Category: Memoir
Sunday School Weekends
GROWING UP IN THE 1950s, my older sister, Una, and I were among the few neighborhood children whose mother worked. Mother was a third-grade teacher. She ran our home like a big kids’ classroom, enforcing rules and doling out chores. By the weekend, she was tired of dealing with children, including her own. To give…
A Traveler’s View of Japan’s Public Lavatories
ON OUR FIRST MORNING IN JAPAN, my daughter and I went to a small cooking class held on the second floor of a business building near our hotel. For several hours we learned to form rice balls, pat raw salmon into the correct shape, and roll chopped ingredients between layers of rice and dried seaweed.…
The Vanishing Kimono
THE IKEBANA INSTRUCTOR, a tiny woman with hands no bigger than those of a ten-year-old girl, expertly flipped the dangling sleeves of her teal-blue kimono out of the way as she placed one branch studded with plum buds and three saucer-sized, gold chrysanthemums into a low bowl. Later, at a tea ceremony, we watched as…
Words in Malaga
SOME MARRIAGES LAST TOO LONG, and so do some honeymoons. Mine had already lasted seven months, and we were again in the middle of an argument that left me sitting alone watching the road go by. Tom drove, the back of his head all I could see from the rear seat of the van. Outside…
India Times Three: 4
2024 continues The next morning, Erin and I flew south to Madurai. Our new driver, Mooney, was an incredibly handsome young man clad in an immaculate white shirt and clean, pressed slacks. The seats in his SUV were encased in spotless white covers, and between the passenger seats he had placed a basket of snack-size…
India Times Three: 3
2001 Continues Una and I had a decision to make. A longer, more comfortable trip versus a faster trip in an Indian second-class train car. I was inclined to experience traveling like a local. Van travel and Girl Scout backpacking taught me I didn’t always need luxury to enjoy a journey. Una was older, but…
Memories of stollen
When December arrives, I begin to think Christmas thoughts. This leads to memories of hot chocolate, eggnog, mulled cider, and all the goodies that go with them. My childhood memories of Christmas always include the German holiday bread called Stollen. Early in her marriage, my mother learned to make this traditional confection to please my…
The Help of Strangers
Mexico, September 1971 TOM AND I WERE ONLY a few weeks into our honeymoon road trip. It was late afternoon on our second day in Mexico, and we were sweaty and tired from the long, hot drive across the Sonora Desert. The city of San Luis Potosí slumbered under the siesta-time September sun. Though it…
A Mother’s Memory of Her son’s bootcamp graduation.
Some years ago, I took an emeritus class at U.C. Irvine in travel writing. There I learned that a travel essay needs to be more than a travelogue. To grab readers, travel writing should also have attitude. The writer’s voice is essential, as it is through their eyes the reader views the adventure. I hope…
Chinese Morning
Beijing, 2002 TOM BURST INTO THE HOTEL ROOM. “I’ve found the market!” he said. “It’s just around the corner.” His enthusiasm pulled me out of my jet-lagged stupor more effectively than the two cups of tea I had just drunk. We had arrived in Beijing the afternoon before. After eating a Chinese meal in a…