Writing Life

Today Julie and I visited three of our “almost houses.” Six years ago, when we first made up our minds to move from Placerville to Sacramento, we began spending nearly every weekend in Sacramento, touring houses in the presence of a Realtor. We must have toured more than three dozen houses, but only five of them really tempted us. One of those five temptresses is our current home. The other four sirens are all located in our region of Sacramento, and three of them are within easy walking distance of our home. About once every year we make a visual inspection of our four almost houses, walking (or driving) by each of them in order to see how well they are being cared for. Today was visiting day. Read the rest of this entry »

Eddie comes home from the oil field one night last January and goes, “Guess what, we’re moving to Saudi Arabia.” Just like that. No “What do you think?” Or “Is that all right with you?” He’d seen this ad in the union newsletter that said Exxon had several assistant driller positions available in its Saudi Arabian oil fields. Apparently, the terrain in Saudi Arabia is similar to certain parts of Utah. So the company was sending a representative out here to recruit drillers for its Middle Eastern operation. Eddie had been a derrickman for seven years and was eager to become a driller. Now his chance had finally come. “All I need is a couple years’ work as an assistant driller over in Saudi Arabia,” he said, “then I can come back to America and get hired on as a driller anyplace I want.” Derrickmen make only about $3000 a month. A top driller can earn up to $8000. So naturally Eddie is all hyped up to leave behind the only house we’ve lived in for the whole eight years of our married life and take off for the middle of some godforsaken desert. Never mind what I might think about having to spend the next two years wearing a veil over my face and pouring sand out of my shoes. Talk about inconsiderate! Read the rest of this entry »

Julie has long been a fan of musical sequences contained in nonmusical films. Don’t get me wrong, she loves musicals also. But she is always delighted when, for a moment or so, a nonmusical film bursts into song. Read the rest of this entry »

This past weekend, my wife and I visited an antiques mall in Carmichael, California. Early in our visit we came upon a cheap reproduction of Thomas Gainsborough’s famous painting known as The Blue Boy. Right alongside The Blue Boy was a copy of a painting known as Pinkie, so called because its subject, a young girl, is wearing a pink bonnet on her head and a wide pink sash around her waist. Later on in our visit, we once again came upon Blue Boy and Pinkie, this time in the form of matching bas-relief wall-hangings. Kitschy copies of these two famous paintings, in a variety of media, are ubiquitous at garage sales, yard sales, flea markets, and antiques shops. Years ago, an antiques dealer told Julie and me that Pinkie and Blue Boy were both painted by Gainsborough and were portraits of a brother and his sister. For many years we assumed this to be true. Why else would they always be found together? Read the rest of this entry »

Mr. Flitcrab was a fiftysomething real-estate agent who worked for a small firm in Sacramento. The company’s brochure claimed that his specialty was “handling residential properties,” but he didn’t like that description. “Handling” sounded too much like “fondling,” and he feared it would give people the impression that he was some kind of real-estate pervert. He had lobbied the office manager to change the wording to “specializes in residential property,” but to no avail. “Those brochures are expensive,” the office manager told him, “and we are not going to alter the text until all of the current brochures are gone.” A dozen or more heavy boxes of brochures monopolized one corner of the office supply closet. Mr. Flitcrab estimated that they contained enough brochures to last another five years or more. Read the rest of this entry »

Last Saturday Julie and I attended an antiques faire in Auburn, California. In a vast assemblage of paper collectibles Julie spotted an unpublished original manuscript titled “Stories Grandmother Told Me.” The dealer was asking twenty dollars for it. We eventually got him to sell it to us for ten. The manuscript is about fifty pages long. The first half is typewritten and the second half is handwritten. Contained within those pages are dozens of short vignettes from the life of the author’s grandmother. The author doesn’t identify herself. But the grandmother is identified in the very first paragraph: Read the rest of this entry »

One day last fall, I was in my car, waiting at a stoplight, when a clock began to chime in the trunk of my Corolla. It chimed four or five times and then stopped. A few minutes later, after arriving at my home, I investigated. Read the rest of this entry »

Memories change through the years, and who’s to say that the earliest versions are always the most accurate? Take, for instance, the case of writer Willie Morris. In his 1995 memoir, “My Dog Skip,” Morris recycles a lot of the anecdotes that appeared in an earlier memoir, “North Toward Home,” published in 1967. In “My Dog Skip,” Morris writes about a time when, at the age of twelve or so, he and a buddy contrived to terrify a little boy named John Abner Reeves in a Yazoo City, Mississippi, graveyard. Earlier in the day Morris had given John Abner a quarter in exchange for the latter’s promise that he would walk through the graveyard at exactly nine o’clock that night. Before the appointed hour, Morris, his dog Skip, and the buddy arrive at the graveyard and hide behind some bushes. Later, as John Abner is passing their hiding place, Morris blasts a loud and terrifying note on his trumpet while his buddy simulates the appearance of a ghost by raising up a long stick over which a large white pillowcase has been hung. The most elaborate part of the prank involves Skip. As a terrified John Abner races toward the graveyard’s exit, Morris attaches a cardboard replica of a human skeleton to Skip’s back and instructs the dog to chase poor John Abner out to the street. This final element of the anecdote struck me as false and cartoonish. I double checked it with “North Toward Home” and discovered that, although in most respects the 1967 anecdote matches the 1995 version nearly word-for-word, the 1967 anecdote contains no mention whatsoever of either Skip or the cardboard skeleton. In fact, the graveyard anecdote is described on page 35 of my edition of “North Toward Home,” and Skip doesn’t enter Morris’ life until page 67. I suspect that Morris was so fond of the graveyard anecdote that he decided to give Skip a role in it so that he could justify including it in “My Dog Skip,” where it otherwise might have seemed gratuitous. How else to explain such an inconsistency from an author who claimed, in yet another memoir, “I have always taken no inconsiderable pride in my recollection for detail…”? In this instance, it is the earlier version of the tale that seems the most authentic. Read the rest of this entry »

My wife is into horses. She practically grew up on horseback. She doesn’t own a horse anymore, but she still loves them. Sadly, most of the horses she sees these days are in movies or on TV. Sometimes, as we are leaving a movie theater, she’ll say, “Wasn’t that horse beautiful?” And then I will rack my brain in an effort to recall when it was that a horse appeared on screen. Usually I fail at this, and then I have to ask her, “What horse?” And she’ll say something like, “When Patrick Dempsey and Amy Adams were walking in the park. There was a police horse behind them in the distance. It was really lovely.” Naturally, I never saw the police horse because, like nearly everyone else in the theater, I was watching Patrick Dempsey and Amy Adams (in truth, I was probably only watching Amy Adams, but that’s another story). I am tempted to make fun of my wife for this behavior of hers, but I can’t. Because I do it too – not with horses, but with globes. Read the rest of this entry »

On January 20 I wrote about a handwritten travel journal I had purchased a few days earlier at an antiques faire. The journal was kept by an American woman as she traveled from her home in Honolulu to various ports in Japan, China, and the Philippines. The woman doesn’t reveal her own name in the journal, but for the sake of convenience I dubbed her “Hattie.” The journal begins on June 26, 1922, as Hattie departs Honolulu aboard a Japanese ship called the Korea Maru. It concludes on September 3, as she is steaming homeward aboard the Shinyo Maru.

On July 27, 1922, Hattie boarded a luxury liner called the Empress of Canada. She described it as, “a floating palace, the most beautiful boat I ever expect to see. It is a British boat and said to be the largest on the Pacific.” She boarded the boat at Macao. It took her to various ports in both China and Japan. At about the time she boarded the boat, a new word began appearing in her journal. Read the rest of this entry »