They’re coming home. His home and soon to be hers.
“You really ought to do something about your feet,” Sue said, looking at them, as if they were not feet but sea creatures that are normally found in the cold, dark muck at the bottom of the ocean and have no business floating to the surface.
Then it happens. One day, they are barely looking and the next they are looking out the window at the green, summery world as if they have been welcomed into the Garden of Eden.
Our granddaughter Lillian just turned 3. Her mother made her a strawberry ice cream cake. Her mother is Katie, our oldest, and Lillian is her daughter.
I still haven’t killed my first mosquito. I’ve had lots of opportunities but these little ___ (fill in your favorite colorful word) are turbo-charged and smart. It’s as if this species, Aedes aegypti, "an aggressive, day-biting mosquito, which has the potential to spread viruses such as deng…
On my desk is a quart-sized Mason jar filled to the brim with coins. The jar, as the label indicates, previously held Luigi’s Italian beans, which if you have not had them, are like money, better than money and whose flavor is more long-lasting than anything money can buy.
Ice makers don’t have a mind of their own. That’s giving them too much credit. That’s making it seem as if their inner workings are something we might understand should we put our minds to it.
He isn’t looking for rainbows and ponies. Nothing sugarcoated. No Hallmark card with messages like “Adversity is the diamond dust Heaven polishes its jewels with.”
Is it me or are the mosquitoes worse this year? If there was a year where mosquitoes would swarm like bad news, this is the one. Mosquitoes and pandemic go together like biscuits and honey or the opposite, because they are neither pleasing nor sweet.
Everything else has happened, why not an earthquake? Although 2020 had a nice ring to it when the corks were flying, this could be a cleansing year. An opportunity to give up and look forward to 2021. In basketball and baseball, they call this tanking, and sometimes it works.
We recently drove to Nevada to visit our former neighbor Heidi Dinkler. Remember Heidi? She was the first female captain in the Kern County Fire Department and then made assistant chief before retiring and moving, first to Oxnard and now to Gardnerville, Nev.
This has been a week. This probably will always be a week. Dad died four years ago on June 15, Mom’s birthday is the 16th and today is Father’s Day.
Maybe Keith Stephens wasn’t a saint, and I don’t know if he was, however if you’re crawling out of Poso on a bike and Marotta’s hurt you, Pfister’s embarrassed you and Laurente is one stroke away from putting you away like winter clothes, the water fountain and bench that appear on your righ…
A friend emailed about a book he’d read recently about Michael Jordan called “When Nothing Else Matters.” It was written by Mike Leahy, one of his college roommates.
Jury duty. Again. It doesn’t matter how far away you go, how much time you think has passed or if it seems like yesterday when you received your last notice: Jury duty will find you.
Normally, I don’t do this kind of column. Not because I am above or below the subject matter but because other people are better at it and make it their life’s work. I’d like to think, though I may be kidding myself, that I traffic in light, love and humor.
Before dinner at a friend’s house, he asked me to look at his dog. I did, she was bounding around as Labs do, playing with a smaller dog as if she were smaller and a puppy herself.
I wanted her to die at home. In her comfortable dog bed in the garage or underneath the house in the cool dirt she loved so much during the hot summer and fall days. Chin to chin with Charlie, our 3-year-old terrier mix who would not leave her side at the end.
Claire called but she wasn’t looking for a media shoutout because that’s not Claire. To the contrary, I may take myself out of the running for a warm basket of herb bread by mentioning that Claire Porter's restaurant, Uricchio’s, is, as already reported by The Californian, reopening for take…
It doesn’t take mid-May, the end of a school year and an episode from “The Wonder Years” to make me think about teachers, learning and life but the three together in rapid succession don’t hurt.
No matter how many times you’ve seen it — one, 10 or 100 — it’s hard not to laugh when you watch the Festivus scene in "Seinfeld" with Jerry Stiller. Humor is hard to dissect and if you try too hard you can throttle the life out of it and not come any closer to what makes it funny.
You never know when the last time is going to be the last time, but the last time we ate at Noriega Hotel was just before Christmas with our friends Bart and Napier Hill. We sat next to a group of retired county employees who had brought a dozen or so great bottles of wine and were in the sh…
I counted my shorts and I have 11. I was happy to find that not all of them had toothpaste on them. Toothpaste and shorts go together like red wine and tablecloths. They will find each other in this life and the next.
A friend and I rode up Breckenridge this weekend to the farmhouse. This is a head-clearing, soul-refreshing, landscape-delighting ride. It was also an opportunity to look for poppies.
We’re out of flour again. “Out” or is Sue telling me we’re out because she wants first dibs on making a cake, pie or cookies? I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s hidden half a bag of unbleached Gold Medal Flour under a bed somewhere.
Ask yourself this question when tackling a project involving the slightest whiff of technology: "Am I smart enough to succeed?" The answer often is "no" as I discovered this weekend when trying to print my own stamps.
The dog was barking. Dogs bark, that’s not new, but Charlie, the little terrier, dachshund, fill-in-the-rest mix was barking in a way that indicated more than the usual disparate, nonspecific, someone-is-walking-by-with another-dog bark. This bark was higher pitched and more dramatic.
I have a soft spot for Bombas socks. A popup on the computer for the socks grabbed me with its tagline: “The most comfortable sock you’ll ever own.” After finding that to be true, I have ordered them for the children, Sue and myself.
Recently, I refinished some old oak floors. I’d been through the floor wars before, having done a similar job years ago. Then it was summer and I lost 10 pounds and surprisingly did not get a standing ovation when the floors were done.
The last song on John Prine’s last album, "Tree of Forgiveness," is called “When I Get to Heaven.” Everything you need to know about Prine, who died Tuesday at 73 due to complications of the coronavirus, is in that song.
Good time to read. Most mortals can't match the seven books Sue has read in the last month, but I finished a collection of pieces by sportswriter and poet Grantland Rice: