My childhood friend from Iowa called the other day. As we were comparing notes about our dysfunctional childhood households (hers with physical abuse, mine verbal), she mentioned the immigrant caravan at the border. “What are going to do about that?” she said. “Let in the women and children,” I said. “I’m not sure about the… Continue reading The Benefits of a Hard Childhood
The 30th anniversary of the big quake (and my first quake) is tomorrow. It was 6.9 on the Richter Scale, the Loma Prieta earthquake, centered near Santa Cruz. The floor started rolling, and there was noise and lights swinging. It lasted for 15 long seconds. By the time I grabbed the baby and found the… Continue reading Wake-up Call
(re-run) I’ve lived in my little house for seven years and four months. The neighborhood is about 48 years old, and the trees that are here are huge. My pie-shaped lot is wide and shallow in the back. Las Trampas Ridge is due west, beyond the freeway, but I could not see it because of… Continue reading Be Careful What You Wish For
The summer concerts have ended, except for one. The sleeveless cotton dresses are packed away, along with pairs of shorts and sandals. It’s jeans and long sleeves now, with the occasional hot afternoon where I strip down to my undershirt. Fall has arrived, not so much with leaves changing colors. We don’t have cold enough… Continue reading You Know It’s Fall when . . .
PK lived in Jersey when her friend’s mum was terminally ill in Boston. When her friend called to say her mother had died, PK woke up feeling bad but thought it was the heat. She wanted to go to the funeral and surprise her friend. She loaded up her three-year-old daughter and took off for… Continue reading A Funeral, an Appendix, and a Dead Concert
When I moved to the Bay Area, no one explained what Fleet Week was. But after many years, I finally figured it out — big ships, military stuff, the Blue Angels. The Blue Angels are six military jets that fly in formation by some amazing pilots. They fly over the city of San Francisco for… Continue reading Fleet Week and the $10,000,000 Lot
When our daughter came out, covered in dark hair just like her dad, the nurse slapped an i.d. tag on her tiny little foot. For some reason I reached over to read it.