Monthly Archives: January 2017

Spindle

Posted on January 31, 2017 by sputterpub

Perhaps our spinning wheel was alcohol. Our parents had a cocktail many nights, and wine was shared on holidays, with all of us imbibing sips amid the lights of candles and the mammoth-plattered foods. But no one told us drunks … Continue reading →

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Waiting for a Train

Posted on January 30, 2017 by sputterpub

A little work, some lunch, a shopping walk are tasks that I’m required to complete today. The positives: my brother’s talk about his weekend, moving into heat from brisk and chill outdoors, the sunshine warm as kittens draped around my … Continue reading →

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Smoking

Posted on January 27, 2017 by sputterpub

I took up smoking 50 years ago. A little pot in high school started me. Progressing to tobacco, deep and slow as if it were the same commodity, I purchased Winstons through my college years, and switched to Players when … Continue reading →

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Emotional Looting

Posted on January 26, 2017 by sputterpub

Misfortune is the sorry lot of some, but here most folks I know contend with more good times than bad. Experiences come that send one soul to gladness just as sure as someone else is thrust into despair. Catastrophe contains … Continue reading →

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Once Upon a Neighborhood

Posted on January 25, 2017 by sputterpub

I never really liked the block. Moving there in 1983 was a marital concession. I didn’t want to have it all my way; I tried give-and-take with my second spouse. He was nine years older than I, born months before … Continue reading →

Posted in Fiction, Neighborhood | Leave a comment

Obvious

Posted on January 24, 2017 by sputterpub

Six months after divorce, I patronized the neighborhood café we used those years. The owner welcomed me with glad surprise and asked if John still drank. It now appears each time he fetched us treats, he’d down white wine – … Continue reading →

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Nine Inches

Posted on January 23, 2017 by sputterpub

My daughter told me Portland has no plows, for snowfall seldom sticks. She said a mere two inches and the infrastructure bows. Quadruple that and pavements disappear, a tram derails, the buses pop their chains, and sunny icy days ensue … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry, Weather | Leave a comment

Meditation Block

Posted on January 20, 2017 by sputterpub

The route from home to BART has pleasant views, a gentle downward slope, infrequent stops – it’s sustenance for senses, walking news, but Alcatraz to Woolsey has no shops. Pedestrians like me, who people-spy, will find a house attractive but … Continue reading →

Posted in Neighborhood, Poetry | Leave a comment

Landing

Posted on January 19, 2017 by sputterpub

Approaching San Diego from the sky, I’m staggered at how wide the place has grown in 50 years. Through airplane glass I spy a million houses, each a planted stone, aligned as if in labyrinth. Somewhere a center is, but … Continue reading →

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Overdone

Posted on January 18, 2017 by sputterpub

“I tell you, she was beside herself!” “I would be too. Imagine finding your child like that.” “Linda isn’t exactly a child.” “Oh come on! What is she: sixteen? How would you feel if you found Melanie passed out in … Continue reading →

Posted in Fiction, Melania | Leave a comment