Tag Archives: pacific northwest

Wednesday’s twilight anthem

Posted on September 21, 2017 by

The Jupiter’s Beard is fanned-out pornographic in our front yard, exposed to the root. And the grass is so dead, it’s what Gregg Allman’s beard must have looked like before he died, the same gold-straw color, drawn out thick. It’s … Continue reading →

Posted in Memoir, musings, prose, travel | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 18 Comments

Then the rain came

Posted on September 20, 2017 by

The cat knocked the plastic owl off the patio pot and its head separated from the body and rolled away, then lay in plain sight with the rain coming down, too hard to fix. And in the morning I found … Continue reading →

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

They know it’s time to go

Posted on September 17, 2017 by

After 89 days without a good rain it was definitive it would come back Sunday. We were gearing up for the first fire of the season, a stew, some red wine, music. We’d move the patio furniture to the garage, … Continue reading →

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

‘Essence of Cessna’ | on success

Posted on September 13, 2017 by

Thirty-one years ago the film Pretty in Pink came out. We watched it on Netflix but didn’t remember anything: not Andrew McCarthy’s flickering eyes, nor Molly Ringwald’s quivering lips. Nor the scene with the two of them in a library … Continue reading →

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

The denial phase

Posted on September 6, 2017 by

Dawn and I sat at the top of our yard after we got our things out and talked. I had everything drying in the driveway, the sleeping bags draped over the cars. They didn’t need dried out, I just liked … Continue reading →

Posted in Memoir, parenting, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 15 Comments

The bargaining phase

Posted on August 29, 2017 by

It was the last of the 8 o’clock sunsets the meteorologist said, so enjoy it. The last until April 16. We went to Chris and Kelly’s for dinner, to spend the night, but couldn’t stay up as late as we … Continue reading →

Posted in identity, parenting, travel, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 23 Comments

The last of the 8 o’clock sunsets

Posted on August 27, 2017 by

The clouds are dragon tongues, painted Nordic boats and they blow me back to Scotland, to the fall, to shrill winds and leafless trees, to the comfort of wool and soup, smoked fish, and sleep. Now the shrubs are shriveled, … Continue reading →

Posted in poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 16 Comments