The Zoom life, my gig driving Juber, and moonlighting as a construction manager and short order cook have left little room for creative writing. A few weeks into my new job I realized if I didn’t block my calendar, I’d never get to eat. That said, my lunchtimes are too…
I have this memory of sitting across the table from James at Cindy’s Backstreet Kitchen in Saint Helena. And he’s about to take his first bite of this mile high piece of s’mores pie. Some google sleuthing has uncovered that despite having eaten this pie more than fifteen years ago,…
I was three years old when I met Jamie. Of my closest friends, I have exactly zero memories of meeting any of them. But Jamie? I’ll never forget. I’m outside in the yard at Kathy Brown’s Preschool. The swing set is nearby, and kids are playing and shouting. I’m standing…
When we were in college, I gave James a lot of grief about his pillow. It was so bad. I called it his Sock Pillow. Imagine a pillowcase with a sock in it. Flat. Kind of lumpy. Perfectly sized if you’re a Barbie. He’d ball up that bag of parakeet…
Pajama pants are all the rage. And white Crocs. Half the kids at our schools look like Papa Smurf after a long winter’s nap… The boys have always shunned “Pajama Day.” Until this year. The last day of school before break was crowned “Pajama Day,” or just Normal Day for…
On Saturday, the boys and I went downtown for a little wandering. And tacos. We brought a small glass milk bottle, signed and tied a special little note to it, and piled into my car. For a few minutes we were afraid our downtown flower shop had gone under. Fortunately,…
Years ago we coined the term: A James Day. For a hot second I lobbied for A Jaimie Day, but it never caught on. What constitutes a James Day you ask? It’s a bit loosey goosey. Maybe that’s the point. It usually involves a drive somewhere. Combined with a lot…
Moonshiner Collective Forever floatingAround a distant sunThis old circle holds the dreamsOf the fortunate ones And some say lifeIs where it beginsAnd straight to the stars is where it endsOnly to start againTo start again Consciousness liftedWhen we gather aroundIt’s got us flying with the birdsTo never return to ground…
My dearest Nate, It’s time for your annual birthday letter… nine months late but who’s keeping score? Well, you probably. You’re very good with points. But it’s my blog. I’m the head ref. And you know better than to argue with the ref. Your twelfth year is a bit of…
On November third, Nate had his third x-ray. After several ambiguous days filled with mysterious computer imaging problems and consecutive telehealth appointments with nothing to report, I demanded a disk, picked it up, and FedEx’d it overnight to Santa Barbara. Our PA, Raquel, calls me on Thursday and cheerfully reports…