“I haven’t done this for a while but do you think anybody would take these things if we put them by the trash?” Sue said.
I thought it was me. Mosquito bites can be like depression. When you’re down in the dumps, it’s hard to imagine there is somebody sitting next to you in the darkness.
We saw one of Sue’s favorite cousins recently and had a chance to catch up. We have eight kids between us — four each — so catching up took awhile. They mentioned their son in Seattle. I was surprised to hear he had moved from Salt Lake City.
Notice came with an email alert from Capital One. One of those alerts that signify possible fraud. The notice read: “Is the tip that you left 48 percent?”
Last week, I called a friend to borrow a planer so I could shave off the top of a door that wouldn’t close, but he had loaned it to somebody else and couldn’t remember who.
Bakersfield is a hot place, an oceanless place and a place with more than its share of August-loving mosquitoes, but a good place, too.
How many passwords do I have? I’m not sure. I’d rather not think about it except there is no not thinking about passwords unless you want to jump on an ice floe and drift toward the sunset.
Batteries. I have them everywhere. Upstairs in the top left desk drawer, downstairs in the sideboard and scattered behind the votive candles in the laundry room.
My father-in-law John is one heck of a guy. He’s told me that himself. And if he hadn’t, his wife, Bev, known by appreciative family members as the saint, would confirm it.
Ken Burns may be the smartest person I’ve ever met but it’s not like we’re super good friends. We shook hands. He couldn’t pick me out of a one-person lineup, but I could him, even if he were flanked by Rhodes Scholars and astrophysicists.
During a recent visit to Mammoth to see my mother, she dropped a box of Milton's Multi-Grain crackers in the kitchen. She lost her grip on the rectangular package and it fell, dislodging five or six crackers which skittered and broke on the floor.
I grabbed the frozen cinnamon raisin bagel from the freezer and tapped it on the counter. The bagel was as hard as a hockey puck. Good thing we have a big, powerful Whirlpool microwave that has been a source of pride since it was installed six years ago.
He’s way too modest to think I’d write about him, but I’m not waiting until he’s dead. As fit and healthy as he is, he will probably outlive me and I will have lost my chance altogether.
A friend at the pool walked over to the lane in which I was swimming and said, “I’m so sorry you are leaving the paper. We’re going to miss you. Be proud of what you’ve done.”
This was meant to be my goodbye column. I’d been planning it for weeks much in the same way that people plan the speech they will be delivering at the Oscars or when they accept their Pulitzer.
This was a different kind of family trip. No water skiing on a blue-to-the bottom lake. No food hanging from a Sugar pine to keep the bears away. No on a lot of things but yes on meaningful, magical and memorable.
A couple days ago, I ordered the FIVE Star FS8801 Deep Tissue 3D Kneading Shiatsu Neck, Shoulder, Back, Leg and Foot Massager Pillow with Heat, Beige. It was $43.29 all in. I wasn’t expecting a miracle but when you have a stiff neck, you’ll pay for a miracle, if a miracle is available.
It’s easy to get mad at John Sweetser because he’s tuned up about every reporter and columnist for the paper over the last 30 years. Just when you think you’re hitting a lick, John will unceremoniously rip the Pulitzer Prize from your sweaty grip by informing you that you have not done your …
I was at the post office downtown sending a friend an Hawaiian shirt. I don’t know if he’ll like it but the shirt is soft, freshly pressed and looks good as new.
I think I spiked the football too soon. Did what I tell other people not to do. Performed a victory dance in the end zone and while I was celebrating, caught my spikes in the turf and did a faceplant.