Tag Archives: William Pearse writer

The stress-free Christmas tree erection

Posted on December 15, 2018 by

No holiday satisfies or disappoints quite like Christmas. In the Pacific Northwest, December is a dark, charmless month. This year, I announced November as scotch month and December, the month of brandy. The month of all things “ch,”—cheese, chocolate, champagne—a … Continue reading →

Posted in Memoir, parenting, writing | Tagged , , , , , , | 7 Comments

Nice light from not much light

Posted on December 3, 2018 by

I went looking for the Jerry Garcia carving in the cutout by the lower greens, on the Halsey side, like the guy said. But it was foggy and damp, and what looked like Jerry on the other side of the … Continue reading →

Posted in Memoir, parenting, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 21 Comments
Posted on November 22, 2018 by

November 22, 2018 (Thanksgiving). I went back in time to the chauffeur’s flat, that place we stayed in a remote corner of Scotland one Thanksgiving, unlike any other. Near some small, port town on the coast by the ferries over … Continue reading →

Posted in Memoir, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 23 Comments

The corrections

Posted on November 20, 2018 by

No matter how much I worried I was growing apart from my kids (or vice versa), there was still time. I picked Charlotte up after work and asked where she wanted to go for dinner. We drove to Issaquah and … Continue reading →

Posted in humor, identity, parenting | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 17 Comments

Ham on rye

Posted on November 12, 2018 by

In the lobby at the recreational cannabis dispensary they were putting up a Christmas tree, and in the shop where a sign says Enter Here and Pay Here everyone looked confused, and I asked about the CBD vs. THC combination, … Continue reading →

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

Poem | ‘The remains’

Posted on November 11, 2018 by

How dim the light in the morning through the last brown leaves And the look of the limbs curled inwards, slumped low How soft the heater blows those long, solemn notes Like the sound of a car scraping down an … Continue reading →

Posted in poetry, writing | Tagged , , , , , , | 8 Comments

The rhythm of trees falling down

Posted on November 10, 2018 by

Twelve days in a row writing the same marketing copy for a project we started in July that was supposed to end in September. Sitting at my desk in the bedroom while the sun set reading it a final time … Continue reading →

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