On the evening of the very last day of 2010, my husband and I zig-zagged our way through the Musashi-Kosugi train station markets where I admired clear plastic boxes of fresh shrimp tempura and soba. Continue reading “A very Japanese New Year (with some moonshine)”
My sister and I spent many of our Thanksgivings with Patricia’s family in a light purple flat deep in San Francisco’s Richmond district. Continue reading “A very Partridge Thanksgiving”
This is a sweltering desert town where the temperature is on low broil setting. Continue reading “Viva Las Vegas”
Opening Day at Candlestick Park was always the best day of the year, a time of new hope, fresh grass, hot dogs, long rides on buses, towering fly balls, hot sun and cold, cold wind.
If there is one thing I have learned while living in the suburbs, it is that people will find 101 uses for an empty uterus.
On Saturdays, after Soul Train, the Children’s Afternoon Film Festival and Girl Scouts consumed most my morning hour, my father would come home and watch Big Time Wrestling on Channel 2 (KTVU). Hosted by Hank Renner, the guy with a nice Jerry Lee Lewis hairdo and some variation of a plaid sports coat, Big Time Wrestling was an hour-long show that featured three to four separate wrestling matches.
There are very few childhood memories of my father, a man who was already rushing towards old age by the time I was born. At 50, he was already overweight, working the graveyard shift at the old Joseph Magnin department store in San Francisco. He was always asleep by the time I got home from school, and I was ready for bed by the time he was getting ready for work.