Late Night Roadside Memorial

-
It's three days later on the corner of Iroquois Road and Choctaw Drive, Westminster, Ca.

Saturday night, somewhere around 9:30 p.m.

Disneyland's fireworks pound out their final salute in the distance.  

The fog rolls in.  Temperatures drop.  The day's visitors cease.  

And in the dense fog 56 candles silently stand vigil looking out over a silent crossroad.






Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Mysterious Skin: Amazing night of theater at East West Playersysi

-
Last night I made my way up and out of Orange County to go see Mysterious Skin, written by Prince Gomolvilas now enjoying it's Los Angeles premiere at East West Players. ***Note:  I am not a reviewer.  I am not a critic.  (I married one, which is why I can say with confidence, I am not this.  If you want real reviews of Mysterious Skin  you'll have to look to other publications wise enough to have send their press in to cover this show now running at East West Players.) Me? Currently, I am just an Orange County mom who loves theater almost as much as she loves writing.  (True, I used to act, but now I just "mom."  And I write.  But, again to clarify: Not a critic.) And these her blogged thoughts are just my day-after impressions after having seen some great theater in Los Angeles last night. I have to say, I was in a hurry.  I had my kids to juggle,  too pick up from their schools...Dance classes, etc.  Hustling them home (interesting choice of words, in r
Read more

I tried to flush Schaeffer's sweater down the toilet.

-
Especially when those paths go back even farther than high school.  I think he and I were butting heads as far back as elementary school! If my memory serves me right, Schaeffer and I ended up, briefly, in the Guilford Central School together.  Fall 1968.  Yep. I was a newly transplated girl from New Orleans dropped unceremoniously into a tiny, extremely humble elementary school out in the boondocks of southern Vermont.  I had NO idea what the hell I was doing there and was suffering my own case of "Other-itis."   I In my case, as an only child of often charming, but highly eccentric parents, my wild ride hit some very bumpy patches, More on that later. Back to Eric:  See as a newcomer that year to Vermont from New Orleans I had an accent.  I wore dresses and probably continuing too make my parents happy by literally curtseying to the adults they trotted me out to meet. Politely.  Of course.  That was my job.   I can promise you, however, once you curtsy to a farmer, y
Read more