Category Archives: Writing

November 17

First Kiss

If you had to watch all the first kisses of your entire life replayed on a videotape you’d really start to notice the problems piling up. Maybe you have a better reel than I do, but without the soft head rush of a good kiss to mask over the problems, the issues really start to […]

November 17

The Zen Payoff

They should learn of my passing from the sandbox gardener. Don’t even let the gardener look up. He should just tell the visitors over his shoulder and keep raking.

October 24

Photographs and Memories

An image of a man and his things – his precious, precious things – an image viewable only at a great distance, from some vast outer space of feeling, from the vacuum of gain and loss, from the breathtaking cosmos of memory with all its twinkling stars of ephemera.

October 12

My Wife

There is a kind of first impression recalibration you usually get when you meet people. There was the person you thought they were that first night, because they looked like somebody you knew in elementary school or your cousin or an actress or an old girlfriend. The first impression can be completely positive and you […]

October 06

Chevy Vega vs. MGB

To be fair to Mom, there was a deep mantra at work in the family’s automotive life. The steady Tibetan drone of “cars are not toys, cars are not toys, cars are not toys” – helped remind me that cars are the neuron-thin floss that keep us tethered to the Spaceship Life and protect us […]

September 23

Twelve Foot Hawaiian Wave

There are plenty of artists in my mother’s collection to whom I’m indifferent. I certainly didn’t like all her friends. I flick, flick, flick past Leadbelly and Bessie Smith and Joan Sutherland and Bennie Goodman and gloomy Wagner. I’m flat on Bel Canto, 45’s that need swirly plastic inserts, anything in mono even if it […]

September 23

True Love

Then, foolishly, I waited and hoped, but Olivia Newton-John, the Australian goddess of song, did not write me back. Not even a mass-produced, machine autographed headshot. Nothing. The brutal, unrequited void. * When I was seven years old things got so musically out of hand I was forbidden to play the Carpenters when other family […]

September 23

The Records

There are about ten milk crates of family records in the attic and I head there to raid them, looking for a soundtrack to help me sort the pictures and letters. I am not looking for favorites from a vast teenage collection – a vintage that, in places anyway, has been replaced on CD, but […]

Bergamo, Italy September 23

The Watchmaker

When I first arrive it looks remarkably like the upper city – Citta Alta – in Bergamo, Italy. Bergamo was a walled medieval town where I lived for a year as a child when I was seven. It had cobblestone streets, a piazza with a thick-chained fountain filled with coins that were free for the […]