Tag Archives: The Smiths

‘Essence of Cessna’ | on success

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

“In the midst of life we are in debt, et cetera”

Wednesday, that day time slows every week, with Lily on a late-start for school, the possibility we could all sleep in until 7:30 but never do, a day I work from home with Charlotte on early release, meaning she gets … Continue reading

Posted in death, Memoir, musings, prose | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 15 Comments

‘There is a light that never goes out’

I lay in a hot bath but the seal in the stopper leaked and the water went down (and I with it, too): and once under- neath the tub I looked up at a light the shape of a ring coming … Continue reading

Posted in poetry, writing | Tagged , , , , | 6 Comments

November spawned a monster

Rainy Thursday morning, Thanksgiving at the lake, all to myself. The level’s come up to the rocks, nowhere to sit. Ginger has a private crap somewhere in the trees. The rain makes a pattern across the surface, little black dots rippling, … Continue reading

Posted in musings | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 28 Comments

This time of year the mountains

When the girl at the Whole Foods asked how my day was going I paused and had to laugh, how much I wanted her to know, she should read my blog. Leaving the office at 2 PM and stopping for … Continue reading

Posted in musings | Tagged , , , , , , , | 13 Comments

Deep impression by a shallow pool

Gray smear of a Saturday too wet for yard work, it still seems everyone’s gone since the Fourth. You can hear a car engine coming a way’s away, they cut arcs around the bend and go in and out like … Continue reading

Posted in writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

Rattle my bones all over the stones

Saturday, all of us on damp streets swaddled against the wind coming off Dublin Bay, wandering northeast from our flat past large churches, intersections where the asphalt’s painted LOOK RIGHT, LOOK LEFT, and the people have complexions that remind me … Continue reading

Posted in travel, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 29 Comments