Down Memory Lane

Last week I had occasion to visit the neighborhood where I grew up in Santa Venetia, also derogatorily known as Scabo. I’m not sure what that stands for but since it’s an ugly word, I’m guessing it wasn’t known as the most desirable place to live. But I beg to differ.

Santa Venetia

Kids don’t know they don’t live in a mansion. I certainly didn’t. We had 4 bedrooms that weren’t much bigger than some large walk-in closets and closets not much wider than a refrigerator. Now don’t get me wrong; I didn’t care one bit. I had what I needed and that was enough.

our house
Our little house

To me, our Doughboy Pool was the bomb (better known as groovy back then). Other neighborhood dads helped my dad install it. That’s how it was; neighbors helping neighbors. On summer afternoons, being in that pool or playing ping pong on the patio were my favorite places to be.

me in pool
Even as a teen, still in the pool
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Deja Vu All Over Again

Here’s a posting I wrote way back in 2016.

I hate to beat a dead horse. In fact I hate to beat anything, let alone a dead horse. What kind of a saying is that anyway? Now don’t get me wrong; today I’m not writing about beating horses so you can forget the opinion you’ve just formed that I’m a dead-animal-beater. I mean really, what’s wrong with you?

No, today’s blog is about how apropos my last blog was. You see, as I write this, I’m on a plane to Texas to meet my friend Sharon and help her unpack hundreds of boxes shipped from her and Jim’s previous home in Perth, Australia, to her current home outside of Houston. Being the kind, considerate, thoughtful and giving person I am, I offered to help her unpack.

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An Unlikely Friendship

 

Our first team, Peter’s Formal Wear

The game of softball will always be special to me because that’s where I first came to know Sharon. Even though we grew up on the same street, it took years for us to connect.

As a tomboy, I lived to play baseball in the streets of our suburban home in Marin County. The boys and I dodged parked cars as we ran for fly balls; the manhole cover in front of the Brodnik’s house was our permanent second base.

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My Sandal Saga

This blog was originally posted in 2021

I bought a pair of sandals nearly a million years ago, but should have bought 2 pairs. Because as often happens with things I like, Teva discontinued these casual cuties even though they’re the more feminine of the Teva selections and everyone I know who wears them loves them. Comfortable and cute yet functional. C’est la vie!

Anyway, now that you know this, I recently wore them to Sonoma where Sharon, Pam and Sue joined me at a gorgeous 20-acre vineyard in the hills above the town square. I’d relocated four feral cats there and now it was time to remove their cages.

The cats’ view. Not too shabby

First we decided to have lunch in town on this scorching but beautiful day. We quickly learned we should have made reservations as apparently it was still tourist season. Live and learn. So we began to walk the square looking for a restaurant without a wait.

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Memory? What Memory?

This blog was originally posted in 2012…

I can’t really say my memory is not what it used to be because mine has always been pathetic. Some people are fortunate enough to recall childhood memories, such as who came to their ninth birthday party. I don’t even remember being nine, let alone a party. It’s gone – completely obliterated from the deep crevices of my gray matter.

Since my past has shaped the person I am today, it would be nice if I had a tad more recall. Bits and pieces of my life may be buried in the corners of my mind, but they’re stuck like Super Glue and not about to budge. For some, just mentioning a name or word from the past is all it takes to release the floodgates, and their memories spill out with perfect recall. Those people annoy me.

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