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.
Posts published by “Todd Walton”
“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.
“I claim there ain’t Another Saint As great as Valentine.” — Ogden Nash The notices currently taped to both sides of the glass doors of the Mendocino Post Office proclaim that starting February 14, 2012, our…
I used to know a loquacious drunk who punctuated his pontifications with the disclaimer, “Of course, memories are, at best, only fair approximations of what actually happened, so please don’t quote me.”
“Fate laughs at probabilities.” — E.G. Bulwer-Lytton For me to be born, my parents had to meet at Beverly Hills High in 1939, which only happened because in 1932, when my mother Avis was eleven,…
Deeply moved by a concert of music by Martinû and Mozart, a man gives $50 to a street musician, a Venezuelan bass player whose musical inventions are reminiscent of Eric Satie and Bill Evans. The…