All posts in Fragments

  Nestled into West Los Angeles, bordered by the State streets of Missouri, Mississippi, Iowa, and Nebraska, was the wonderful world of Stoner Park…a state of its own as we were growing up. I am sure that it is a more polished recreation center now, offering par courses and yoga classes, and fenced-in toddler areas,…

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,…

      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…

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…

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…

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…

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.…

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…

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…