Dream, 1/13/89 (Friday the thirteenth), Council, Idaho By Frances Slept till after noon again, still don’t know what’s wrong with me. Stayed up till 2, but even so, who needs ten hours of sleep? To dream? I certainly have been dreaming. Just woke up from this dream. Timothy and I are in the same house I have dreamt […]
The House That Grew Rooms Read More »
Letter to Dad, a dream, March 5, 1982 Dear Dad, I just awoke from this dream. Frances and I were arriving in Boise in the late afternoon. You were still at the college. Mom greeted us cheerfully at the door, but I could not linger in the reunion; I had to answer nature’s call. I
Over The Fence of Our Differences Read More »
The Log Cabin syrup can, Dad’s gift of a morning science lesson If memory serves me, I was about five or six years old, having breakfast in the kitchen at Gramma and Grampa Tompkins’ house in Portland, Oregon. But the old folks weren’t there, probably off at work or shopping on a Saturday morning. So
The Log Cabin Syrup Can Read More »
Tim’s 2021 Memorial Day Dream About 1975 Amp Repair in Oregon City. I vaguely (unreliable) remember telling part of the following story to tech support whiz, Jason Beyer at Watlow-Winona, about a decade ago, but now it relates even more to my day-job’s recent controller developments. While drinking this morning’s coffee, I remembered a dream
Tim’s 2021 Dream about 1975 Amp Repair Read More »
A Valentine for FrancesBy Tim Sunrise on the 2nd of January, 2005I’m flying east while my girl lies asleepwith vivid dreams to keep her warm.Ten more nights to go,the longest we’ve ever been apartsince our flaming start one score and five-point-six years ago.San Juan Chickens is ready to crow,the master, the graphics, the critical hours behind
Valentine For Frances Read More »
MacGregor & Gallopaway October 19, 1985Dear Steve, Kelly, and Karen, I don’t feel like writing this letter, but I stamped and addressed 23 envelopes and they’re in my way. This truck is crowded, I mean STUFFED. All we need now is your dog, Karen. I’d kill myself. I almost do all the time anyway, bumps and bruises, because I
Frances letter to Steve, Kelly, and Karen Read More »
[November 22, 2000. I pick nine-year-old Paris up from school. As soon as we get in the car, she starts.] (Luckily, I had the tape recorder on.) P: I’m hungry I’m hungry I’m hungry.F: What do you want to eat?P: I don’t know. I’m hungry I’m hungry I’m hungry I’m hungry I’m hungry…F: Alright! We’ll
[Autobiographical incident, written 10/12/04, school period ½] I was lying on a cot full of fuzzy comfortable blankets, I was so warm and tired so I didn’t want to get up. I couldn’t ignore that annoying hand that kept coming back and poking and shaking me, nor those strange high pitch noises that the intruder
I daydream about being an old lady like my gramma.I will have a little house like she didand keep it neat and clean and cheerful. There will be a garden of zinnias and sunflowerswith vegetables in the middle.And my grandchildren will visit me.I wish I had my pension so I could be there now. I don’t
I Daydream About Being An Old Lady Read More »
San Juan Bautista, California 2016-Sep-10 Take-1, unedited, as told in our kitchen by Tim to his wife Frances and to Kinan Valdez, the producing director of local theater company, El Teatro Campesino. Just before Kinan concluded his friendly visit to our house, on a whim, I started the iPhone, on the kitchen counter near the back
Tim Bikes Up to Hometown Water Tank Read More »