From the Back Porch

There were gigantic hairdryers that made the ladies look like subjects of brain experiments. Their heads, imbedded with goo, curlers and plastic bags, were tucked beneath the armadillo underbellies of the roaring dryers. more

Most fascinating of all was Debbie’s mom, Betty, who was also known as Moose. Now why, you might wonder, would a woman be called Moose? The name “Moose” seems like a nickname for a big strong man -- but Moose was an elegant woman of Greek heritage, with dark eyes and hair, a nice figure and a fabulous sense of humor. more

Empty spools in male heads then begin to knock together causing mild disorders in male brains. The subtle yet continuous impact of the knocking spools creates escalating irritation that causes some males to exhibit more aggressive behavior than others. This may happen because of spool size. Some men assume that their spool sizes are bigger than other men’s. more

Oh, the night, the night. What a wondrous place it can be. Snuggly poo under the covers. Comfy, cozy sleep. Comfy pillow, snuggle snuggle. Suddenly, a loud retching scream! Another one! I am awake and I dash to the hallway, imagining that one of my children is puking from their bed. Dazed and confused, I call out, "Who is that? Are you all right? more

My sixteen year old son came home from school three days ago and announced, “I can’t breathe.” He pointed to his schnoz. Actually, what he said was more like, “I cad breave. I hab a code in by doze.” more

My mother’s birthday was Sunday, August 9th. This year, she would have been eighty-seven years old. The last time I celebrated my mother’s birthday with her, I was fourteen years old. After that, I was either away in California, or Europe or other places every August, until she died in 1983 when I was twenty-seven. This year made 40 years since I had celebrated her birthday with her. more

It is a night like any other. I climb the steep staircase to the narrow hallway and enter our bedroom. I set my cup of Sleepytime tea with honey on the end table next to the bed. I begin to read The Body in the Library, a Miss Marple mystery by Agatha Christie. more

There were pens and pens of sheep that stretched their necks toward us as we passed. Peter and I found that the more we rubbed their woolly heads and spoke to them, the more responsive they became. After scratching and rubbing two hundred or so sheep around the ears and horns, and looking into their eyes, both Peter and I became profoundly uplifted by the palpable love we exchanged with them. more

We have a yellow lab who loves to swim. About once a week we try to take her swimming at a lake or river near the house. We say, “Bye, bye in the car?” And she cocks her head and begins to cry excitedly, trotting back and forth in eager anticipation. more

One of my best friends died this week. He was very quiet and small. He weighed thirty pounds. His name was Bogey. He was my dog. Rather than dwelling on the question as to whether dogs have spirits and if they do indeed go to heaven, as the movie suggested, I want to talk about friendship. more