Everyone has been in trouble before. “When I think back in my memory, I think when I punched my younger cousin. “It was a cold night at my house. I was in my younger cousin’s room and she was crying because she did not want to go to sleep. She just […]
(Photo of me with sleeve rolled up showing dime-sized bruise three days after vaccine booster.) San Juan Bautista, 2021Mar20 (Saturday) I got my second Moderna Covid-19 shot this past Wednesday morning at a drive-up tent, out in front of the Emergency Room entrance to nearby Hazel Hawkins Hospital in Hollister. Nothing unusual: a
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Tim’s Old Switching Power Supply for the Amiga Computer, with protections.Input: 12VDC; Outputs: 5V@4A, 12V@0.5A. Frances and I have written elsewhere about living out of our VW Beetle (with its giant roof rack) prior to and into the summer of 1984, of looking to move up into a funky camper van, of finding just
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Tim’s Dream, July 7, 2020, San Juan Bautista, CA. I awoke in the middle of the night and lifted my head a few inches to look beyond Frances, behind whom I was sleeping, as usual, with both of us on our right sides, “spoons position.” Someone was sitting in the chair at her
Good old Honda, you served us long and well 😢. 365,000 miles, over 16 years, with minimal trouble. T’was time to move on, as someday for me too, able to say, “It was a great ride! And in the scheme of things, no regrets.” Hey, Paris, one of my favorite Honda memories is when you
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A Play in One Scene by Frances Gallopaway. Cast of Characters HARVEY DILL: Crackpot psychiatrist. Middle-aged. Very tall.WILBUR: A patient. Younger. Short.KATY: Friend of both. Middle-aged. Scene KATY’S living room in a Bohemian beach apartment somewhere in California. Time The present.
JOSEPH WEATHERBOTTOM A Monologue in Four Scenes by Frances Tompkins JOE: In his seventies. Spent thirty years in a State asylum for the insane after he freaked out during battle in World War II. He is a-neat-and-clean freak. He dresses meticulously in an open-collared white shirt, light blue cardigan, gray slacks, black Navy shoes and socks.
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Where are you, Roy Herman – Frances’s cowboy father – when we need you, as we venture forth on foot to the neighborhood grocery store? You knew the value of bandanas against clouds of trail-dust, following cows and horses on the move, and you knew how to tie the low-tech masks so they would stay put on
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Cedar Hills, Oregon, c. 1955. The plan was discussed, that early summer daylight evening, before Tommy and I were put to bed at our usual time, about 7:30. We would be awakened long before dawn and would need to rise-and-shine for the up-coming adventure. But falling asleep to hasten the rising was made extra difficult
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Eastridge Street, Cedar Hills, Oregon, 1954. It was early spring, a gusty Sunday afternoon, and Dad wanted to dooo something, as Mom would say with emphasis: elongated and raised in pitch. He was in his early thirties and had a touch of cabin fever, after being inside, doing his taxes most of rainy yesterday and facilitating