If, when I die, I end up in music heaven, my requested lineup will be the Grateful Dead (Jerry Garcia intact), Crosby Stills Nash (with Neil Young) and, as the opening act, the Cordovas. But luckily I don't have to wait until I punch my ticket to enjoy one of those acts, since the Nashville-…
I got a kick out of Milt and some of it had to do with fitness, a subject about which he was serious. Milt was Milt Younger, the attorney who died recently. He, however, had graduated to one-name status a long time ago.
It had been 30 years since I had played on clay but the joy flooded back. The warmup was slow and languorous, the court seemed bigger, not bad bigger, but bigger with possibilities and places to explore.
It is challenging, if not unwise, to pass Manchester Boulevard off the 405 and Randy's without stopping for their cinnamon crumb cake doughnuts.
Bear with me, this piece could run awhile. Grandparents' Day, which is Sunday, is hard to keep to 500 words. Five hundred words is a warmup. Five hundred words is a throat clearer because any grandparent worth his or her salt could go biblical in length and Al Michael in superlatives.
Her last client was Kim Kitsch. “Her” is Melissa. The last name is Knapp, but that's unnecessary if you were a client or a friend — and clients were usually both.
A couple days ago, I heard "Strong Enough" by Sheryl Crow. That song reminds me of Lois Henry because most of us are barely strong enough to be her friend. Strong enough to argue with her. Strong enough to answer her phone calls should she be dogging an issue that was important to her.
Yesterday, I unscrewed the green garden hose from the hose bib. It had been billed as the “last hose you will ever buy.” That last hose I will ever buy will be the first hose I throw away when I hook up the new, black, expandable hose that came in the mail this week.
A high of 94 on Monday? Get out the Patagonia fleece. Fall is on the way and count on it soothing our chaffed souls by week’s end.
I looked at the weather app on my phone last week because the heat and guessing the high for the day has almost become a parlor game. It was 7:30 a.m. and already 90 degrees.
I called my sister to wish her happy birthday. Pam was older but how much older I wasn’t sure. Better to let her bring it up, which she did before too long.
I thought I had the record after spending three hours assembling the Little Tikes Cozy Coupe for our granddaughter Nora's first birthday but it appears I have competition as well as company.
Ten years ago I was in a thrift store in San Juan Capistrano and bought a green, short-sleeved cotton shirt from the Hawkings McGill collection, a collection I was not familiar with then or have seen since.
Yes. That’s the answer to will she know what to do with a chocolate cupcake. Children are born with the cupcake gene and by their first birthday, it is in full bloom.
Tony’s finest moment may have been the day he caught a jack rabbit in the shop. Former Californian reporter Gretchen Wenner had had her car towed in after breaking down on I-5 in the middle of way-out-there.
I was in Redondo Beach for a 60th birthday party. Life moves in waves. One day, weddings and the next, 60th birthday parties. Both are rich.
In honor of Dad, Sue cooked artichokes on the anniversary of his death. He liked artichokes and wanted to share them with everybody. Dad liked them in season and out.
We’re all recovering from something, and there is no better recovery drink than chocolate milk — chocolate for your tattered soul and milk for your beautiful body.
I was talking to a friend a couple of months ago when he reached for a cup of water. After straightening his right arm to reach the cup, he bent it at the elbow so he could bring the water to his mouth. When he did, I was stunned. Stunned and sad.
When I walked into the condo in Mammoth, there was a keyboard on the dining-room table, sheet music and some how-to guides. Three weeks from now, Mom turns 90. What better time to learn.
Last week was the last week. I’m wistful and I’m not. Wistful because second- graders are becoming third-graders, third becoming fourth and fourth closer to, "Goodbye, Mama and Papa." Meanwhile, parents are doing their best to slow down this rocket ship.
Strike almost-one for the guide was that he looked like my ex-brother-in-law. Athletic, sparse beard and laid-back take on most subjects.
Thomas, our youngest, cooks for a living, both privately and in restaurants. Most recently he lived with us while working for a local family, before taking off for a five-month stint at a restaurant in Gloucester, Mass.
I was talking to a friend. He knows vaguely what I do for a living. “Vaguely” because it is vanity to expect anybody to know what you do for a living.
“Did you know that we never recorded our marriage certificate?" Sue said recently. “I went to the Hall of Records to get our affairs in order and found that although we were legally married, we apparently never turned in the paperwork."
The first hot day, you don’t think you’re going to make it. I’m not going to make it, you say to yourself. Summer hasn’t even started.