Tag Archives: Portland

Moss petting in Portland

I went back to Portland, and it was the same as it always was. We got behind the quadriplegic at the neighborhood wine take out and the clerk put her bottles on the back of her buggy in a basket … Continue reading

Posted in humor, identity, Memoir, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

Frost circus, Portland

Peeling potatoes I took off my finger tip and imagined a piece of it there among the red bliss skins in the sink, something small and pink you’d find on a beach. But it got me out of cooking, and … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, parenting, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 18 Comments

Wilhelm’s mausoleom

I stopped by the dry cleaners, then the car wash — vacuumed out the pollen, the cottonwood, pine needles and dandruff, the nail clippings and dirt, then gathered wood to make a fire later, shook off the spiders from the … Continue reading

Posted in death, Memoir, musings, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , | 18 Comments

The god of only children

For some reason when I’m in Portland I feel like I can be more myself, maybe because no one knows me here. I wake and walk down César Chávez to the Starbucks in the cool, marine air. And remember the … Continue reading

Posted in death, prose, travel, writing | Tagged , , , , , , | 18 Comments

Moss-petting in Portland (March, ’18)

Signs for deaf children, hand-painted Volvo’s, driving into Portland on a Friday night. By morning the rain had brought down the cherry blossom blooms like confetti, and the children across the street were young enough they could walk on walls … Continue reading

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Discreet Music | January 14 (Portland, OR)

The funny thing about ambient music is, I can play it over and over again, and never really notice if it’s the same song. And then, there are times I’ll recognize the artist and feel sophisticated, like when I’m seeing … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, music | Tagged , , , , , , , | 13 Comments

“A lifetime in three days”

All is quiet on Independence Day, oddly. In my hammock with a book, leaves scitter across the sports court and could be the dog, but she’s inside. Pre-fall, even now. No need for sunscreen, there’s a thin band of clouds … Continue reading

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