Tag Archives: nostalgia

First time hearing Can with my percussionist friend, Loren

How many memories do you keep in a jar on that shelf? Here’s one from my 20s, driving across a bridge at night with the stereo up loud. Were we out of our minds high on the energy of our … Continue reading

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Refraction (- – – — — — – – -)

Charlotte and I tried to play Scrabble but got frustrated, and dumped all the tiles back in the box. The best we came up with was Mosaic and Pirana, Pirana hers, not exactly right, needing an H or a symbol … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 16 Comments

The stress-free Christmas tree erection

No holiday satisfies or disappoints quite like Christmas. In the Pacific Northwest, December is a dark, charmless month. This year, I announced November as scotch month and December, the month of brandy. The month of all things “ch,”—cheese, chocolate, champagne—a … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, parenting, writing | Tagged , , , , , , | 25 Comments

November 22, 2018 (Thanksgiving). I went back in time to the chauffeur’s flat, that place we stayed in a remote corner of Scotland one Thanksgiving, unlike any other. Near some small, port town on the coast by the ferries over … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 23 Comments

The same deep water as you

We went back to the old elementary school, Charlotte’s last year, for the annual Halloween bash. Dawn and I stood in the playground feeling tired and out of sorts, trying to make out the identities of kids running by as … Continue reading

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October 14, 2018 (Sunday) Sadly, I let myself get too annoyed often and it cut into my enjoyment of life. We rode in the Pilot to the pumpkin patch, all six of us, and I reminded Loren and Lily to … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , | 27 Comments

Song for the undoing

How the days went by like the poets said they would, like wild horses over the hills or worse: indistinct and unnoticed, unremarkable, not lived. Let the days be seen for their own worth, wild as horses, mysterious as the … Continue reading

Posted in poetry, writing | Tagged , , , , , , | 10 Comments