Tag Archives: the nature of memory

‘Blood stain from a rabbit carcass on the front doorstep’

It took me 55 minutes to walk from my mother-in-law Beth’s back to our house after dinner. It was dusk but I didn’t get rained on, I got home before dark. There’s a part of the walk that goes up … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 11 Comments

Bluetooth speaker inside rusted copper resonating bowl

Lily and I moved to opposite corners of the hot tub. Because it’s outside and we live in the Pacific Northwest, the underside of the cover attracts slugs and undesirable life. I’ve started using bromine tabs indiscriminately, I just dump … Continue reading

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

A stream of consciousness, passing through April

We felt it winding down, that April. Who gets to be in Europe for nine months like that? I had no business complaining about having to go, it was time. It was starting to leaf out on the trees along … Continue reading

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‘How little remains’ (on youth, memory, memoir)

I went back to the old apartment. The old apartment was best going back to alone. I tried taking my kids there or Dawn, but to them it was just an old apartment. To me, there was so much more. … Continue reading

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Now vaguely familiar

We rode the Tube to the West Kensington stop and got off to visit my old friend there, who lives across the road from her ex. We took the elevator to the top floor and when we got out she … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, travel | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

Don’t blame Belfast, ’16

It was in Belfast this time of year we learned Charlotte can sleepwalk. It’s not like a special power sleepwalking, more a defect. The house was really small with steep stairs and I had the coal stove going all night … Continue reading

Posted in humor, travel, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 23 Comments

A slurry of scraps and symbols

We drink the blood of Christ from plastic cups and it turns our tongues red, seals us in our symbols and the art of make believe that is faith, belief without proof. And as I enter you I forget myself, … Continue reading

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