By Erin Bidlake
sunday ritual on pbs: the joy of bob ross. midge, arthritic legs swung over the arm of her lazy-boy, i sat at her elbow. we lived for this: bob ross creating order in the world between newcasts, we watched his hands tap and brush, ten inch afro, greying. happy valley, happy pine. he was a… Continue reading bob ross, helluva guy
I am standing in drenching rain peering up at a great cathedral, through a chilling mist that, condensed on the flanks of two shaggy horses, has turned to ice. This makes it hard to see and so I hurry across the street to take shelter under the tremendous eaves, where I feel my fingers slowly… Continue reading In a Cathedral
For the girl whose face I can never quite see. Like most things, it started out as a joke. Life that is. But unfortunately, I never really found it that funny. The punchline of this joke happened on a rainy November day. I don’t know why it was raining. It just was. It was a… Continue reading Forgotten Ever After