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Posts published by “Tommy Wayne Kramer”

The Perfect Retirement Town

Retirees who want to move are always looking for a cute little village anchored by a vibrant downtown with lots of trendy bars and restaurants, and fun places to shop. Not us. We picked from…

And The Beat Goes On

They’re driving on South Dora, arrive at the stop sign at Observatory Avenue and watch a man tug at his belt buckle, drop his trousers and squat a few inches above the sidewalk. The driver,…

A Grander Old Party with Bruce

Bruce Anderson, forever the Editor of Boonville’s (and the world’s) Anderson Valley Advertiser, has a reputation near, far and in between as a rousing, relentless leftist.  His political image is so well established no one…

Thought-Free Thinking

Trophy the wife and I came back to Ukiah for the holidays and to see the kids, let our dog die in familiar surroundings and enjoy a fabulous parade down State Street in our honor.…

We Never Said Goodbye

It’s often said they come in threes, and maybe we only note the coincidence when a third one arrives, often unexpected and always unwanted. In reality death comes in the millions. But “millions” are statistics,…

Crumpled Pages Near A Wastebasket

An elderly gent in a tuxedo and neatly trimmed white beard stands at center stage. A raven sits upon his right shoulder. The man speaks quietly but seriously: “Earlier, after the previous unpleasantries were forgotten,…

Calizuela, Here We Come

The most convincing lie California politicians have managed to sell to the public is the notion THAT homelessness is inevitable, exists everywhere, has no known origins and can be alleviated only by spending lots and…

Playing Third Bass Guitar, Jim Ray Hart

What remains of a once fine (and big) record collection sits upstairs, and even in its current emaciated state will leave dents in the floor when I remove it. Vinyl is heavy.  I’d like to…

Our Friend The Poet

Poetry, exhausted by the heavy burdens of sensitive emotions conjured up by dreamy sentimentalists, today is mostly found on dusty shelves in old libraries, none of which are in Ukiah. The poems of today are…

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