A big storm is supposed to be poised offshore; so far all we've gotten are a few isolated raindrops.
Today, down in Redwood City, I got to watch my kid play soccer again, for the first time in months.
I can't say that two months ago I was fully conscious of how precious these little life moments are, but I am now.
Although he's been ill, with a sinus infection and stomach flu, he still is as fast and graceful as ever.
Athletes are athletes, pure and beautiful.
He's an athlete.
I'm a writer. I have a different role. Tonight, thanks to a DVD sent to me by the film company that produced that Patty Hearst documentary for MSNBC, I finally got to see the whole program.
Except for getting sick of seeing (and hearing) myself on film, I thought it was a good show. The producers re-created an odd moment in American history. Their work is accurate and compelling. I hope they win awards for their work.
The skies are dark. I'm pondering my own memoir, one that will include the Hearst saga, which I covered for Rolling Stone.
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