I was the only child of elderly parents. They both died the year before I evolved out of puberty, and I was left in the care of a diminutive maiden aunt. She had absolutely no…
Posts published by “Todd Walton”
“Pleasure is spread through the earth in stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find.”— William Wordsworth Long ago in the Santa Cruz of 1972, I was a member of a large commune occupying…
Sandy calls to say she’s gotten permission to harvest rabbit manure from her friend’s rabbit barn. So I load my wheelbarrow and a big shovel into my little old pickup and head for Fort Bragg. A sunny spring morning, the angry winds of the past few days in abeyance, I roll along the Comptche-Ukiah Road at forty miles per and try to remember if over the decades of gathering manure for my various gardens, I have ever scored more than a baggy of rabbit manure. Horse, mule, cow, sheep, goat, chicken…but never a truckload of rabbit poop, until today.
“I am for an art that is political-erotical-mystical, that does something other than sit on its ass in a museum.” — Claes Oldenburg Harbor seals have returned to the mouth of Big River, sleek silver…
I recently read a brief rave review of a new movie, not a remake, but the umpteenth “psychological thriller” about a psychopath keeping someone trapped in a closet for years on end. And this review, which sounded suspiciously like a press release, reminded me of one of the more bizarre and disturbing passages in my long ago Hollywood sojourn when I tried to succeed as a screenwriter. But first a little of the back-story, as they like to call the past in the movie business.
The terrace at the Presbyterian in Mendocino can be a wonderful place to sit and read and write and eat a snack, especially on a sunny day. From every bench one has a view of either the ocean sparkling in the distance or of the stately white church with its impressive shingled spire.
“She wanted to be buried in a coffin filled with used paperbacks.” — Sherman Alexie I suppose it’s a good thing we don’t have a basketball court at our house or I might never go…
“Hemingway never grew out of adolescence. His scope and depth stayed shallow because he had no idea what women are for.” — Rex Stout Today I fit several important pieces into the jigsaw puzzle of…
Marcia and I were walking on Big River Beach yesterday, the wet sand firm underfoot—Big River swollen and muddy from the recent deluge, a light rain falling.