White Fang will wait at the kitchen door, expecting us to call her into the backseat, so she can come along for the ride.
I will let Smartacus go the same way the New England Patriots released Cam Newton: reluctantly and with a heavy heart.
I went to sort it out, rounded the corner and saw him: the bear who came for lunch.
At one point in Field of Dreams, the hero’s dad returns for a game of catch. Silly thing to base a movie around. Jeeeesh.
I don’t write essays so much as I pull on little threads to see how they’ll unravel.
LA architecture often looks like the broken omelets I make…like some version of anti-matter.
My bar would be called “The Good Novel.” Debutantes would stumble in late, as would married women with money problems.
My late wife was barely 5 feet high and didn’t weigh a diddle. Yet she could elbow her way through almost any encounter, even marriage.
Like a lot of the Irish, I wake each morning with a broken heart, and in the course of the day try everything to mend it: oysters, potato skins, dad jokes, puns.
This has turned into a summer of the patio, a renaissance faire of gin and finger foods and homemade bean pie.