Any real Italian would add that leftover liquid from the jarred anchovies to the pasta sauce I thought, though the smell was pungent and the contents unknown. Probably olive oil and whatever salty oils had sloughed off the fish. So… Read More ›
Nostalgia
Tending and mending
You couldn’t see the moon because of the clouds but with it almost full it made the night sky milky white. More wind had raked down branches throughout the yard, pine needles too. My new haz mat suit was waiting… Read More ›
Deep winter fantasies on a new October moon
No one seems to like my gumbo as much as I do but that hasn’t discouraged me from making it. It’s the smell of the roux and the mouthfeel of a rich stew that feels best this time of year…. Read More ›
Firsts and lasts
Charlotte, about to start her last year of high school, says she’s starting to have her last firsts: last first day of school. Or this could be her “first last” too, school-wise. Last homecoming dance. “First last” and “last first”… Read More ›
The dark magic of the garage
The garage was fucked. The garage, that dumping ground for all our excess, for all we could not process or endure. The garage was the physical manifestation of our gluttony and waste. The garage was bombastic in scale: a proud… Read More ›
One last time to Shy Bear Pass
There were two places I wanted my ashes spread. One was our favorite camp spot on the Washington coast, Oil City. No oil, no city. A bad name for a beautiful place. The other, less exotic spot was right here… Read More ›
Bouquet from the 70s
Maybe five, old enough to climb a tree. The field between the apartment buildings where I grew up, age 0 to 12. Three memories: (1) A photo of me in the field that’s not really a memory but more the… Read More ›
Hot desking
Springtime as a young consultant though not really young, almost 48. An office of about 200 with capacity for 150 and me in the oldest 10%. Young consultants dressed to look older, older consultants headed the other way. Office chit… Read More ›
Cart boy
No one called me cart boy to my face but they probably did behind my back. That was the crux of my job, pushing reports on a Rubbermaid cart, dropping them off for each CSR. The reports were DOS-matrix style,… Read More ›
Common things
The gloves are still there, in the Honda’s hidden storage well beside the jumper cables. The gloves are leather and have a withered look, stiff and bent. They belonged to Dawn’s dad and I’ve kept them in the car since… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 