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Hit Parade

The year was 1957 and I was new to St. Monica’s. Our move from WLA to a nicer house in Santa Monica, where I could abandon the service porch bed I had known for 8 years and actually have a room of my own, was bittersweet. I had to start a new school without Terry, … Continue reading »

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The Joy of Cooking

      Cooking existed as a mystery to me until I was fully an adult. As a growing boy, I was never asked, nor did I show the mildest interest in learning to cook. As far as I knew, my father did not cook either(nor did any uncle or grandfather)  and the lot of … Continue reading »

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Playing it forward

  My parents were immigrants. They landed on Ellis Island without an invitation. Everyone lived together in a boarding house in Detroit. After my folks met and married, we all moved together, aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents, to the same building in West LA., where I spent my first five years. I slept in the … Continue reading »

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Pat had a VW. Tim had a cool, red, ’57 Chevy convertible. McGee had a corvette. Thom, a flaming orange ’57 Chevy. I had a choice between my mother’s pink ’57 Olds or my Dad’s black ‘60 Cadillac. So I mostly rode with friends. Now the Caddy was sweet in its way. It had those … Continue reading »

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It bothers me that I cannot fully recall my dreams. While I often awake with a fragment or two of where I have been, the whole of it is quickly lost. Amazing moments, tragic moments, people who are long gone, others who have no relationship to each other in my other life frolic and interact … Continue reading »

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Two households, both alike in dignity In fair Verona, where we lay our scene…

Ah, Italy…the birthplace of graffiti…and one is constantly reminded as your train lumbers into or out of any station. Verona is no exception. Coming from the otherworldly, other-age Venice, it is a shock to see modern buildings and roads and cars. But being intrepid travelers we drag our wheeled carry-ons a mile or so through … Continue reading »

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Most mornings find me with our dog, Doc, hiking one trail or another in the hills around Ojai. Of course I do it to get Doc out, but I also do it to fight off the inevitable side effects of aging. Yet, walking is a reflective exercise, for the most part, particularly when walking alone. … Continue reading »

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March Air Force Base, June 1965

The call came late in the afternoon, that time of day when it is nearly impossible to see oncoming cars or animals or, in this case a small girl on a bike. Her mother had been having a smoke with a friend, talking about the new teacher, about moving back to Waco when his discharge … Continue reading »

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Coney Island of the Mind

Smack-dab in the middle of LA, late 50’s, early 60’s, Pershing Square sat triumphantly as the gathering place for all those living on the edge of society. Sure, you could get a taste of it in Venice, which was still some years from becoming a caricature of itself, but Pershing Square was the heavyweight championship … Continue reading »

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Like my writing, which comes forth in fragments, my house is full of minor mementos: objects, many having little or no value elsewhere, but each having achieved some significance for me or for Meredy. I do not always understand the significance of her seeming junk, nor she mine, so we each have to be careful … Continue reading »

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