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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In My Mind’s Eye: Remembering Dad

Here’s my annual Father’s Day post, adapted from an article I wrote for the San Francisco Chronicle in 1997. Happy Father’s Day! Here’s to you Dad…

There’s an image I have captured in my mind. I’m in my car in front of the home my parents have shared for most of their 45 married years. Mom and Dad are standing on the front porch.

From the street, I can see the huge eucalyptus tree in their backyard, silhouetted against the evening sky. It’s gently swaying in the warm breeze while the full moon illuminates the manicured lawn. My parents are smiling and waving as I drive away after a visit.

Mom lives alone now that Dad is in an Alzheimer’s nursing facility, so that scenario has changed; but it never does in my mind. My parents always stood on the porch to wave good-bye when I left. Even in pouring rain, they still stood in the open doorway together. I always looked back and returned their waves.

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So Long, Skip

It was 9:30 p.m. on July 9, 2012. I was at Marin Humane, about to process a feral cat I trapped, when at the same time, an officer was carrying in an 18-month-old frightened fawn with white corgi mix. I immediately stopped and yelled, “Wait! Who is that?” And that, my friends, is how I met my dog, Skip.

Now don’t get me wrong; I knew the moment I saw Skip, he was meant to be mine; he simply had to be. Thus began our wonderful 13-year relationship. If you read my posts, you’re aware I’ve had a few pets in my day, but there was something unique about this one. Maybe it was those big brown eyes and his laid-back demeanor. He was a go-with-the-flow type; in other words, perfect for me.

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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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The Sweetest Gift

Here is my annual tribute to my mom, my best friend and the greatest lady I’ve ever known. How lucky was I? Happy Mother’s Day!

My mom, Loretta Rose, with Bailey

She gave me love as well as life; so whatever goodness I may bring to Earth began with the gift of my mother’s heart……Robert Sexton

At some point in our relationship, my mom transitioned from being my parent to also being a great friend. I’d say it happened in 1985, when she was diagnosed with incurable, inoperable lung cancer.

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