I’m a fourth generation Paddy. My great-grandparents came here in the last two decades of the nineteenth century, I am told from Cork, Ulster, and maybe some islands near Scotland, through Canada and Boston, then on to Colorado. I don’t feel Irish, nor do I have any particular affinity for Irishness. Or, at least … [read more]
Memoir
An Italian Day in a Chinese Life
From March 10, 2010 I worked Saturday at my office in Kwun Tong, joining friends afterwards in rural Sai Kung for dinner. We walked to a small shop selling fine Italian cheeses, meats, olives, oils, and wines and enjoyed a light snack of prosciutto, formaggio con tartufi and marinated garlic, with home-made bread and a … [read more]
Memory Pain
Trigo Road family, forty years later, Camino Cielo, 2014. Oh, serve me right to suffer Hey, hey, serve me right to be alone Serve me right to be alone ‘Cause I’m still livin’ with a memoryOf the days that’s passed and goneThe days that’s passed and gone – Percy Mayfield 1964 I practice letting go … [read more]
These old boots
As most did, I learned to walk at a young age. I never looked back. I’ve always loved walking. “No, you guys go on ahead. I’ll walk.” To be sure, I took this for granted. Some whom I love have lost this ability to walk altogether. The first piece of creative writing I ever did … [read more]
The Day the Music Died
The Day the Music Died I was ten. November 22, 1963 Time stopped in the far west at 10:30 am and then again at 11:00 that morning. Though we had only two television channels in our small desert town, the nuns wheeled in sets and tuned in to Cronkite and Huntley and Brinkley and … [read more]
Father’s Day
I learned to drive a manual transmission at twelve or thirteen years old, maybe fourteen, out in the Washington desert with my old man, in a car exactly like this. Usually as the sun set over the channeled scablands of the Columbia Basin. Usually Dad had a tall vodka with ice, neat between his knees. … [read more]