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Letters to the French: September 2012
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Letters to the French. I've never known anyone French. This is not likely to change that. Sunday, September 23. Call This A Drowning Of The Past. Flotsam: Red lines running into each other. Crowding. Bumping elbows, odors. Overlapping on maps. So much fire - Inciweb updates, and photos of the alien invasion. Air updates - ten times the particulate deemed Hazardous. And forever we're bathing in campfire. Wonder how long the thought of S'mores will induce nausea. Jetsam: Protect the homes. They water v...
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Letters to the French: June 2012
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Letters to the French. I've never known anyone French. This is not likely to change that. Monday, June 18. Into the sun this fatigue we wore; beside the sea the salt was tang and the sky a bird circling above breakers. The trail was soft, the trail was mud, the trail was a trickling stream. The trail was rocks, the trail was brush, the trail was dander and fluff and a song whistled in each heavy exhale. We dreamt the trail forever - and sea and sky seemed to comply. Instead we bedded down with elk.
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Letters to the French: August 2012
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Letters to the French. I've never known anyone French. This is not likely to change that. Thursday, August 30. Somewhere between then and now I stopped feeling. Or felt to progressively shallower depths, anyways. Bled less, somehow. And it was better, to have outgrown some of this. The passion of youth is wasted, foolish, and perfect because it's foolish. Watching students, I could not be more glad to see it behind me. To be free of it. To love again - but tempered, reasonably. Labels: blast from the past.
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Letters to the French: Favor (it)
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Letters to the French. I've never known anyone French. This is not likely to change that. Sunday, January 20. I pace. Phone to my ear. Trembling with cold, sure, but more with nerves - I grew up here, in this Wisconsin chill; the sun's shining, the temperature at least twenty, my breath barely a puff beside me - and of course he jokes: "What if I say no? By Idaho she's cold and I'm cold and our feet soak up the ice, pavement in the soles of our shoes and the air chilled ice, but I ask anyways, with this ...
loosedeuce.blogspot.com
Letters to the French: September 2011
http://loosedeuce.blogspot.com/2011_09_01_archive.html
Letters to the French. I've never known anyone French. This is not likely to change that. Tuesday, September 20. No Gang Signs At The Dinner Table. Of course, nor will I admit just how much coffee I'm drinking these days. Labels: friends and family. Misadventures in the outdoor world. Thursday, September 15. Notion that my presence'd make their absence less a void, it seems I'd that concept rather backwards, and have been corrected accordingly. She says, half-facetious, half-serious. Hah! Caretaking, tho...
loosedeuce.blogspot.com
Letters to the French: Call This A Drowning Of The Past
http://loosedeuce.blogspot.com/2012/09/call-this-drowning-of-past.html
Letters to the French. I've never known anyone French. This is not likely to change that. Sunday, September 23. Call This A Drowning Of The Past. Flotsam: Red lines running into each other. Crowding. Bumping elbows, odors. Overlapping on maps. So much fire - Inciweb updates, and photos of the alien invasion. Air updates - ten times the particulate deemed Hazardous. And forever we're bathing in campfire. Wonder how long the thought of S'mores will induce nausea. Jetsam: Protect the homes. They water v...
loosedeuce.blogspot.com
Letters to the French: Blazing On
http://loosedeuce.blogspot.com/2013/08/blazing-on.html
Letters to the French. I've never known anyone French. This is not likely to change that. Tuesday, August 6. The Colockum fire's eleven days in, the cost of her fight approaching seven mil, but no longer quite the fiendish monster she once was; her disposition's markedly improved. The air's too thick and wet for most controlled burns yet, humidity holding at 40% - this the hold on progress now. Interior fuels aren't dry enough to burn out, so we rest at 60% containment. At lunch yesterday, talking about ...
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Letters to the French: January 2013
http://loosedeuce.blogspot.com/2013_01_01_archive.html
Letters to the French. I've never known anyone French. This is not likely to change that. Sunday, January 20. I pace. Phone to my ear. Trembling with cold, sure, but more with nerves - I grew up here, in this Wisconsin chill; the sun's shining, the temperature at least twenty, my breath barely a puff beside me - and of course he jokes: "What if I say no? By Idaho she's cold and I'm cold and our feet soak up the ice, pavement in the soles of our shoes and the air chilled ice, but I ask anyways, with this ...
loosedeuce.blogspot.com
Letters to the French: April 2013
http://loosedeuce.blogspot.com/2013_04_01_archive.html
Letters to the French. I've never known anyone French. This is not likely to change that. Monday, April 15. I A gem this friend wrote the other day, even by his lofty norms. Of shortcomings, real and perceived. Of loss; of vulnerability; asking others to fill the gaps. It reamed my insides out, his honesty, and I wondered how he felt, so exposed. I couldn't even find the words to tell him how brave he was. I'm not so sour as I'll sound. The physical fatigue of these miles, of long weekends in the mou...
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Letters to the French: November 2011
http://loosedeuce.blogspot.com/2011_11_01_archive.html
Letters to the French. I've never known anyone French. This is not likely to change that. Monday, November 28. She's her melancholy. I've not my words. And there's a ghost come calling from the dark. So I've finished this second round of drink, realizing that if I'm drinking more often it may yet be I'm drinking less. Perhaps this is moderation - what a foreign word! Labels: love and life. Thursday, November 17. And the rest of the day came crashing in. And then a text from the high school: the school wa...