Cat Pans . . .

—From EF— We have house cats. House cats use cat pans. Every morning, early enough to see the glory of the rising sun, I leave Conrad to sleep another hour and come downstairs to start my day. At the foot of the stairs I unlatch the gate that keeps the cats from...

R.I.P. . . .

—From CB— As of two weeks ago, we’re laying our theatre to rest. This is our curtain call. Simple reasons: For 46 years, The Independent Eye has been the center of our lives (apart from kids & one another), but it’s no longer functional. We’ll continue to do some...

Sheba . . .

—From EF— Let’s talk about Sheba. Actually, her full name is Sheba Bigbutt. She’s a wine-red 1999 Dodge Maxivan and she brought 1/3 of our worldly possessions out to California when she was a brand-new sparkling baby; the rest of it came in what we called...

Express Bus . . .

—From CB— Here’s a flash-fiction we wrote some time ago. It’s topical, so posting it here. Feel free to share it. EXPRESS BUS by Bishop & Fuller I sometimes take the bus to and from my work in the city—San Francisco to Santa Rosa, GGT 101—which stops in San Rafael...

Wellspring . . .

—From EF— Like many others this week, we popped for a month’s subscription to the Disney Channel and watched Hamilton. Sheesh, what a wild ride. I never thought I’d have a chance to see it, and I’m glad I did. My fervor for the first half...

Empathy . . .

—From CB— On our afternoon walk today, I asked Elizabeth a moderately unanswerable question. I’m ready to begin the third draft of our new novel, a very surreal dystopian thing with a cast of dysfunctional characters, and I asked her regarding one character, “What...

Retrieval . . .

—From EF— I am up to my eyeballs in 1960-1963, my years at Northwestern wherein I (a) met Conrad Bishop, (b) sank to what was unquestionably the most disturbed mental condition of my life, and (c) started the long, long trek upward to actually having a life. My memory...

A Letter . . .

—From CB— Early summer of June 1961, I called my mother to tell her I wanted to get married. I knew it would be a shock. I was 19, it was the end of my freshman year at Northwestern, she hadn’t met Elizabeth, and as a single, working-class mom she knew the trials of...

Hello, Mama!

—From EF— Today, at last, we could visit Mama Ocean again, up close and personal. Back at the end of March all of the parking along Sonoma County’s gorgeous ocean access sites was blocked off—too many people, many of them coming from distances, crammed the sand...

An Irrelevancy . . .

—From CB— It’s my week to write our blog (which we alternate with) and I knocked it off by Wednesday. Then the week started happening. Along with the usual madness, there was Chapter Nineteen of the pandemic, there was the killing and the riots, and to finish it off,...