On Life in a Small Town

It’s funny the connections you find here. I’ve heard the old cliché that, in a small town, everyone knows everyone else, but I’ve never really lived in a small town before. The closest I came was back in the 1980s, when I lived in Tulare in the San Joaquin Valley: Its population at the time hovered just below 40,000. That’s almost as many people as live in San Luis Obispo — the biggest city in our county — these days.

When I lived in Fresno, people called that a small town, too, but it wasn’t. By the time I was born more than a half-century ago, it had already crossed the 100,000 threshold. It wasn’t the Los Angeles megalopolis (I’ve lived there, too), but it was plenty big. My favorite restaurant there was (and is) El Torito, and I still lament the fact that SLO County doesn’t have one.

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NOTE: I'll be posting teasers and links to my column in The Cambrian and The Tribune periodically. To see a collection of my columns, click the COLUMN link at the bottom of any page.

For Mom ...

For Mother's Day, I'm posting this photo of my mom, shown here with my dad on one of their many trips - trips she made despite being paralyzed on one side by polio when she was a young teenager.

She never again rode the horses she loved, but there were so many other things she was never supposed to do again.

Yet she did.

When I knew her, her right arm - she was born right-handed - hung all but useless at her side. The only muscles that worked were, oddly enough, in her fingers, which could still grasp things. Her right leg was similarly immobile. She had to swing it out to the side, balancing on her left leg, each time she took a step. Sometimes, my dad helped her up off the couch or steady her as she walked, but most of the time, she did these things herself. Just as she changed my diapers herself, walked up three flights of stairs at UCLA on her way to a bachelor's degree and got a job as a supervisor at Douglas Aircraft on her own.

Her determination to not only survive and emerge from an iron lung - when doctors said she might not - but also walk again after being told it was impossible remains an inspiration to me. But it wasn't the polio that defined her. It was her patience, love, support and willingness to listen without judgement that made her who she was - at least who she was to me. She was Mom.

I knew she'd gotten weaker from a series of strokes in her early 60s, but I never expected the call I got from my father that day at work. It was wintertime, just past the new year, and I hadn't seen either of them since Christmas. Through tears, he told me how she'd gone to lie down for a nap and hadn't awakened. I'd never heard him cry like that. To this day, he speaks of the wonderful life he's had, with his only regret that she left too him soon.

They'd had 39 years together, but it would always have been too soon. I know it was for me.

Mom's been gone more than two decades now, but her example and guidance remain my beacon. I wouldn't be here today without her, perhaps in more ways than one. I only wish she had lived to see me begin to achieve my dreams.

Thanks, Mom. I love you.

I Guess I'd Better Write Something

Isn't that what we authors are always saying to ourselves? The cliche is that we sit around staring at blank screens waiting for inspiration to strike and banging our heads against that painfully dense slab of figurative stone called writer's block. Just start typing, and you'll be amazed at how quickly that block disintegrates.

This is my second exercise in writing a blog (being a journalist, I prefer to call it a journal). Don't go looking for the first one online: I let the domain name lapse and lost all the content as a result. Silly me. Last time I looked, the site had received something like 400,000 hits, but I decided I wanted to write books instead. Now I've decided to do both. Who said you can't have it all? 

The posts on that earlier blog tended to be somewhat long-winded, so I pledge to keep what I share here more succinct and easier to digest (bad pun always intended).  

To the point: I've got a book coming out in August. Please buy it. You won't regret doing so - at least, I hope you won't. The book is called Fresno Growing Up, and it's an appropriate title, since I grew up in Fresno and the city grew up around me in the meantime. You can preorder it on Amazon (just click the handy-dandy announcement bar at the top of your screen). I hope to be sharing a preview in this space before too long. 

Tip for today: Find your voice and shout your inspiration to the world. You'll be amazed at the echoes you hear coming back to you.