Tag Archives: stream-of-consciousness

How the house felt after the kids left for summer camp

Posted on July 3, 2019 by

Outside it was warm and the lupine stalks were bending down, some on their faces like mollusks gumming the ground but not making it very far, frozen mid-suck. The dog smelled bad, a telltale bad like she’d rubbed herself in … Continue reading →

Posted in identity, Memoir, parenting, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 16 Comments

Hero’s pose

Posted on June 23, 2019 by

We waited and waited but it didn’t seem like the marine layer would ever burn off. Lily had a date with a boy we hadn’t met named Colin, and I texted her to come outside so we could talk. And … Continue reading →

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The long descent through the quarry

Posted on June 21, 2019 by

I got down on my hands and knees in the shower with a toothbrush and some baking soda paste. The web site said if the drain had a musty smell that was mold, but if it was more like a … Continue reading →

Posted in Humor, identity, Memoir, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 15 Comments

Moss petting in Portland

Posted on May 26, 2019 by

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 →

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Plumbing

Posted on May 7, 2019 by

Even though they had holes in them, I kept wearing the same socks. I walked the back yard in my socks when it wasn’t wet. Charlotte was up at the trampoline and I went back up to apologize for what … Continue reading →

Posted in Memoir, parenting | Tagged , , , , , | 14 Comments

That last Friday in April

Posted on April 26, 2019 by

Dawn quit her job so she could spend more time with the kids, and that meant her office was up for grabs. Dawn’s office is kind of ideal, with good morning light flanked by book shelves, and a door that … Continue reading →

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Down stellar stream

Posted on April 19, 2019 by

The rain is hypnotic like the static on the black and white TV I used to fall asleep to growing up. It was my first digital-assisted relaxation, when the programming ended and the Star-Spangled Banner played, and then it all … Continue reading →

Posted in Memoir, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , | 10 Comments