Mamacita came to my house when my daughter promised a friend that she would take care of her (pregnant) cat. The friend had gone to New York and left, not only her cat, but a backpack of belongings in the closet in my office. Mamacita promptly shat on it. So I wasn’t too surprised when, upon the friend’s return, said friend picked up her stuff and said she’d be back for the cat. She was going to take her to the Humane Society. She didn’t even have a name.

“Uh, no,” I said. When she gave birth, I started calling her Mamacita. Read more about The Pussycats

“Elvis! Elvis!” I was walking up and down the sidewalk in front of my house on N. 79th street, hoping that Elvis the cat would reappear and I could lure him back into the house. Of course, I was in tie dye, and it occurred to me that someone might be calling 911 about the crazy old lady having Elvis sightings on N. 79th, but I had to be sure he came back. I owed it to John. Read more about Elvis the Cat

Razz, Mamacita, Yoda, Simba, and Elvis.

The last of the cats I have known and loved. The cats referenced when I signed Christmas cards from “Barbara and the Pussycats.” The Seattle cats. Read more about Razz

December 1982

A strand of plastic Christmas green wraps itself around the wet top of the light signal like a caterpillar. The trees by the river look like powerless sticks. The streets shine wet on Three Corners in the rain. The lights change red yellow green and the cars come from 5 directions. They play country and western music over at the Banc supper club across the street. Read more about Portraits From Green Bay

Such an innocuous phrase. I use it all the time.

“Do you need help with that?”
“No, no. I’m fine.”

It’s how I was raised. Asking for help, according to my father, was being dependent. Accepting help, according to my mother, was taking advantage of other people’s good nature. As a result, I don’t need help with anything. I can do it all myself. And if I can’t, I'll find a work around or I decide it doesn’t really need doing. Anything but admit,

“Yeah. I could use a little help here.” Read more about I'm Fine

[Being the last character sketch left to me by my friend Bill. A Blue Moon story.]

“Oil containing garlic can cause botulism if not kept refrigerated.”

"How the hell does he know this stuff?" [we asked] Dan Brown: creator of Uncle Buck, who lived and reigned for three months, then vanished. Buck knew all, but lied when drunk. It was hard to use him as a source. Dan relied on his testimony. Read more about Uncle Buck

Searching for a goddess in the land of the gods Read more about The Road to Ephesus, Part I

I remember someone asking him if people ever called him "Bob." He said, "No." Short and to the point. I used to own at least 20 Robert E. Lee candles. The best advice he ever gave me was pointing out that the man I was dating wasn't the right man for me. "How do you know?" I asked. "I've seen you dance," he said, with a twinkle in his eye.

Another piece from my old friend, the late Bill Heintzelman. Read more about Robert E Lee

From the point of view of my old friend, Bill, who was definitely not a Deadhead, but the dearest of friends anyway. He wonders why we all came and stayed until closing on a Sunday night. I could have told him. We called it "Church." Read more about Dead Night at the Moon

I recently joined a conversation in The New York Times about driving, the hazards thereof, and the forgiveness of sins. So to speak.

This response of mine was published: Read more about Driving Them Cars