Woody at Sierra Designs’ second location, Fourth and Addison,Berkeley, early ’70’s. Almost everyone in my old Berkeley neighborhood had a nickname. There was “Walking Wally” who dressed daily in a safari outfit (complete with pith helmet) and walked a huge Old English Sheep dog all over town for hours on end. His housemate, Eddie, also … [read more]
Memoir
The Jazz Me Blues
(Editor: I have the pleasure of posting a short piece by my old friend, Bob Woodward. He has been prolific of late, penning these tight little memoir nuggets, so expect a few more. Woody and I likely crossed paths in the middle seventies, when he was the kwisatz haderach of all things cross-country skiing (when … [read more]
Two New Pieces: Barbara Jackson
Editor: My dear friend, sister and writing buddy, Barbara Jackson, penned two new poems recently. Barb’s writing has appeared in these pages a few times over the years. She is a fine, intuitive and magical writer. She sees behind, below and beyond. Of these two, Barb says, “…part of being alive is being tuned into … [read more]
In the Eye of the Beholder
I am reminded of that financial planning tv commercial with Dennis Hopper, admonishing boomers, “You gotta have a plan, man!” Indeed. Plans are a good idea. Just so I don’t hitch my emotional wagon to them. They are liable to change. Thursday morning I had ambitious plans, but they were not to be. On a … [read more]
Breakfast In 1959
I. It’s cold outside. It’s cold between Mom and Dad. It’s 1959 and everything in the world is black and white. The Lone Ranger show is on the radio on top of the old refrigerator. Jackson Pollack spattered linoleum sits beneath a Jackson Pollack spattered dinette. Mom pours the batter into the waffle iron for … [read more]
Remembering The Desert
Remembering the Desert Geoff O’Keeffe 14 April, 2003 / 9 September, 2016 I remember the smell of summer rain on sagebrush and sand, jackrabbits scurrying away as I hiked through the desert, my socks filled with sharp stickers designed over thousands of years to attach to passerby. I remember stagnant and funky backwaters of the … [read more]