In my mind, I'm five years old having a high old time wandering and wondering. In reality, I'm now approaching my late 60s, wowza! I tell you a lot of creativity is still to be found in this old young self. In you, too, whatever your age. Welcome to my barefoot world!
In 1975, he worked part-time "to earn pocket money and get a little bit of exercise". When I was 19, I visited the Philippines with Daddy. I saw where both Daddy and Mama came from—the barrio of Bactad in the province of Pangasinan. I, who was born in the United States, did not feel like I finally found home. Ten years later, I visited Hawaii for the first time. Immediately, I knew I was home. The smell. The feel. The taste. Hawaii was where Daddy lived for a quarter of his century. His youth, his coming into middle-age, his single life. There, in Hawaii, in the sugarcane fields, the streets of Honolulu. There, he lived away from family, independent and free. Daddy was one of the many young Filipino men who signed a three-year contract to work on Hawaiian plantations. His year to leave home was 1928. A young, handsome man of 23 years. What was it like for him? I cannot even begin to imagine. His plan was to go back home after his contract was up. But he had ma
Some days are better than others when it comes to my memory. Who am I kidding? It's really down to moments. Once upon a time, a long time ago, when I was 17, I memorized all of Horton Hears a Who! by Dr. Seuss for a public-speaking competition. I recall stumbling once or twice. Maybe trice. Ah, I had a strong memory back then. My long-term memory is still rather good. I just related a tale from over 40 years ago, didn't I? It's the short-term memory. Sigh. The other day, I was telling the Husband how many states allow employers to pay their workers who receive tips far less than minimum wage, as long as the combination of their tips and hourly rate (let's say $2.13/hour) totals up to either the federal or state minimum wage, whichever is the higher amount in the state. Yes, I know. The Husband could not believe it either. I'm glad to say that California does not have that law. I told the Husband that I learned all this from research I had done the day before f
You, liberals, want the government to give everything away for free. Huh? You want free sex and free rock-and-roll! Huh? Tickets to rock-and-roll shows cost too much for my budget. As for sex. Pay for it? You're kidding. Right? Ah, if only I had been more nimble minded to think of these answers not four decades ago, but just several weeks past. The funny thing was that the person who said it was not someone from an older generation. Unless, hmmm, I count my generation, which is now an older one. A night out means wearing my dancing shoes and carrying my fancy old-lady purse, which was free. Oh, no!
Spring? Winter? I dunno. We're finally getting rain. Lots of rain. Plenty of rain. We may have a lousy apricot crop though. That's okay. We have several bags of frozen apricot form last year's harvest. Yesterday, the husband and I went out for a walk. After two days of being indoors, because of the lovely rain, our bodies were shouting "Exercise, Pu-leese!" The rain had stopped. The sky was blue. The wind was strong. And, bitingly cold. I complained, of course. "You'll warm up. Walk fast," said the husband, stretching ahead of me. I kept my head down and let the wind zig and zag me as I walked. I pretended I was a kite. By the time we reached our goal, we were both game to go a further distance to return home. I'm glad we did. We would not have known that there was snow on the mountain range to the east. Nothing like all-of-a-sudden treats. Have a wonderful week, dear readers. It may look like white clouds just above the mountain
Last week, the husband and I bought a grow-your-own mushroom kit from Bertuccio's Market , one of our local produce stores. As you can see the kit is a very compact package. It's also very easy to take care of, as long as I remember to spritz the slits after breakfast and then again in the evening as the husband washes the dinner dishes. Five days later—so far, so good. Little bumps are starting to burst forth. The mushroom kit is produced by Back to the Roots , a company based in Oakland, California. According to the instructions, the kit should produce 1.5 pounds of oyster mushrooms. The first crop should appear in 10 days. After five days, I don't know about that. Maybe it means, the bumps will have grown into larger bumps and pushed their way through the bag. We've tried growing mushrooms before, with zilch results. But, then, that was because we let the magic dry out long before we paid attention to the package. Maybe this time, it'll be different. We a
Since Molly the Cat came into our lives, I did not know that: Cats snore. Cats sleep on their backs with their arms and legs splayed out. Yeah, just like a drunken person. Cats like to have something to eat after having been brushed. Cats don't necessarily know how nor inclined to say meow to their humans. Molly the Cat chirrups when she talks to us. Cats will wait until you clean up their litter box, then jump into it immediately and do their thing. I always thank Molly the Cat for doing it before I throw the poop bag away. Cats will suddenly race around the house after something that only they can see. They run so fast, you think you can see lines of action, such as those drawn in cartoons, extending from them as they shoot down the hallway and take the corner almost in mid air. Cats will pretend to wait for your permission to go explore that dark corner between the couches just to make you feel that you are the boss. Ha! Cats are even pickier eaters than the Mama. W
A photo I shot in 1976 in San Benito County where I was born and grew up "You've come a long way," a fellow editor had said to me (out of the blue I might add) as three of us co-workers were eating lunch on a lovely Saturday afternoon (it could've been Sunday, but does it really matter) many years ago. If I had been quick on my feet, or just less shy, I would've retorted, "You came further." She, after all, had migrated from Chicago to San Francisco, while my hometown was less than a 100 miles away. But, she wasn't talking about distance. She was referring to the fact that my parents were "uneducated" immigrants from an impoverished country who did not have a grasp on the English language, and who were only able to "achieve" farm jobs in the United States. As if all that would make a difference on their ability to do well in a new world or for their daughter to complete college and become a —gasp—professional. After al