On family road trips my father played Glen Miller and Benny Goodman big band sounds for hours on our car cassette deck. When it was my turn, I’d play the Eagles, Hotel California, singing in the backseat about being a new kid in town. I could only play it through once because, as my father said, That’s not music, it’s just noise. My son loves a genre called Riddim. Hours a day composing – samples, builds, drops – he gets lost in it, hands move like pulling taffy, expression m

We hadn’t seen Bobby in over 20 years.   He was more into punching than talking.   After our parents died, I was the only one who stayed in touch.   He always wished me a Happy Birthday.   Teased me when I posted photos on Facebook from a latest trip, Another   Joland Adventure.   I called every year or two, emailed a little, texted more.   He wasn’t needy or hungry.   He was always sober when we talked.   Said I was his only connection to family.   Spoke with pride about his

After we crossed the Canadian border, exported and imported cars, paid taxes, made note of which crossing had nice officers, filled out...

Brown corduroy coat from Simpson-Sears, plastic boots with fake fur zippered ankle to calf, hand-me-down-toque, machine-knit red and blue...

I had to save myself for what remains of my life Facebook is close to connection, but not connection like a shitty lover who keeps...

She’d asked for me.  My mother was in palliative care outside of Toronto after being diagnosed with stage 4 cancer - liver, lungs,...

Midnight, sitting at the kitchen table, the only light in the house, hanging above us. My son, nearly 19, complains about cancel culture, how TikTok and Instagram are judge, jury and executioner!   If you make a mistake and it’s caught on video, millions of people will know and then you’re done. I suggest he turn off the apps. Mom, you’re so old,   you don’t know how life works.   Images shifting at bandsaw speed – shoes, cars, girls, memes of cats, enemy forces – he’s on his

Early morning, The Castro, 1986. I live on a hill, across from California Pacific Medical Center, trees cover gray windowed walls. A...

As we waded in the deep end, my father would pretend to drop me, smiled when I squealed, my small arms gripping his neck. He rowed the...

Two weeks I hardly remember, though I’ve only been home three days. The grocer’s name who made us fresh pico de gallo – holding out...

Walking the path along the Colorado River in Glenwood Canyon, I notice a dark shape on the path ahead, a bird pecking at it, I hope it’s...

Now that our son has left home with his Jordans, his blonde girlfriend, the grey folding couch - after I’ve cleared the basement of...

I did not see my son’s birth, I missed it by 2 hours. He was born in another state, we traveled 8 hours to say hello. He wore a diaper...

Getting sober is like climbing a mountain - a daily choice, one step at a time, over and over - until weeks become months, months, years....

I wanted to be a boy like God or Joe Namath, Batman or John Denver – not like Craig who pushed me facedown and shoved snow in my shirt. I...

She had to attend another Inner Light conference, something about struggling to find paradise. We worked all afternoon to surprise her:...

He said the stage is like a high wire performance. He said actors need to understand the stakes before they climb up there. He said just...

The tiger looks upon my orange boy cat, striped and dirty, and wonders how he landed in such fortune. LET ME ASK YOU, HOW DID YOU GET...

Tired of my snotty nose, my mother put me in school too young. I followed the girls to and from the school yard, knew when to leave for...

Check out the moment when Jane Fonda tells her dying father, that she thinks he doesn’t like her, she’s lonely, always has been. A cold...