Feature Stories
I am having a hard time sleeping. Tired of tossing and turning on my narrow share of bed, 1 leave my companion to her dreams, take my pillow and a blanket, go into the living …
I buy a shortening they have designed only for frying donuts —100 percent vegetable oil. A mix of cottonseed and soybean. Nobody uses lard anymore. Shortening ranges from $15 for a 50-pound box to $22.
What woke me was a hand over my face, over my mouth and nose: the pressure, the instinctive still-asleep panic of being unable to breathe; someone’s hands yanking my arms over my head; a body on mine, knees crushing my chest and stomach.
Everyone who lived there knew the name meant “pretty view.” Maybe it wasn’t utopia. But it was a planned community for low-income people that, for a considerable period, managed to succeed. I lived there from …
As I drove through the small maze of ramps leading from 805 to Holy Cross Cemetery, I realized again how much San Diego has changed. On every corner of the intersection, facing every possible direction …
I have no context, no history (other than remote; remoter than remote; wholly, utterly adventitious) to plug into when I listen to classical music, no environment in which to meet and greet it even halfway.
One of us said that if you gave it a French name, people happily would eat dog food. No sooner was this thought spoken than Reginald and I were throwing on coats and heading to Safeway.
The mackerel’s wide-angle eyes are attracted to shiny, moving objects. “Mackerel are top-fish. They’re hunting, they bite. Not like bottom fish, which have lips and suck, looking for dead stuff or leftovers,” says Rita.
We were not allowed to talk about money at the table, crush the counters of our shoes, leave dirty silverware on the sideboard, or refer to our mother as “she,” which he found particularly disrespectful.
Tuesday, August 16, 1977, Escondido, California “The King is dead.” Danny and I are in a men’s store in Escondido, a store I used to browse when I first loved Elvis and Danny’s father. Don’t …
I didn’t say anything. For two reasons. One was that my mother hated “emotional displays,” and the other was that how I really felt was that I was glad it was Penny dead and not me.
“We had seven little carriers, converted oil tankers, and I think 11 small destroyer escorts. The Japs came in with their big guns and their big battleships.”
I remember breakfast tables from my earliest childhood; sunshine spills across a blue-checked tablecloth stiff with starch and fresh air. Cut-glass bowls hold jelly and jam. The Concord grape and strawberry wriggle, seem to live …
Middle school and I go way back. My mother taught eighth-grade English and social studies. I attended PTA meetings before entering kindergarten. On Friday nights, the principal would show up at our house and play …
The Old Globe is the big enchilada. If you’re an actor and you’re fortunate enough to grace this stage, you are cool. You’re not too concerned about acting lessons or becoming an extra in a movie.
The year is 1949, Volkswagen is up and running, building Beetles for the amusement of the four people in America who know about them. Nineteen forty-nine was also the year Volkswagen began commercial production of …