I’d go back to 1967 just for the bitchin’ drum solos.
Category: Family
Gin and Joni Mitchell
It was a plus-sized martini, the perfect serum for my cognitive dissonance. The blue-cheese olives were staring me right in the face – BAM -- daring me to drink it. So I did.
The Disco Dad
As a nation, I don’t think we’ve ever really recovered from disco.
Troubled Angels, Aching Hearts
My four kids were my Moonlight Sonata. Some children are easy; they almost raise themselves. Others push your every button. I call them troubled angels.
Crisscross Apple Sauce!
Just think of all the shared moments – the moms, the dads, the PJs, the cozy bedtimes – that Dr. Seuss gave us all. Basically, he taught America to read. Were his playful poems more important than even Yeats’? No question.
Some Ambient Solar Sequin?
We’re not sure exactly who loves it here; the kids think it’s the adults, the adults think it’s the kids. Yet, it’s Our Town -- every day a georgic poem.
Wild Orchids
I don’t conjure the worlds we all want. I conjure the worlds we all need. I also yell at clouds and fire trucks.
Taking Dance Lessons
If you have never waltzed you cannot imagine the sheer voluptuousness of it, noted the poet Mary Mackey.
Real Restaurants
Bittner and I are at this famous tiki joint (Damon’s in Glendale), where Los Angeles itself is embedded in the old carpets and the woodwork seems glazed in BBQ sauce. A place like this takes time. Like a good novel. Like a good friend.
Let Me Count the Ways
Love is also that thing you feel for someone on the way home from a long trip, warm against your shoulder -- a kid, a parent, a partner.