Tag Archives: writing

Entering Elma | field notes from the Pacific Coast

May 28, SAMMAMISH By the time I got to Kalaloch they’d stopped serving breakfast and were turning things over for lunch, not in a rush to seat anyone. We were backing up in the lobby, I was second, a party … Continue reading

Posted in identity, Memoir | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 18 Comments

‘Like frogs or rabbits’ | on living in the present, and wandering

May 15, 2017 Faint rain, imagined snow. Mid May and it’s still stew weather, heavy stouts. I have to run the heat in the morning driving in to work but refuse to wear a jacket and then turn off the … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 30 Comments

Blue skied an’ cleared one Saturday¬†

The slow collapse of order brought me comfort, the release to chaos. The house in disarray with shoes everywhere and kids and unclaimed cups and odd dining hours (10 o’clock for dinner) that reminded me of our times in France … Continue reading

Posted in prose | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

Do enough drugs and the trees will talk back

I don’t know why I have to drink beer when I brown beef but I just do. Maybe so I’m doing something other than drinking. I went back to my notes from Friday morning on Cougar Mountain with the dog, … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 24 Comments

Thinking about writing, talking about writing, and writing

I learned there was an artist in our neighborhood who wrote gothic fantasy stories and illustrated them and his name was Brom. It gave me hope there were other freaks in the suburbs like me. His house seemed normal enough … Continue reading

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On the Road, with Robert Smith (1987)

God bless my dad, that summer we drove out west and only had three tapes, two of them mine. We took a train from Chicago to Denver where we rented a car and camped around the Rockies, then drove to … Continue reading

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

The last of the daily monastic offices

There was a problem with the house work I think. I couldn’t stop going between the laundry room and the den and lost track of who I was, I got covered in dog hair and slacks I wore across Europe … Continue reading

Posted in musings, prose | Tagged , , , | 8 Comments