Category Archives: Columns

Intoxicated by Bookstores and Libraries

by Woody

If you are at all like me, books never cease to allure you, delight you, amaze and even intoxicate you.

I would rather spend time in a bookstore than a museum, and I dearly love museums, which may explain why I especially adore used-books bookstores – and public libraries, too – because they are like bibliophilic museums, only better, because you are allowed to handle the old artifacts on display.

Yes, some of the best bookstores are second-hand museums, and the best of these remind me of Ventura’s long defunct All Pro Sporting Goods that was owned by legendary Bob Tuttle. It was a hole-in-the wall, barely bigger than a walk-in closet, yet like Mary Poppins’ magical carpetbag anything you were looking for could be found within.

Indeed, in the 1970s you might go into All-Pro to buy basketball sneakers and leave also with a new-but-blemished baseball mitt from the bargain bin in the same manner one might today be interested in a newly released novel at Ventura’s beloved Bank of Books and in addition wind up buying a second-hand copy of a classic.

There is something special about old books and the perfume they release – a trace of mustiness and earthiness, with a hint of vanilla mixed in – when you turn the pages, foxed and yellowing and slightly brittle from age. Used-books bookstores smell sweeter than a nursery greenhouse.

However, I also find delight in new books and independent bookstores where the staff can ask you a few questions and then give you a perfect recommendation that, to borrow from Holden Caulfield in “The Catcher in the Rye”, really knocks you out. Furthermore, indie shops often have reading nooks and dog-eared couches that invite you to pleasantly linger a while. Timbre Books in Ventura and The Bookworm in Camarillo are two of my favorite cozy bookshops.

The breathtaking library at Trinity College in Dublin, Ireland.

Too, I love libraries. The most beautiful library I have ever been inside is at Trinity College in Dublin, Ireland, a cathedral of the printed page where the priceless Book of Kells, dating back to 800 A.D., resides. When Jorge Luis Borges said, “I have always imagined Paradise will be a kind of library,” I think he had this Trinity College library in mind.

I think any library is a slice of Paradise. This includes home libraries, whether they contain thousands of volumes or merely a dozen cherished favorites. Growing up, our home library was actually a small bedroom, but very tall, with two opposing walls featuring white-painted pine bookshelves that rose like mountains from the floor to the 12-foot ceiling.

These Twin Peaks were as beautiful as any mosaic in an art museum. Instead of ceramic tiles, or stones, or sea glass, the medium was book spines. Thin spines and thick tomes; tall spines, short ones; spines in rainbow hues and earth tones. Most of the spines were shelved vertically, but some were stacked horizontally. There were leather spines as pristine as shoes polished for church, others dulled by age and creased from use. There were clothbound spines, paperback spines, spines covered by glossy dust jackets. There were new-looking old spines and old-looking new ones. Some spines had fancy gilt lettering while others had titles and authors printed in inks of every color, in myriad fonts.

Twin Peaks had too many books to read in ten lifetimes, but that was fine. As the poet Robert Browning said, “Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp, or else what’s a heaven for?”

Next week: Two of my friends and the most cherished books in their home slices of heaven.

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His SIGNED books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Personalized Signed copies of WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and  “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” are available at WoodyWoodburn.com

 

 

This Rom-Com Stands Test of Time

by Woody

Upon meeting a married couple, from newlyweds to having celebrated their diamond anniversary, I love to ask how they met. Blind date or meet cute or online dating match, they always light up in the retelling – as do I in the listening.

In the hopes that you feel likewise, let me share a synopsis of my in-progress screenplay with the working title, “When Woody Met Lisa.” Instead of starring Billy Crystal (dark hair, not the required shaggy ginger-blond) and Meg Ryan (blond, not brunette), the leading characters will be played by Owen Wilson and Rachel McAdams.

The movie opens on the campus of UC Santa Barbara, in a dining hall, at dinnertime. There are three hot-food lines and Woody intentionally chooses the longest one. When he finally reaches the front we see why: the server, even with her cascading locks tucked up in a hair net, is the prettiest girl he has ever seen.

Our first date, the very next evening after meeting at a party…

“Lasagna and tater tots, please,” the freshman says, choking on any attempt to flirt because the sophomore beauty is far out of his league. A quick montage follows, showing him in her line all year with similar failed results.

Fast-forward two years to a Christmas party at the off -campus apartment of two of Woody’s wild-and-crazy former freshman dorm mates. Across the crowded room, Woody sees a girl who makes his heart pick up a faster drumbeat. She is wearing a light-blue sweater, and no hair net, but no sooner does he try to strike up a conversation than the keg runs dry and the party breaks up and everyone decides to go to another friend’s bash.

Everyone, that is, except Lisa, who has promised a different friend she would drop by her party. Alas, their romance seems derailed before it has even begun.

“I’ll walk you there,” Woody quickly, and wisely, blurts out and the Nora Ephron-like fun begins. At one point, Woody gets Lisa a beer while she goes to the restroom – and when she returns he has slyly maneuvered himself underneath a hanging sprig of mistletoe. Lisa accepts the red Solo Cup and then unexplainably pulls Woody across the room, thwarting his ploy before he can act on it.

…and still feel like were dating all these years later!

All is not lost, however, as Woody and Lisa do kiss later that evening – with no assist from mistletoe – and then go on a dinner date the following evening and promptly fall in love.

As in all good rom-coms, just when things are going perfectly a break-up strikes like a lightning bolt. Both start dating others and at this low point, with Woody crushed by the flu, Lisa brings him an Easter basket filled with a chocolate bunny and candy, his favorite fresh bagels and cream cheese, and an array of cold and cough medicines. Woody’s fever instantly soars even higher with lovesickness and to this day he counts his lucky stars he got sick.

Also to this day, by the way, Lisa insists she never saw the mistletoe the night of their meet cute.

In two days – on September 4th – the two lovebirds will celebrate their ruby wedding anniversary of 40 years. Woody already knows the toast he will give her at dinner, quoting a line in a novel by one of his favorite authors, Brian Doyle, where the narrator, recalling his first kiss with his future wife many, many years earlier, says: “How can you not stay in love with the girl who was with you the very moment you were introduced to true happiness.”

Our movie ends, naturally, with a kiss beneath a sprig of mistletoe.

 *   *   *

Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His SIGNED books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Personalized Signed copies of WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and  “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” are available at WoodyWoodburn.com

 

 

Building Cathedrals Begins Anew

by Woody

Backpacks, notebooks and pencils have been bought, lunches packed, sneakers tied in double-knots, say “cheese” smiles flashed for milestone pictures before heading off to begin a new school year…

…and an old story I read about the National Cathedral in Washington D.C. has come to my mind. Bear with me and I will get around to the connection.

The magnificent cathedral took eight decades to build, 83 years to be precise, from 1907 to 1990, and near the end of construction progress slowed to a crawl because it became harder and harder to find experienced stonecutters with the skill necessary to prepare the stones properly to fit perfectly.

Curious about this nearly lost art, a newspaper writer went to the job site and interviewed two of the remaining master craftsmen who were now well up in age. Specifically, the writer asked the pair to explain what they were doing.

“I’m shaping this stone,” the first stonecutter replied, running a calloused hand over his smooth handiwork before pointing to a section of a rising wall, “so that it fits into that space over there.”

The second stonecutter, making a sweeping gesture towards the sky, had a grander answer: “I am building a cathedral.”

Schoolteachers, it seems to me, are very much like stonecutters, shaping their lessons to fit into the spaces that need to be filled with knowledge so a cathedral – each student – can rise tall and proud. Instead of shaping stones, teachers help shape minds. Joseph Addison, a 17th English century poet, echoed this stonecutter analogy when he wrote: “What sculpture is to a block of marble, education is to a human soul.”

Teachers, thus, help sculpt souls and there can be no higher calling. John Wooden certainly believed so, noting: “I think the teaching profession contributes more to the future of our society than any other single profession.”

Master teachers do their stonecutting with lectures and instruction, surely, but also with words of praise and inspiration; with grace and goodness; with humor often and discipline when necessary; and always, always, always the best in the profession perform their magic with encouragement.

Indeed, when my mind races back in time for a stroll through my school hallways and I recall the teachers, one after another, who made the biggest impact on me, it is not the facts and figures and rules of grammar they taught me that I most remember. Rather, it is the way the unforgettable teachers lifted me skyward with their encouragement. I am confident it was the same for you.

As with building a cathedral of bricks or cut stones, a student takes many years, decades even, to rise to full potential. As the adage has it, teachers do not see their individual successes until at least two decades after each student exits their classroom.

Just as it takes many stonecutters to build a cathedral, it takes countless teachers to help a student soar. It is, in fact, a relay effort with each teacher handing the baton to another, year after year, elementary school to middle school to high school and often further onward.

Castles, like cathedrals, require stonecutters. However, “castles in the air” are often interpreted to mean having daydreams that will never become reality. Henry David Thoreau, a daydreamer to be sure, disagreed, writing: “If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them.”

Teachers, the really good ones, are master stonecutters at helping students put the foundations under their castles in the air.

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His SIGNED books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Personalized Signed copies of WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and  “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” are available at WoodyWoodburn.com

 

 

Still Feeling Lucky Decades Later

by Woody

It is hard to imagine anyone being luckier in Las Vegas than I was 40 years ago come next month. Freshly graduated from UCSB, but jobless, I got a phone call that proved to be like a Jackpot-Jackpot-Jackpot spin on a slot machine.

A newspaper editor had tracked me down on my honeymoon, no easy feat back before cellphones, to offer me an interview for a sportswriter position. That was the good news.

The bad news was the tiny twice-weekly publication, The Desert Trail, was in Twentynine Palms – a one-stoplight triple-digit-temperatures town that was not exactly where a young bride dreams of beginning her new wedded life. No matter, Lisa and I cut our honeymoon a couple days short and took a detour through the high desert on our drive back to Goleta.

Dave Stancliff, a top-dog newspaperman, mentor and friend.

I not only got the job, I got a great boss, life-changing mentor, and dear friend in the deal. The latter happened – nearly literally – overnight as Dave Stancliff, his wife Shirley and their three young sons, took me into their home for three weeks until Lisa could join me.

Under Dave, I received a hands-on journalism education that surpassed a master’s degree and made me a better writer. More importantly, he imparted life lessons that made me a better person. For example, instead of giving a homeless person a few bucks for a fast-food hamburger, Dave would buy him or her a restaurant meal. Sometimes he even surprised Shirley by bringing a hungry stranger home as a dinner guest.

Along with a heart of gold, Dave has mettle of steel. Straight from high school he went to fight in the sweltering jungles of Vietnam and Cambodia. Stories of his experiences as a soldier gave me nightmares, yet he didn’t even share the worst of the hell he saw.

Indeed, a decade before Tim O’Brien’s remarkable Vietnam War novel, “The Things We Carried” was a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize, I learned about “The Things Dave Carried” home from that war: PTSD and physical health issues caused by Agent Orange. He bravely battled those foes – and still does – as if they were merely opponents in the ring when he was an Army boxing champion.

To say I admire Dave is a great understatement, so a recent “As It Stands” blog post he wrote headlined “The Two Most Inspirational People I’ve Ever Met” caught my eye. After all, to be worthy of Dave’s highest esteem would require someone quite special. Eugene “Red” McDaniel certainly measures up. He is a Vietnam vet who, after being shot down over Hanoi in 1967, spent six years as a POW before being freed.

“Red, who received the most brutal torture at the hands of his North Vietnamese captors, showed me how indomitable the human spirit is in the worst of times,” Dave writes now, having first met McDaniel in the mid-1970s while writing for the campus newspaper at Humboldt State.

“His positive attitude about everything in life was actually therapeutic for me (and my PTSD),” Dave continues, happily concluding: “Red is 93 years-old and is still going strong.”

Reading further along, I was suddenly struck by twin lightning bolts of shock and disbelief: “The other really positive person in my life is Woody Woodburn…”

The flowery praise that follows is, with no false modesty, unmerited. Nonetheless, the kind words put birdsong in my heart and bring to mind something Chuck Thomas, another dear mentor of mine, liked to say: “Don’t wait until tomorrow to tell a friend how you feel about them today.”

Wise advice for us all.

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His SIGNED books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Personalized Signed copies of WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and  “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” are available at WoodyWoodburn.com

 

 

Three Vignettes Worthy of Smiles

by Woody

Sometimes we all need a smile. Here are three reasons to do so…

Earlier this week my granddaughter, age three – “almost four” she will tell you, even though her birthday is not until December – went to the dentist for the first time.

The milestone event was not anticipated to be like dragging a millstone up a hill. After all, Maya has not only received two COVID-19 vaccination shots without a fuss or fallen tear, out of curiosity she actually watched the needle go in both times. Yes, as Shakespeare wrote in “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”, “Though she be but little, she is fierce.”

Alas, in the waiting room of the pediatric dentist, nervousness was getting the best of Maya and she began to tug on her mommy’s hand to escape home. Just then, an older patient, a boy aged 9 or 10, came out after his exam carrying a long, purple balloon sword…

…and seeing Maya’s distress, the boy became a knight in shining armor by gallantly offering over his sword. Instantly, like a wisp of smoke in a gust of wind, Maya’s fears disappeared and a smooth visit ensued with a full cleaning and fluoride treatment.

Oh yes, and a big smile with no cavities and a second balloon sword.

*

With inflation up, and the need for help with food up even more, an experience by a dear friend of mine, who wishes to remain anonymous, seems well worth sharing. A frequent volunteer at a local food pantry, she recalled her first time doing so.

“I spent the morning stocking shelves, breaking down boxes, and helping to distribute food to clients,” she began. “Everyone I encountered was so friendly and genuinely grateful.

“I will remember one woman in particular who was beyond excited to get a package of ground turkey. She was nearly jumping up and down with excitement. The experience made me realize what a gift it is to be able to go to the grocery store and choose what I want to eat. The clients who come to the food pantry are entirely dependent on what the in-coming donations have been that week. I was especially surprised how in-demand canned beans and dried beans always are. Indeed, we often ran out of beans quickly.

“Ever since, I have always been sure include beans when I make donations!”

*

With the Ventura County Fair in full swing through this Sunday after a two-year hiatus due to the pandemic, a cherished memory from my youth has given me a smile.

It was a smaller “Country Fair Without Ocean Air” in Ohio. I was 8 and my best friend Dan was 2 – he was born on Feb. 29 and stubbornly only counted his Leap Day birthdays. Dan’s mom gave us, and Dan’s older brother Tom, $3 each as I recall. That was a small fortune considering the games and rides cost a quarter and food treats were equally cheap.

Come afternoon’s end, Tom had miraculously not spent a single dime and his mom said he could keep the $3. Naturally, he taunted us, as big brothers will, bragging about the baseball cards and Matchbox cars he could now buy.

But Dan and I had no regrets. We had gotten dizzy on the rides, been conned shooting hoops and throwing darts at balloons and tossing rings at bottles without winning any prizes, but we still came out ahead and we knew it.

All these years later, I guarantee you Tom doesn’t remember what baseball cards he got, but I still remember the fun Dan and I had.

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His SIGNED books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Personalized Signed copies of WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and  “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” are available at WoodyWoodburn.com

Golden Memories of Golden Voice

by Woody

As with every Dodgers fan – no, every baseball fan no matter their team affiliation – news of Vin Scully’s death at age 94 on Tuesday gripped my heart and squeezed my wife’s tear ducts. A moment later, we smiled and laughed.

Yes, laughter among the sorrow because we both reached back to the same memory two decades past when the home phone rang and my wife answered and the velvety voice on the other end of the line – “Hello, this is…” – was unmistakable even before the caller identified himself.

Lisa, unaware I had been trying to set up an interview, didn’t believe here ears. “You aren’t Vin Scully,” she said after he gave his name, amused at one of my friends’ lame jokes…

…and hung up.

The phone quickly rang again, The Golden Voice once again asked for me, and Lisa instantly realized her embarrassing mistake.

A few days later, I didn’t interview Scully so much as I pulled up a chair in his Dodger Stadium radio booth long before that night’s game and listened to his singular storytelling. I had hoped for maybe 15 minutes of his time, but he graciously enchanted me for an hour.

About a year later we crossed paths at a gala dinner honoring another Southland legend, Jim Murray, washing our hands in the restroom. Remarkably, Scully greeted me by name, but the greater display of his peerless people skills was his insistence I come meet his wife. In turn, I introduced him to Lisa – albeit without mentioning the phone hang up.

Scully’s geniality in person was as authentic as it was on the airwaves.

“I enjoy people, so I don’t mind autograph requests at all,” he told me. “Why not sign? They’re paying me a compliment by asking.”

And what were some of the stranger “compliments”?

“I’ve signed a lot of baseballs, as you can imagine,” he shared. “But also golf balls and even a hockey puck, which is sort of strange. Paper napkins seem popular, even dirty napkins – I think it’s all they have on hand. I don’t expect them to keep it, but I sign anyway because hopefully they will keep the moment.”

How many magical moments did Vin – didn’t he make us all feel like we knew him on a first-name basis? – give us during his 67 years behind the Dodgers’ microphone? Count the stars in the sky and you might have the answer.

Here is another of my favorite personal moments that I keep wrapped in red velvet. Our interview concluded, I asked The Greatest Sports Broadcaster Ever if he would put me in the batter’s box in Dodger Stadium. Oh, how I wish I had recorded his imaginary call of my one-and-only Major League at-bat.

In my mind’s ear, nonetheless, I can hear it still as he announced me digging in at the plate to face the great fireballer, Bob Gibson, who promptly brushed me back with the first pitch: “Gibson says, ‘Welcome to the Big Leagues, Mr. Woodburn,’ ” said Scully.

Next pitch, I swung at a fastball after it was already in the catcher’s mitt, yet somehow “the tall, lanky kid from Ventura” – for I was magically no longer 40 years old – fouled off a couple pitches and worked the count full.

Scully ended my fantasy with a wink, not a home run. Like “Casey at the Bat”, mighty Woody struck out. It was perfect.

Perfect, too, was Scully’s succinct answer when asked how he would want God to greet him in heaven: “Well done.”

Well done, Vincent Edward Scully. Well done, indeed.

 *   *   *

Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His SIGNED books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Personalized Signed copies of WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and  “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” are available at WoodyWoodburn.com

Fair Makes Big-Eyed Kids Of Us All

by Woody

The John Mellencamp song “County Fair” comes to my mind every summer with one lyric especially making me smile: “Kids with eyes as big as dollars / Rode all the rides.”

That, in a single image, sums up the Ventura County Fair to me – kids getting their thrills on carousels and trains, sky swings and the Tilt-a-Whirl, small roller coasters and the giant Ferris wheel.

My favorite Ferris wheel memory is captured in a framed 8-by-10 black-and-white photograph. Snapped candidly by a Star photographer three decades ago, before newspapers became colorful, it still hangs on my daughter’s childhood bedroom wall. In it she is 4 years old with excited eyes as big as dollars, me seated tight by her side with one arm around her, as we soar high skyward. It was her first VC Fair and she says it remains one of her earliest vivid memories.

Alas, for the past two years, kids – and teens and adults – making new Fair memories was put on hold due to the COVID-19 pandemic causing the event’s first cancellation since World War II. Happily, that changes this Wednesday (Aug. 3) when the “VC Fair Rides Again.”

The Fair makes kids of us all. If not the rides, then the win-a-stuffed-animal games or various exhibits or concerts or chocolate-covered bacon will give you eyes as big as silver dollars. The Fair is more timeless than baseball and for a week and a half each summer becomes our favorite pastime.

Speaking of baseball, legend has it Babe Ruth played an exhibition game nearly a century ago in the mid-1920s at Seaside Park which is, and has been since 1914, the site for the Ventura County Fair that originated in 1874 at the Pierpont Bluffs. This claim to fame makes the current fairgrounds all the more special. After all, while throwing baseballs at milk bottles on the midway you can imagine you are trying to strike out The Sultan of Swat.

The Fair is also special because of spinning, dipping, whirling rides with enough G-forces to make a NASA astronaut’s stomach woozy.

The Fair is special because the food can also make your stomach spin with offerings that include almost anything you can imagine served on a stick, deep-fried or dipped in chocolate – or all three.

The Fair is special because it serves as an excuse for parents to play hooky from work for an afternoon.

The Fair is special because of the amazing exhibits of paintings and photography, handmade quilts and home-baked cakes, and on and on.

The Fair is special because of the midway games, no matter if the basketball rims are too high and so bent out of round that LeBron James would be lucky to sink 1 out of 4.

The Fair is special because the carnies are such colorful characters.

The Fair is special because of the 4-H junior livestock auction and blue-ribbon rabbits the size of English bulldogs!

And, not least of all, the Fair is special because of the ocean-side Ferris wheel that affords a soaring seagull’s-eye panoramic view that is beyond spectacular. This magic is magnified if you are 4 years old, or thereabouts, or sitting beside such a kid with eyes as big as silver dollars.

Mellencamp’s song concludes: “Well the County Fair left quite a mess / In the county yard”

Indeed, come August 14, after the tents are folded, the rides taken down, and the trucks loaded up, there will be quite a mess left behind. But that’s how the best parties always end – with a happy mess and lasting memories.

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His SIGNED books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Personalized Signed copies of WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and  “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” are available at WoodyWoodburn.com

Some Hair-Razing Experiences

by Woody

Have you ever had a bad haircut?

I mean really bad. Bad squared. A haircut that looks like your stylist had hand tremors and advanced cataracts. A fiasco you hide under a ball cap or headscarf for a month because it brings to mind the Rolling Stones’ song “Look What The Cat Dragged In.”

I have suffered my fair share of such hair-assment, beginning in boyhood when my dad used electric dog clippers on my two older brothers and me. Why dog shears, you ask? Because our miniature poodle Mac turned into the Tasmanian Devil when Pop tried unsuccessfully to groom him and doggone it if those brand-new clippers were going to go to waste!

In college, I had only myself to blame when I started going to a local beauty college because it only cost five bucks. That might sound even riskier than facing dog clippers, but in truth the haircuts usually turned out not half-bad because the instructor would touch up – or, if need be, entirely redo – everything after the student took a stab at it.

A few times, however, even Vidal Sassoon could not have repaired the original effort. Stubbornly, like a person playing a slot machine, I kept pulling the $5 handle hoping for three cherries. Alas, “One More Try” too often led to two other songs by the Stones: “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” and “No Use Crying.”

My hair-razing tale hit rock bottom one day when the student stylist in training kept trying to even up one side – snip-snip – then the other – clip-clip – then the first side again – snip-clip – and so on, until my Bjorn Borg-like locks were barely longer than the buzzed lawns at Wimbledon. I wore a knit cap all of spring semester.

Over the ensuing years I tried small barbershops and big chains with “Super” and “Super Duper” in their names, but the results continued to be lemon-cherry-7. Until I hit the 7-7-7 jackpot with a woman named Rosa who cut my hair just the way I like it – shorter than when I arrived, yet looking like it hadn’t just been cut. For the next five or six years, I was in haircut heaven.

And then came COVID-19. The longer the pandemic went, the longer my locks grew. Three months became six months and then, stubbornly just for the heck of it, a full year and beyond without a haircut. Finally, I took my Rapunzel-like mane back into the barber chair. A different chair, though, because Rosa’s shop had gone out of business.

Another Rolling Stones’ song, “The Worst,” describes the result. Fortunately my weed-whacked hair grew out, and then some, by the time my son’s recent wedding rolled around. Not wanting to risk accenting my groomsman’s tuxedo with a ball cap, I was in need of a Hair Mary miracle.

My much-better-half has gone to the same stylist – and, shhhhh, colorist – since before my son was born, always with Hollywood-like red-carpet results. “Give Patti a try,” Lisa urged. “She’ll do a great job.”

Patti’s place is a Frisbee toss from the beach with a hippie vibe and even an antique barber pole inside. In other words, I loved it. As she went to work, her adorable little dog sat nearby. His name is Jagger, like the rock star, so I don’t have to tell you the background music was awesome.

Jagger’s human namesake, Mick, famously sings the song “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction” but I felt completely the opposite when I got out of Patti’s chair. It was best haircut of my life.

 *   *   *

Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His SIGNED books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Personalized Signed copies of WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and  “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” are available at WoodyWoodburn.com

My Own ‘Charlotte’s Web’ Tale

by Woody

In E. B. White’s popular children’s novel “Charlotte’s Web,” as you very likely once read and still fondly recall, a spider named Charlotte befriends a pig named Wilbur.

Here is a 280-character Tweet-length synopsis: As winter approaches, Wilbur is destined for the dinner table. Charlotte devises a plan to save his life by making him too famous for slaughter. She proceeds to weave four messages into her web – “Some Pig”, “Terrific”, “Radiant” and “Humble” – above Wilbur’s pen. Suddenly, people from far and wide are coming to see this special pig.

It is Charlotte, of course, who is truly special. In fact, most spiders are special for they are pest-control stalwarts. Hence, when I find one inside the house I go to the trouble of capturing it under a coffee mug; sliding a piece of paper under the rim; then carrying it outside to release in our drought-resistant yard. Usually.

Confession: When I encounter a spider during a middle-of-the-night trip to the bathroom I am more apt to grab a flip-flop sandal, not a mug of mercy, and administer a deadly TWHACK!

Such was my initial instinct not long ago, in the wee-wee hours of darkness, when I was greeted by an eight-legged intruder. Luckily for it – or she, for I soon named it Charlotte – she was inside the bathtub. I say luckily because since the tub is enclosed with sliding glass doors it seemed too much effort – and too noisy, for the doors rumble a bit and might awaken my much-better-half – to exterminate Charlotte.

Also, once you name a spider you really can’t THWACK! it with a shoe or rolled-up magazine.

Since the enclosed bath is basically a terrarium with no plants, I figured I would go back to bed and capture Charlotte in the morning and relocate her to the garden. This plan seemed good for both my cacti and my karma.

Come morning, as you might have guessed, Charlotte was gone. Possibly she made a prison break by climbing up and over the glass doors, although it seemed more likely she went down the drain like her famous nursery rhyme cousin The Itsy Bitsy Spider.

That night, to my surprise, my own itsy bitsy spider had climbed up the drain again.

“Hello, Charlotte,” I said, for that is what you do when you have named a spider. Moments later, turning off the light, I said in a pillow-talk whisper: “Goodnight, Charlotte.” Fortunately, my wife did not awaken and hear me for who knows what she would have thought since Charlotte is not her name.

This pattern continued for perhaps a week with the tub empty in daylight and Charlotte reappearing in the dark of night.

Then came a surprise. One afternoon, Charlotte materialized in the tub as if the moon was out. My impulse was to finally take her outside. On my way to get a coffee mug for capture, however, I had second thoughts. While Charlotte would be good for my garden, would the garden be good for her? Or, instead, might she wind up as a bird’s breakfast? As it was, she seemed to have a safe home in the drainpipes below.

And so I left well enough alone. Later, however, when I found a small spider web – empty at the time – anchored to the faucet and shower wall, it seemed she had decided to move in up above and I decided I would have to move her out the next time I saw her.

Alas, she has never reappeared, day or night.

Sadly, my Charlotte didn’t even weave a “Goodbye” note.

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His SIGNED books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Personalized Signed copies of WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and  “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” are available at WoodyWoodburn.com

Breaking My Own Column Rule

by Woody

My great friend Dan had a basement that was a boyhood wonderland with a pinball machine, Ping-Pong table, slot-car racetrack, dartboard, Rock ’Em Sock ’Em Robots, board games and more.

Dan not only knew how to expertly shake the pinball machine without a “tilt” registering, he also had a habit of tilting other games in his direction. That is to say he playfully cheated.

“My house, my rules,” Dan would announce and claim a do-over when his HO-scale Corvette went around a curve too speedily and flew off the track; when his dart wildly missed its mark and ricocheted off the cinder-block wall; when he jiggled the pinball machine a little too vigorously and the flippers did freeze.

Similarly, a high-stakes roll in Monopoly sometimes required having both dice coming to rest on the game board, not the table; but other times vice-versa. “Doesn’t count. Roll again,” he would cackle if he didn’t like the outcome. “My house, my rules.”

Naturally, the rules tilted in my favor when we played H-O-R-S-E or checkers at my house.

I bring this up today because I have long had an unwritten rule of not writing about local authors and their books in this space. It seems more prudent to say “no” to all requests, being as numerous as they are, than risk this becoming a weekly book review column.

Alas, loyal readers of this space with good memories will instantly recognize my hypocrisy because back in February I wrote about the novel “Thanks, Carissa, For Ruining My Life” (Immortal Works Publishing). The setting features a fictional beach town named Buena Vista that is clearly – from Main Street to the foothills to a familiar taco shack – Buenaventura.

That author, a former prestigious John Steinbeck Fellow in Creative Writing, has a new book that just came out last week: a collection of short stories titled, “How to Make Paper When the World is Ending” (Koehler Books). It is terrific. Indeed, no less than ten of the 15 offerings have previously appeared in literary magazines and journals.

Just as Mr. Steinbeck time and again wrote about the Salinas Valley in his fiction, Dallas Woodburn over and again writes about her hometown – including the pier, beach, and promenade – in the pages of “Paper.” One of my favorite stories here is titled “How My Parents Fell In Love” which begins:

“My mother walked out of the grocery store. She wore a red dress, her hair was permed the way it looks in photo albums. My father drove up in a car, a fast car, silver, a car that goes vroom vroom. He did not know her yet. She looked pretty in that red dress with the ruffles at the hem. He rolled down the window, leaned out, and smiled, and said, ‘Hubba, hubba!’ They fell in love and lived happily ever after.”

Four similar vignettes follow, each growing longer and written more maturely than the previous, each storyline slightly changed yet each ending exactly the same: “They fell in love and lived happily every after.”

The sixth and final version, however, rings most true and scraps the fairy-tale ending: “Later that night they kissed under the mistletoe. The fell in love. And they lived, happily. Also angrily, naughtily, hopelessly, hungrily. Messily. Ever after. Like saints and martyrs and lovers and children. They lived, and they live. Together still.”

Am I guilty of hypocrisy and nepotism with today’s subject? Yes, most assuredly. Also unashamedly, happily, unapologetically, proudly with my buttons popping off.

“My column, my rules.” I hope you understand and will forgive me.

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His SIGNED books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Personalized Signed copies of WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and  “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” are available at WoodyWoodburn.com