We were so distracted we agreed to let Lily get her hair dyed purple and it cost $50 plus tip, and I wasn’t even there when she was picking out the color because I was on the cell phone trying to… Read More ›
Memoir
What your voice sounds like in a box
I found myself getting wistful about leaving our house, started pacing around the outside of it looking in, noticing the roses on the side for the first time and how they looked like faces imploring don’t go — even my… Read More ›
Assisted Living
The lake level has gone down now and there are kayakers and fishermen out early — the same lake I came to with my dog in the winter months with my German tapes on an iPod shuffle and my notepad,… Read More ›
To be on the safe side
Now that our cats are gone, the native wildlife is starting to re-emerge: rabbits, squirrels, moles, mice, and everywhere, birds. Which makes me admire the cats for how much they beat back the wildlife to the edges. They would never… Read More ›
Der Zug hatte Verspätung
The day starts around 5 with me getting up before my phone can wake me, up the street to the Bahnhof to catch the 5:57 to Frankfurt. But they announce (in German) the 5:57 is delayed by 10 minutes, cutting… Read More ›
In other words
My feet are like bloated sausages when I put them in the bucket and Eberhard fills it with a hose. I drank and read and slept some on the plane, found the bulky luggage claim area in Frankfurt, waiting for… Read More ›
Three Girl Rhumba
I’ve been experimenting with drugs for our pets, for a 14-hour international flight next week where they’ll sit in the cargo hold while I read a first draft of my memoir on the plane. I crush the drugs, dilute them… Read More ›
Vergangenheitsbewältigung
Our German teacher has us saying the words Cherry, Church and Kitchen in German. They all sound the same, she asks if we can hear the difference — it’s how you clasp the vowels. We can’t. It’s a “ch” sound… Read More ›
The eagles are kites without strings
When I drop the dead crow in the compost bin it folds like a puppet with no hand. It feels auspicious, dead birds, and I’m glad I’m not getting on a plane today, laying low. We enter the roundabout swiftly,… Read More ›
Good Friday, 1981
On Good Friday my parents wake me to say Michael has passed away, we’re both around 11 — something I can’t pronounce or spell that came from a mosquito bite with blood taken from a sick horse that made his… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 