Featured Post

#11 BEACH MUSIC: A time of tans, blonds and hot pants

Image
IT WAS A TIME OF TANS, BLONDS AND HOT PANTS, WHEN THE ENDLESS SUMMER WAS JUST A SHORT WALK DOWN A HOT SIDEWALK
Beach Music, an On the Street Where I Livestories is really a tale of two cities; San Juan, Puerto Rico and Santa Monica, California. It was originally published in the LA Times Sunday Magazine.


Beach Music We came to California from Canada, with a detour to Puerto Rico that lasted one endless summer of a year. A year in which I turned 15, and my hair turned blond from living in the sun. “Psst,” the boys and men would call after me in the blue-cobbled streets of San Juan. “Psst! Hey, blondie. Psst! Hey, cutie pie.” I was devastated when my parents said we had to go, that it was time to leave the island so that my older brother, Russell, could get a first rate education. The plan was to drive cross country from Miami and settle in San Francisco so that my brother could finish high school before going on to UC Berkeley. But, once we got there in the fall of 1968, we found that …

One more reason to hate laundry...

My son, who shall remain nameless - “Mom, don’t you dare write about me! That’s not fair!” came home today from a week of Outdoor Education in Malibu. Outdoor Education is a program for sixth graders who get to spend a week at Camp Bloomfield in the Santa Monica Mountains. The kids don’t just look at pictures of tide pools, they hike it down to the Pacific Ocean and get their feet wet.They don’t just talk about astronomy. They go out on a night hike and see the stars first hand.
But it's the rainy season here in California so this idyllic sounding time in the great outdoors of sunny Southern California wasn’t quite what you might think.
While “sunblock” was on the list of must-bring items, it had to be the least-used item they packed … unless you count the toothpaste! And when I unzipped his duffel bag to get at the laundry - because, God knows I love to do laundry - I found his extra pair of shoes (drenched), soaked socks (none matching), a dripping wet pair of khakis and his yellow poncho. The poncho was quite dry.There was also a plastic bag full of more clothes.
“Don’t touch it, Mom. In fact, I’d just dump the whole duffel bag in the washer if I were you.”
Easy for you to say, I thought to myself, you’re not the one who actually has to wash, dry, fold and worst of all, put away these clothes.
“Everything’s dirty?” I ask, pulling out a t-shirt from the plastic bag.
“Not totally dirty. It’s just that’s the t-shirt I was wearing when I found the poison ivy.”
Poison ivy?!”“Yeah. They said it’ll take a couple of days before we’ll know if I’m gonna get it or not.”
Standing there, still holding the potentially poison ivy infested t-shirt I can’t help but think Oh, yeah. You’re gonna get it, alright!”

Comments

Popular Posts

Above Ground on the London Underground—Day 37: Covent Garden

On the street where I live

#11 BEACH MUSIC: A time of tans, blonds and hot pants

If a tree falls in the forest ... should it be used to make the paper for my novel?

Peter Panned: The Peter Pan Statue in Kensington Park