Sure, he was slow to walk with at ballgames, and he told jokes I didn’t understand. But what a grandpa he was. For years, I thought he might’ve been Santa Claus.
What does “hurkle-durkle” mean? (hint: You do it in bed).
To me, it’s like the end of the Jazz Age. Or when Cronkite went off the air. So long, Pac-12. This may be the stupidest thing I've ever seen.
God and Norman Rockwell still reside in little church halls like this one, where the Kiwanis meet weekly for song and fellowship.
I remember the thud of the oven when my folks basted the bird. I remember the sage, the sizzle, the grease….
What we actually celebrate at Thanksgiving is the resounding idea that, in America, everything will turn out OK. That it will deliver on our dreams. Maybe not as it once did. Or maybe, for some, better than it ever has before.
Sails equal horsepower, and artisans build them the way God makes tulips, strong and no thicker than absolutely necessary.
Doesn’t everyone need a loud and loving Mexican place that opens to the sidewalk, where the hosts half-recognize you when you walk in the door?
Had a lovely evening at the California Club the other night, where my pals Blaine and Lynda gave us a behind-the-scenes tour of the kitchen, all gleaming, all prepped to woooooosh out 250 meals in 15 minutes, which I don’t believe is humanly possible, yet time after time I see it at banquets and bar … Continue reading What a Table, What a Night
The notion of afterglow comes to mind, in the wake of this ridiculous tailgate party we had the other afternoon, in the slanting light of late October. There was happenstance. There were kegs. Old friends jostled for position at the bar as Miller fed them glass after glass of lime juice and tequila, a form … Continue reading Mirth. Playfulness. Friendship.