How is life?
My enduring memory of Jeff Thomson, who died Oct. 10, was being with him in a duck blind. As he scanned the horizon, he had never seemed more at peace and never happier.
In a good used bookstore, you can walk but may be walking sideways. Shuffling. Moving your feet carefully to avoid kicking over the stacks and then readying your hands in the grab-a-book-that-is-falling position.
Recently, we were eating at a nice restaurant, one with white tablecloths, silverware bound in cloth napkins, flowers in a crystal vase and a basket of warm bread flanked by a small bowl rimmed with cool pats of sweet butter.
A few weeks ago, the printer at home stopped working. I am the IT man in our house, which sounds good but it isn’t. Dante’s description about the entrance of hell also applies to me being the IT man: “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”
All safaris start with good safari wear and I couldn’t wait to wear mine. I had a tan tracker shirt and tan pants, both with multiple pockets in which the brave tracker can stash ranch-flavored Corn Nuts should he have to distract an angry rhino who is hot on his trail.
The rest of year, it’s nothing. Not nothing, but almost nothing. Near enough to nothing that when I drive by the fairgrounds in February, May or in the dead of August, I am flooded by memories of the fair in all its homey, corny and magnificent-in-its-own way glory.
I like getting gas, especially before a road trip when filling up is coupled with cruising through Cruz Thru Express Carwash.
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.