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,… Read More ›
Lily’s crying upstairs now but it’s not the cries of a child, it’s the depths of horror, of hormones. She doesn’t seem interested (in an emotional way) in the bedtime ritual, it’s more transactional now—like anything, it doesn’t happen overnight,… Read More ›
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… Read More ›
First snow on the mountains, and they all look like postage stamps with the clouds, matted in lavender-blue. There’s a purple piece of foam I found on the trail someone dropped, for sitting on, and I take it with me… Read More ›
It’s a cold, wet snow that’s started on the mountain passes and though we’re much lower elevation in the foothills, it’s the same chill in the air that defies logic, that seems so much colder than the temperature—like that San… Read More ›
The sound of my kids upstairs in the morning singing, getting ready for school, the same nonsensical sound as birds in spring, makes you wonder why they really sing, if it’s to sooth themselves. I get to fix them toast… Read More ›
Went down to the den, turned out the lights, waited for the moon. The cat got on me and I cupped her head in my palms, Egyptian, an upside-down pyramid from the tip of the nose, fans out to the… Read More ›
By the time we got to Saturday I’d run out of things to complain about. Leonard Cohen was dead and Donald Trump President Elect—and it looked like rain the rest of the week, but that’s what you expect from November. Anthony… Read More ›
In 1993 I made a mix tape called Enthusiasm. It was the Word of the Day that day, one of my favorites. I learned its origin was Greek, you could tell by the way it ended, like Orgasm or Prism…. Read More ›
Back in Germany, Eberhard was like a floor warden in his vest he was so anal about my mom burning candles in the house. The place is 500 years old and all wood, there is that, and because it gets… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 