FuseBOX

Sunday, November 17, 2013 0 , , , Permalink 0

Inexplicably, my car slid sideways across College Ave into the path of oncoming traffic. The guy on the radio (live 105) shouted “There’s broken glass all over 9th street…” seconds before the station went dead. All the way down College people were streaming out of their houses, faces tight. People I recognized as natives. Native Bay Area people like to take earthquakes in stride. We smile at the freaked out newcomers and say “that was fun.” Not this one. I’ll never forget the creeping, sick feeling I had watching early helicopter footage of the Cypress freeway running through West Oakland. The anchorman ...

Rumbo al Sur

Friday, June 21, 2013 3 , , Permalink 0

In Paris in 2004, at dinner one night, a perplexed looking frenchman said to me (voice dripping with disdain) “I do not understand why Americans eat Mexican Food.” At that moment the duck roullaide he himself had prepared was melting on my tongue so delightfully it took some effort to keep my eyeballs from rolling back in my head. It was a perfect dish. Its understated flavors allowed the duck to shine without interference, seasoning standing on the sidelines to attend and support like the dresser of a great actor. I thought of the rough and tumble flavors of Tex ...

Duende

Fran broke my heart just by showing up. You see, I was hopelessly, tragically in love with Robbie. I spent my days dreaming of impressing him. I had hero fantasies involving me pulling people from burning car wrecks and saving lives by deftly administering first aid on the scene while Robbie watched from the sidelines, impressed by my 14 year old medical prowess. In my mind I was the girl in the field in that Andrew Wyeth painting, crawling towards Robbie instead of a farmhouse, felled not by polio but by the devastating effects of true love. My situation was perilous. So ...