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Stories by Deirdre Lickona

Beyond selfie curation

I’m always amazed at those tablet commercials that show children creating wonderful art on their digital devices. If my kids get near a glowing screen, it doesn’t matter what apps are available; they instantly switch ...

Things to do

What do you mean you’re bored?! An anti-ho-hum compendium.

Jetpack America Want to feel like Superman? After a training video and in-office instruction, strap on a jetpack and take to the air. During the 15- to 60-minute ride, the water-jetting pack can go as ...

She Knew How Fragile Writers Could Be

I used to send Judith gifts around Mother's Day. Not on, but around -- because she wasn't my mother. But among her many titles -- mentor, boss, friend -- there was also this: the mysterious ...

France Meets California

"Old school vs. new school, Bob Hope vs. Adam Sandler, dirt vs. fruit."

Here Comes the Bride

Golden moments and minor disasters at the altar.

Chunks of ice rode the whitecaps as the Nantucket ferry steamed out of the harbor in Woods Hole and into the Atlantic. The March wind had driven Isabel into the warmth of the cabin, while ...

I Wanted to Crawl into My Mittens

I don't remember much from my childhood. Why this is, I don't know. I was happy; I remember that much. I came from an intact, loving, financially stable home. But when I go poking around ...

Soundtrack

The music that tells us we’re alive.

I'd press play on my older brother's boom box, and listen to the Beach Boys' "Surfin' USA." The volume never passed two; I was terrified of discovery by my mother who had a ban on rock music.

We Carried Each Other

In 1991, God seized my attention. So did Homer, Plato, Aristotle, and U2. I was 20, a freshman in college, raised Catholic but without much understanding or interest in practicing my faith. I had plenty ...

Mustache

The men behind hairy upper lips.

Mustache also mous-tache (m s-tash, m -stash) noun 1. The hair growing on the human upper lip, especially when cultivated and groomed. 2. Something similar to the cultivated, groomed hair on the human upper lip, ...

Mom

The woman we never forget.

"Careful, Ma; don't spill your soup," I warned. "First time you spill, that's it — you're going to the home.” Mom's reply was immediate. "I know. I've picked out what I want to take with me."

True in Love and True in Deed

"A Woman's Place is in the House...and the Senate," read the banner on the door of the cabinet that housed our dinner plates and cereal bowls. Similar posters peppered the kitchen walls: "What if Prince ...

Santa's Helpers

Gift-givers tell all.

We used to decorate the outside of our house, but not anymore. We put a bow in front of our gate and we put lights up, that's about it. I always wanted the moving reindeer, but no.

Mission Hills

As State Street crosses Laurel heading north, its name changes suddenly to Reynard, and a little blue street sign welcomes you to Mission Hills. Don’t be fooled. This is Baja Mission Hills, like Kensington too ...

More Than Support

All about breast-holders.

But even if they were not big, they seemed to me very real and salient: there’s a breast. It was hard to imagine my flat front being sculpted into such fullness

Pretty Woman

Beach babes consider feminism

As it happened, only one of the 17 women I spoke with declared herself a feminist with any kind of conviction. Most said they were not, usually citing a lack of political drive.

Rocks

I swallowed the lump in my throat as my eyes peered upward. Surveying the Jewelry Exchange, on the corner of Sixth and E downtown, I felt small and insignificant. I gazed up at the eight-story ...

Haves and Have-Nots

Bamboozled by compassion

I saw Clyde outside the building. “We wanted to tell you the truth. We were just ashamed to admit we had lost our son. It’s hard to explain. We lost him over a stupid plate of enchiladas.”

The Hootchie Look

A steady hum and bustle flowed in and out of Star Shots Photography Studio in Mission Valley Center. Teenage girls strolled in and out in twos and threes, sometimes chatting, other times giggling with arms ...

By No Means Mr. Mom

Wolf’s Breath Chili. That’s what I’m making for you, Deeda my pigeon sweeta.” The words whistled out from beneath the chip in my father’s front tooth. He danced around the kitchen and executed a combination ...

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