Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head

(re-run) A month ago, California hadn’t had a drop of rain in twenty-nine days.  It was the driest February since 1864.  Now it is “Miracle March,” and it seems to be raining every day. I’m not complaining. We need snow to build up in the Sierras to provide lots of snow pack melt-off in the… Continue reading Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head

Highway Dog

(re-run) I’m in my little beach town, up the road a bit from Carmel.  At the end of each month, the block of thrift stores in the Barnyard Shopping Center near Carmel Valley put their merchandise at 50% off for a day or two.  Yellow Brick Road was on its second day of sale yesterday,… Continue reading Highway Dog

The Young Have Strength, the Old Have Cash

The stages of life are a series of polar opposites. The young are strong. The old are at their wealthiest. The young can’t afford stuff but are strong enough to lift it. The old can’t lift it, but they have the cash to buy things. This is how I got my new bathroom vanity installed… Continue reading The Young Have Strength, the Old Have Cash

Just for the Halibut

Father’s Day has come and gone. I saw many black and white photos of men on Facebook, people my age honoring their deceased dads. I didn’t have a good photo of Dad to post, just silly ones or childhood ones. It never occurred to me 34 years ago that I would someday want a good… Continue reading Just for the Halibut

Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head

A month ago, California hadn’t had a drop of rain in twenty-nine days.  It was the driest February since 1864.  Now it is “Miracle March,” and it seems to be raining every day. I’m not complaining. We need snow to build up in the Sierras to provide lots of snow pack melt-off in the early… Continue reading Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head

The Escape Artist

When my son was born, he came out angry, two weeks early and mad as hell. “He looks like a prosecutor,” the nurses said. Fast forward two years. He wouldn’t hold my hand while walking to and from the car. He wouldn’t hold my hand in parking lots. He was always running away inside of… Continue reading The Escape Artist