as there must be hundreds… Read More ›
First Sunday in Germany
This is a series of posts written from my mom’s house in Germany, this one titled the same as my first post on WordPress written 15 years ago this month. And just like I did every time Eberhard picked us… Read More ›
Goin’ back
Whether it was the summer rain patting the pavement or the lentils burbling in the slow cooker I cannot say, but the sound was such a comfort it put me in a trance. I flittered between reading and napping as… Read More ›
Summerland (4)
It all started with so much promise. I had the summer off with no work and nothing but time. I found myself back on Mount Rainier for the first time since I’d slipped and almost fallen on that second summit… Read More ›
The denuding affair
Once I got rid of all the pine needles and glitter I turned to the exterior and swapped out the multi-colored lights for white. Denuding the house of Christmas was a solemn but energizing affair. But living in the Northwest… Read More ›
Little star
In December of 1987 that second-hand Kashmir coat was already 20 or 30 years old. And I was a budding young punk, an emo, or Goth, I don’t know what. But I’d just turned 17 and discovered cigarettes, and long… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 