- Thousand Oaks, California, USA
- May 06
MY RECENT POSTS
- Yaya's House
March 31, 2014 10:47PM
- Obummercare: The Tin Can Plan
March 21, 2014 06:10PM
- Bonus Baby: The Old Broad Gets
February 13, 2014 02:16PM
- A Letter to Mom
May 09, 2013 05:28PM
- Frat House Chili
January 26, 2012 06:49PM
MY RECENT COMMENTS
- “You have inspired me and
that's not easy! Thank you
getting my inner chef
March 24, 2014 04:53PM
- “Monkey....yes yes and
yes. Thanks for your
March 21, 2014 08:15PM
- “Time for more hot
March 21, 2014 07:10PM
- “Hi Sky,
in with the idea of national
healthcare, but this
March 21, 2014 07:03PM
- “Me too.”
February 16, 2014 12:09AM
The Tin Can Plan
Watching the hoards of gimpy grandparents schlepping to Fiore Fields in California to see our little ballers pitch, slide and scratch, I realized I have a responsibility to report more than just the joys of Little League.
First, a little setup before the pitch.… Read full post »
My hormones come in a bottle.
Not always. In the days of Copernicus, my hormones were original equipment and only came to life when roused by martinis, a pound of chocolate or Benito Mussolini. Kind of like my ‘56 TV which… Read full post »
I miss you and your roadside potatoes.
Though you slipped the surly bonds of suburbia 28 years ago, your frothy memory remains front and center. If you were here, you’d tell me to worry about other things, like my messy closets, but I can’t.… Read full post »
When Dad gimped out of Walter Reed Hospital in 1945, he knew he’d rather make a living playing stride piano than return to engineering school in the tundra. He also knew that his stern Swedish mother didn’t raise her son to hang out i… Read full post »
When I kick the bucket, my kids will ask two questions: 1) how much cash is left in the mattress for them and 2) who’s going to make artichoke soup when the old broad is pushing up geraniums?
&n… Read full post »
My feet are firmly planted in midair. Unresponsive to a desk, my continuous flight of fancy is fueled by Ravel waltzes and chocolate. When inspiration drags me from ennui to the easel, this is the view from my corner of the world.
When I need a n… Read full post »
“The melody’s in the right hand, not the left!”
I was practicing, or as my mother would say, “annihilating,” a Mozart sonata before school, before breakfast, and before I was capable of anything other than brushing my teeth. With the… Read full post »
For those of you hosting Easter Brunch or any brunch for that matter, here's a dish that will make you more loved than the damn bunny or the peeps. Cheers!
My mother was kicked out of college after having an affair with a married professor and sent to… Read full post »
Oh little town of Belvedere
How valuable thou art!
Your juice from ripe potatoes
Warms the heart of this old fart.
Mixed with tonic, ice and lemons
Feigns a camphor, oh so bright
With help from thee I do believe
I'll… Read full post »
Mom used a vodka bottle to roll out pie crust. When frustrated, she heaved the gloop against the wall, banked it into the trash and called Svens Danish Bakery. She taught me everything I know. And…I learned how to use four letter words, not how to… Read full post »
My hormones might come in a bottle but I’ve found that I can still learn new tricks.
When it comes to entertaining, two challenges torment me: what can I make that everyone will enjoy and how much can I prepare in advance?
To my utter… Read full post »
I live in the plumper and I love apple pie. It’s dad’s fault. Nothing delighted him more than the sight of two things: Nana’s perfect pomme de pie or my mother in a slinky black dress, both carefully archived in our home movies.
With… Read full post »
Things were pretty basic at Camino de Chaos on Thanksgiving. My guests brought their limited palates, expressing gratitude for the simple fact that on this sacred day, a plate can be filled to capacity with absolutely nothing green.
It was the annual feast of the fussy. A celebration… Read full post »
I’ve changed costumes more than RuPaul. By the time my hormones arrived in a bottle and the last train to Clarksville long left the station, I’ve written more game plans than Vince Lombardi. Just when I thought I had all the answers, they flipped the questions. Such is… Read full post »
I haven’t purchased a bathing suit for 17 years. Buying one ranks right up there with the joy of root canals, mammograms and cleaning Thanksgiving turkey grit off the bottom of your oven.
You smell what I’m cookin’, I know you do.
Nothing is as much… Read full post »
In 1876, a fellow named Carl Conrad from a little hamlet in Bavaria developed the pasteurization of beer. That is, he figured out how to put beer in bottles. Terribly clever for his time.
Because he was my great-great grandfather, his patent hangs in my kitchen next… Read full post »
A Strong Back and a Weak Mind
It’s Father’s Day in just a few weeks. Although my Dad has been in that great piano bar in the sky for almost 30 years, keeping time with his left foot while playing “Someone to Watch Over Me,” I’m the lucky one… Read full post »
Blue Danube Bean Soup
The square corners of his handkerchiefs stood at allegiance from a bucket of starch. A man of propriety who “bowed” in respect, my father’s noble and elegant dignity matched his crisp attire.
Yet his greatest personal… Read full post »
The Oh-So-Merry Margarita
If getting juiced was good enough for Sammy Sosa and Mark McGuire, just think about what the essence of carrot-raisin-beet-rutabaga-dirt clod could do for this old broad who is getting closer to the last tango?
On a slow Sunday morning when… Read full post »
I’m the result of too many Mai Tais and Nat King Cole. Or so I heard. My kooky, irreverent mother who danced the Times step on our linoleum floor and pounded out Chopin etudes more easily than round steak would casually tell her friends about the conditions surrounding my concepti… Read full post »