It’s the open windows of summer that I’ve started to miss. I miss all the people in town sharing their indoor space with the world. On my walk home, I used to be able to hear a conversation every night outside an open kitchen window. It was a husband and wife, both just getting home. It was the same time every night, the three of us doing our societal clockwork. I’d hear only small fragments and always the same questions: the how-was-your-days or anything-happen-at-work-todays? The mundane exchanges coupled with the openness of the window always lead me into nostalgia, like they should have a pie cooling on the windowsill or something.
My neighbor plays his piano every night. He lives alone with his master piano and he isn’t very good. Still, as I sit in my home and he in his, I wouldn’t trade our evening concerts for anything.
Air-conditioning can sometimes feel like a godsend, but God, it’s so nice to feel like nothing’s changed.
Posted in places, short shorts | Tagged evening, piano, summer, windows | 2 Comments »
There’s somethin’ brewin’.
Posted in my life | Leave a Comment »
Therein lies the rub. Therein lies the rub. Therein lies the rub.
Why has everyone agreed to this misquote? Aye, there’s the rub.
This will change your life:
1/4 nutritional yeast
sea salt to taste
agave to taste
Penzey’s Brady Street Cheese Sprinkle.
Last week, my kitchen sink clogged. Laura and I went to the pharmacy to get some Draino. While we were waiting at the checkout line, Laura said, “Oh! We should get one of these Seattle shot glasses for your sister!”
She put one on the counter. I paid.
Yep. We bought a bottle of draino and a shot glass. No questions asked.
Posted in Triple Shots | 3 Comments »
One weekend: City lights in the rear-view, The Sunday Times, an Irish pub, sunsets, crashing waves, cold nights, sweaters, drive-up beach fronts, and books and books and books and books and books and the first glimpse of springtime sun.
Here’s to the warmer months to come…
Posted in my life | Tagged books, ireland, irish, laura, ocean, spring, summer, sun | Leave a Comment »
I met a glass blower today on Capitol Hill. I didn’t know that could be your living these days. Apparently, Seattle has the second most glass blowing studios in the world after Murano in Venice, Italy. Walking down to the docks today, water on all sides, I wanted the sense of urgency that this city would be sinking too.
Posted in places | Tagged atlantis, flood, seattle, venice | 4 Comments »
At the bakery in the market, the woman behind the counter always calls me “scrumple.” Like, “Whaddya need today scrumple?” “Try this this sample you scrumple you.” Not only is it weird, but it sounds like a baked good, and I just don’t like the insinuation that I have the same name as the things she sells.
“I want every day of my life to look like a postcard,” he told me.
“That’d be good,” I said. “Then you could buy the cheaper stamps.”
I heard this on the bus: “I just feel like we’re adults now. We can’t just go off and start stealing cars all of a sudden.”
Kids will be kids, that’s what I always think when I hear about motor vehicle theft.
Posted in Triple Shots | 3 Comments »
Through west Texas you told me I needed to take a step back
when all we had was yellow brick after yellow brick after yellow brick,
I stayed between the lines.
And that always bigger picture of things loomed
above us, gazing in through the windshield,
squeezing our cheeks like a grandmother, so proud.
For us, all that was were stars and stars and stars.
Hours crawled by a mile a minute and change.
You got quiet for fifty some odd ticks to the odometer
and I peeked over and saw your eyes open.
I flicked my brights to wink at you and maybe you missed it.
I took a step back.
What’s left when every thing’s ahead?
Posted in poetry | Tagged grandmother, road trip, stars, texas | 2 Comments »