A personal journal of life during the time of covid-19 Wednesday, March 25th 5:30 in the morning and as per the routine I’m the first one up with Lexi a split second behind. Get dressed in the dark while Cora sleeps. I’ve decided that I’m going to have a dedicated “in the house” garb. My …
I’m up before dawn on a 50° F. morning; chilly for the Bay Area, balmy for those struggling with a side order of snow to go with their pandemic. Wife, daughter and grandchildren are enjoying the warmth of bed. Lexi bounces up, all tail wagging, rolling on the floor, butt in the air doggy excitement. …
I think there’s some value in putting down our own stories of this unprecedented moment in history, be they narratives, works of fiction, poetry, art, songs or any other record of the experience of 2020. Years from now, decades from now, historians and students will look for stories, particularly first person, of this singular event. …
panic pan-ik noun a sudden overwhelming fear, with or without cause, that produces hysterical or irrational behavior, and that often spreads quickly through a group of persons or animals. The daughter called while I was at the dog park. Lexi circling a big eucalyptus tree and barking at a squirrel chattering at her, rodent trash …
My San Francisco is a series of posts that describes my own personal relationship with The City. My San Francisco pieces might be photo essays; they might be life stories or they could be commentaries. They might be a combination of some or all three. My impressions aren’t always paeans to San Francisco; it’s a …
Ramshackle looking cafe/diners dotted the area. Places like Susie’s, family owned and looking sketchy on the outside and maybe a little greasy on the inside offered simple fare and good service
The City doesn’t beckon us back; we simply waiver and then cave. And so a few short months later I’d fallen in love again. That’s how it goes. It’s love/hate/love.
You passed them by as they left and you looked the other way, awkward, nothing to say. They were already gone, ghosts who’s memories haunted the productions lines.
There’s something heretical about buying a few cans of Spam, a frozen pizza, toilet paper and a sixer of Coors Light and then asking the checker, “Oh and can you ring me up a six foot noble fir please?” Some things just have to remain sacred.
With the approach of Thanksgiving dad’s combativeness withdrew, replaced by a light in his eye and a spark in his spirit.
The Life in My Years 