Author Archives: Woody

Birthday Gift for ‘Holiday Ball Drive’

by Woody

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here), other online retailers, and orderable at all bookshops.

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I love my oldest granddaughter Maya “to the moon and beyond,” as I often tell her, for a million reasons and let me share just one.

Last December, the day before her fifth birthday, little Maya went to a big box store with her mommy to pick out a sports ball. Purple being Maya’s favorite color, odds were good she would select a soccer ball of that color; or perhaps a basketball with pink stripes, her second-favorite color; instead, she surprisingly chose a brown football which she proudly carried to the checkout line…

A small sampling of gifts from “Woody’s Holiday Ball Drive.”

…and, even more proudly—“beaming” was her mommy description—later that day dropped it into a Toys For Tots bin at her swim class. On the drive home, her hair wet and smelling of sour chlorine, Maya sweetly tried to imagine the smiling face of the child—not necessarily a boy, she told her mommy, “because girls like to play football, too”—who would receive it.

 “It was a real positive experience that she enjoyed and learned from,” Maya’s mommy, who happens to be my daughter, shared. “For the first time, giving really registered with her. She understood some children don’t have a ball to play with, much less many balls and many toys, like she has.”

Maya’s enlightening experience is not unique. Every year I hear similar stories of kids participating—many picking out balls their parents or grandparents pay for; some using allowance or birthday money; a few raising group funds—in “Woody’s Holiday Ball Drive” that kicks off once again today to give sports balls to local disadvantaged youth.

The seed for this endeavor was planted three decades ago at a local youth basketball clinic when Ventura College legend and former NBA All-Star Cedric Ceballos awarded autographed basketballs to handful of lucky attendees. Leaving the gym afterward, I happened upon a 10-year-old boy who won one of the prized keepsakes…

…which he was now dribbling on the rough blacktop outdoor court, and shooting baskets with, all while perhaps imagining he was Ceballos with the game clock ticking down to the final buzzer.

Meanwhile, the real Ceballos’ Sharpie signature was wearing off.

Curious as to why the boy did not carefully carry the trophy basketball home un-smudged to put safely on a bookshelf, I interrupted his playing to ask.

“I’ve never had my own basketball,” he answered matter-of-factly between shots.

That Christmastime, visions of that boy—and other boys and girls who don’t have their own basketball to shoot, or soccer ball to kick, or football to throw—danced through my head. So I asked you dear readers to help make the holidays happier and you responded like MVPs—Most Valuable Philanthropists.

Once more, I am asking you to drop off new sports balls (no batteries required!) at a Boys & Girls Club, YMCA, Toys For Tots, or similar program. The organizations will see that they wind up in deserving young hands.

Also, through Dec. 13, you can hand off your bouncing gifts at Jensen Design & Survey at 1672 Donlon St. (weekdays from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m.) near Target on Telephone Road in Ventura; or have online orders shipped to the same address; and I will take it from there.

If you participate, please email me about your gifts at woodywriter@gmail.com so I can add your generosity to this year’s ball tally as well as acknowledge you, with a dedication to a loved one if desired, in a future column.

Maya’s Scottish last name McAuley translates to “danger is sweet,” but as she will now tell you, “giving is sweeter.”

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is now available in paperback and eBook at Amazon (click here), other online bookstores, and is orderable at all bookshops.

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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

Changing Diapers, Doing Laundry

by Woody

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here), other online retailers, and orderable at all bookshops.

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More than a few memories did Bryan Brothers-like Chest Bumps inside my mind the other day when it was announced Mike and Bob have been voted into the International Tennis Hall of Fame, joining Maria Sharapova in the Class of 2025 next August in Newport, Rhode Island.

My earliest flashback was playing Monopoly on a rainy day at the Bryan family’s home in Camarillo. Wayne, the identical twins’ father and the teaching pro at nearby Cabrillo Racquet Club, had brought a handful of junior players, myself included, to his house since the courts were flooded.

Mike and Bob were in another room, napping in their shared crib, and were the reason the game was extra spirited: the stakes were that the Monopoly loser had to change their diapers when they woke up. Even then, as I recall, Mikeandbob—two names as one, singular—were in such perfect synchronization that two of us kids were actually needed at once for doody duty.

Mikeandbob were barely out of diapers when they won their first doubles title at age 6 (in the 10-and-under division) and proceeded to grow into a two-headed monster standing 12 feet, 6 inches tall, with four arms and four legs, that devoured the tennis world by winning 16 Grand Slam doubles championships and 119 overall titles, both all-time records by a mile, plus Olympic gold and bronze medals, and helped Team USA win the Davis Cup. Too, they were ranked No. 1 in the world for 438 weeks during 22 years on the ATP Tour.

When I texted Wayne to congratulate him and Kathy for officially being Hall-of-Fame parents, he responded with a surprising off-the-court Mikeandbob memory involving my son, Greg, who was maybe 12 at the time.

As Wayne recalled in his text: “After 13 years competing all over the country in the juniors, two years at Stanford, and 22 years all over the world in the pros, you have a moving van full of memorable days. But on my personal Top Ten List is the day you and Greggie came by and I said, ‘Hey, the Bros. are back in town from the 13-week clay court season in Europe with a humungous load of dirty clothes and I gotta go to the local Camarillo Coin Op Laundry and get it done.

“ ‘Okay,’ Greggie says. ‘Let’s go do it!’

“You and Greggie had no idea what you had volunteered for and funny how I remember this, but we did a world-record 13 washer loads and 13 dryer loads that day and it took some two and a half hours and well over $50 worth of coins.

“But Greggie had a smile on his face the whole time and we shared some laughs and he did a beautiful job and it was a day I’ll never forget just hanging with him.”

My son was smiling because Wayne made it so much FUN!—all capitals with exclamation mark—by turning it into a series of games: guessing which washers and dryers would finish first; seeing who could match sock pairs the quickest; who could fold tennis shirts the best.

That afternoon in the laundromat was, in essence, how Mikeandbob became Hall of Famers—Wayne and Kathy always made tennis FUN! for their twin sons. Mikeandbob never needed to be told to practice; rather, the battle was pulling them off the court.

“Ha. Ha,” Wayne concluded in his text. “If there is ever a movie made on the Bros. journey, that laundromat scene has gotta be in it!”

A spirited game of Monopoly scene has gotta be in it, too!

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is now available in paperback and eBook at Amazon (click here), other online bookstores, and is orderable at all bookshops.

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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.

Golden Memories of Dodgers’ Golden Voice

by Woody

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here), other online retailers, and orderable at all bookshops.

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With the Dodgers playing in the 2024 World Series this column, near the top of my archives from 2022, seems fitting to rerun today…

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As with every Dodgers fan—no, every baseball fan no matter their team affiliation—news of Vin Scully’s death at age 94 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 far back to the time the home phone rang and my wife answered and the velvety voice on the other end of the line 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 promptly rang again, The Golden Voice again asked if I was home, and Lisa instantly realized her embarrassing mistake.

A few days later, I didn’t interview Scully so much as pull up a chair in his Dodger Stadium radio booth long before that night’s game and listen to his enchanted storytelling 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 approaching 40 years old—fouled off a couple pitches and eventually worked the count full, 3-and-2.

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.

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is now available in paperback and eBook at Amazon (click here), other online bookstores, and is orderable at all bookshops.

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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.

Trick-or-Treat Costs Arm and Leg

by Woody

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here), other online retailers, and orderable at all bookshops.

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Boo! Here is something scarier than any ghost or goblin or ghoul: according to the National Retail Federation, this year Americans will spend $700 million on Halloween costumes…

…for their pets!

Yes, Halloween is literally going to the dogs—and cats.

As for humans, the projected figure to be spent on costumes in 2024 is $3.7 billion, plus $3.8 billion for decorations and $3.5 billion for candy—the latter figure does not include dental bills six months down the Candy Cane Lane. All told, according to the NRF, this works out to $103 per person, a tick down from a record $108 a year ago.

Spiderman is expected to be children’s top costume of choice this year followed by ghost, princess, and witch. Not surprisingly, witch will again rank as the top outfit for adults followed by vampire, cat, Batman, pirate, and a swollen number of Shrunken Head Bob from the new cult movie sequel “Beetlejuice Beetlejuice.”

As for pets, the NRF says the most popular costumes will be four-legged pumpkins, hot dogs, bats, bumblebees, ghosts, and spiders. Personally, I have loved eight dogs in my life, but have spent the same on costumes for all of them combined that my parents did on costumes for my three siblings and me growing up: zero, zilch, zip, not a dime.

You see, back in the 1960s, kid Baby Boomers made costumes with empty boxes and paint, bed sheets and old clothes, this and that, maybe some face makeup, and imagination.

Instead of store-bought costumes from a box, here are some outside-the-box Halloween outfits I would like to see knocking on my door next Thursday evening:

Shohei Ohtani dressed up like Superman and the rest of the Dodgers, dusting off a four-year-old costume stored in an attic trunk, as World Series champions.

Speaking of superheroes, I’d love to see firemen, nurses, police officers, and teachers dress up as members of the Justice League.

Every cancer patient dressed up as cured.

Amazon’s Alexa and Apple’s Siri costumed as helpful librarians, and vice-versa.

The new iPhone16 dressed up as a rotary rPhone1960 model.

Similarly, a family out for meal in a restaurant all costumed as Amish Mennonites without everyone having his or her attention focused on smartphone screens.

Throwaway plastic milk jugs dressed up as bygone “Leave It To Beaver” milkman-era returnable glass bottles.

All the current election yard signs dressed up as recycled trash.

Congress dressed up with “Will Work For Food” signs.

Patagonia founder Yvon Chouinard costumed as Administrator of the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency.

Every drunk driver dressed up as a taxi, Uber or Lyft passenger.

The Lakers’ father-son duo LeBron and Bronny James as Methuselah and Lamech.

Jack In The Box pitchman Jack dressed up as Ronald McDonald, and vice-versa.

SoCal weather dressed up as rainy Seattle and more specifically Ventura County’s brown hillsides in costumes as Ireland’s emerald landscape.

My laptop keyboard as John Steinbeck’s Hermes Baby typewriter.

Coming full circle to pets, I wish every shelter dog and cat could dress up as a pumpkin or hot dog or bumblebee whilesleeping on a newly adopted lap.

Lastly, according to a CandyStore.com survey, the least popular candy—“bottom of the Halloween barrel” is the description used—handed out this year promises to be the same as when I last went Trick-or-Treating: spongy yet stale banana-flavored yet oddly pale-orange-colored marshmallow Circus Peanuts.

Which reminds me of the proper way to eat Circus Peanuts: tear the package open, toss them in the trash, then enjoy this year’s most preferred Trick-or-Treat treat: Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is now available in paperback and eBook at Amazon (click here), other online bookstores, and is orderable at all bookshops.

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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.

Making Friendship A Fine Art

by Woody

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here), other online retailers, and orderable at all bookshops.

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From Woody’s column archives, October 2020…

My friend Kurt, out of the blue, phoned the other morning for no other reason than to say “hi” and catch up. His timing was perfect as I was in need of a little pick-me-up. By the time he said “ciao” my socks were filled with helium.

After hanging up, my mind drifted to Coach John Wooden—whose birth date, October 14, coincidentally was the previous day—and some lessons on friendship he taught me during the two decades I knew him.

The first time I joined Coach on his daily four-mile morning walk some 30 years ago, he gave me a laminated card featuring his father’s “Seven-Point Creed” that includes “Make friendship a fine art.”

In an effort to be such an artist, the next time I visited Coach I brought along a small gift. Knowing his love of poetry, I selected a hardback collection by Rumi. Shortly thereafter, I received a handwritten thank-you note and a copy of a poem authored by Coach titled “On Friendship”:

“At times when I am feeling low, / I hear from a friend and then

“My worries start to go away / And I am on the mend

“No matter what the doctors say – /And their studies never end

“The best cure of all, when spirits fall, / Is a kind word from a friend”

More prized than the signed poem is that over the ensuing years Coach turned those stanzas into curing words, and deeds, when I was feeling low—particularly after my mom passed away and later when I was nearly killed by a drunk driver.

Coach even had a gift for raising my spirits when they were already high. For example, when I next visited him he recited a poem from the aforementioned Rumi volume. I must confess I did not know who he was quoting until he told me. Fittingly, the selection was titled “Love” which Coach insisted was the most important word in the English language.

The poetry recital was a thoughtful gesture of rare grace, and a lesson through example that saying “thank you” is nice but showing appreciation is far better. In other words, wear a new sweater or earrings the next time you see the person who gave them to you; put a gift vase on proud display before the giver visits; memorize and share a line from a gifted book.

Another life lesson put into practice was how Coach always gave his full attention on the phone and never seemed in a hurry to hang up. Indeed, if he was too busy to talk he would simply not answer in the first place rather than risk the prospect of having to be in a rude rush.

I fondly remember visiting Coach once when the phone rang and he let the call go to his answering machine. It was his way of telling me I was his guest and merited full focus. This unspoken kindness became even more meaningful seconds later after the recording “Beep!” when a very familiar voice could be heard leaving a message.

“That’s Bill Walton!” I said, excitedly. “You’d better answer it!”

Coach Wooden did not reach for the phone, instead telling me with a devilish smile: “Heavens no! Bill calls me all the time. If I pick up he’ll talk my ear off for half an hour and you and I won’t get to visit. I’ll call him back later.”

I am glad I did not have a visitor when Kurt phoned the other day while making friendship a fine art.

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is now available in paperback and eBook at Amazon (click here), other online bookstores, and is orderable at all bookshops.

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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.

Part 2: The Man Who Loves ‘Ulysses’

by Woody

My new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here), other online retailers, and orderable at all bookshops.

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There was no tinkling bell above the door. Instead, my entrance was greeted by a singsong voice as warm as a Writers’ Tears toddy: Helloooo, and where are you from?”

It was not the last music the proprietor of Sweny’s small bookshop in Dublin, Ireland, would treat me to. Shortly thereafter, he retrieved a handsome guitar and sang—in Gaelic, so I have no idea what the words meant, much like reading James Joyce can sometimes feel; yet nonetheless, again like Joyce’s prose, was lovely to the ear.

Patrick Joseph Murphy, introduced in this space two weeks past, is as Irish as his name suggests; so Irish his family founded iconic Murphy’s Stout Brewery in County Cork, some 150 miles southwest from Dublin, in 1856, its dark nectar becoming the first beer transported around the world on refrigerated ships; so Irish his accent makes you think of leprechauns.

Patrick James Murphy, proprietor of Sweny’s bookshop, in song…

In appearance, however, “P.J.”—as he prefers to go by—brings to mind America and Hollywood and “Back to the Future” movies, specifically the charismatic mad scientist, Dr. Emmett Brown, with longish wild electrified white hair and the enthusiastic verbal energy of a lightning bolt.

Also like Doc Brown, and in a nod to his fourth-great-grandfather Frederick William Sweny, who originated the store as a pharmacy in 1853, P.J. always wears a white lab coat at work. Too, on this day, P.J. wore an easy smile and a bowtie as colorful as a stained-glass window.

His family continued to own and run “F.W. Sweny & Co. Ltd. Dispensing Chemists” through 1926, at which time it remained a pharmacy in other hands until 15 years ago when it was sold to become—“Great Scott!” as Doc Brown would say in exasperation—a dispenser of upscale coffee. Unable to bear that thought, P.J., then in his late 60s, reacquired the store and turned it into a bookshop devoted solely to famed Irish writer James Joyce, who frequented the original Sweny’s and included a lengthy encounter within in his epic novel “Ulysses.”

At well over 700 pages, treading fully through the tome is the literary equivalent of climbing Mount Everest; many who begin the journey do not reach the summit—or final page. P.J. admits he quit in the early going the first time, at age 18, he set out to conquer the voluminous volume. Many years later, he tried again and succeeded, and has kept climbing as untiringly as Sisyphus ever since.

At last count, P.J. has scaled Mount “Ulysses” a staggering 73—yes, seventy-three—times! Adding to this Herculean erudite feat, he has done so in all seven languages (English, Portuguese, French, Italian, Spanish, German, Russian) he speaks, often reading aloud to groups he hosts at Sweny’s nearly every evening. Not surprisingly, he readily quotes passages from the novel at length from memory.

“I’ve earned an unofficial PhD when it comes to Mr. Joyce, I should think,” Professor P.J. noted. “I’ve read everything he wrote, though of course ‘Ulysses’ is my favorite.”

Later, during our hour-long visit, he cajoled: “After being in Dublin, you must read ‘Ulysses.’ It’s all about Dublin. After you finish it you can come back from California and we can talk about it more.”

With a wink, P.J. added a nudge: “ ‘Ulysses’ is best enjoyed with the book in one hand and a whiskey in the other.”

“That’s a lot of Jameson,” I laughingly replied, then asked for a shorter Joyce recommendation. Thus I purchased a copy of “Dubliners” that, at only 202 pages, was no threat to push my suitcase overweight as would “Ulysses.”

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is now available in paperback and eBook at Amazon (click here), other online bookstores, and is orderable at all bookshops.

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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.

Finding Beauty After Being Lost

by Woody

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here), other online retailers, and orderable at all bookshops.

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In response to a warm tide of readers expressing disappointment that my weekly column recently cut back to every other Friday, henceforth I will select one of my old columns – let’s call them vintage – from the archives to fill this space between new offerings. The one originally ran in October of 2010.

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Google Maps was of no assistance when I was recently lost for well over an hour inside a corn maze – a maize maze, if you will.

Exploration Acres in Lafayette is billed as “Indiana’s Largest Corn Maze” with more than 8 miles of paths. I’ll take their word for it, although to me it seemed no less than 20 winding miles of dead ends. When I finally escaped – from the Entrance, not the Exit, I must confess – I had a strong craving for cheese.

I also had a reminder that we often take things in our own backyard for granted. Most of the fellow mice I met in the maze were tourists and it struck me the locals were missing out on this Midwestern fun.

The bucolic beauty surrounding the maze drove this point home. Autumn’s change of colors was in full glory, the trees ablaze in rainbows of golds and oranges and reds. I spent my first 12 years of life in the Midwest – Ohio – but this honestly felt like the first time I had witnessed fall’s pageantry of watercolored leaves.

As the late British philosopher Bertrand Russell observed: “In all affairs it’s a healthy thing now and then to hang a question mark on the things you have long taken for granted.”

The change of colors made me hang a question mark on my backyard that is Ventura County and the Gold Coast. How many things do I – and perhaps you, likewise – take for granted here, from the scenic sights to historical sites; from entertainment attractions to recreational adventures?

To list one local gem of a destination such as the San Buenaventura Mission or Ronald Reagan Presidential Library is to omit myriad more. And that doesn’t touch on natural wonders like our harbors and Lake Casitas and the Los Padres National Forest, to mention but three. Suffice to say, many of us too often take our backyard for granted unless we have out-of-state visitors to show around.

Perhaps the brightest Gold we ignore is our Coast itself. Because we can go to the beach in mere minutes, and with ease, we often put off doing so until tomorrow, next weekend, when summer arrives. Meanwhile, others drive for hours, even fly across the country or further, to vacation on our beaches and play in our surf; to take a boat to the Channel Islands; to marvel at our sunsets that would make Monet misty-eyed.

 Sometimes you need to get away from what is special to fully appreciate it. I recall last Thanksgiving when we joined my wife’s side of the family at a beach resort timeshare in Mexico they all go to annually. It was our first time, and over and over we kept hearing about the spectacular ocean sunsets we were going to be treated to.

“Ooh! Aah!” the others marveled each evening as the sun sank, sank, sank and disappeared over the horizon.

Ho-hum thought my wife and I, unimpressed because the sky didn’t change colors like a kaleidoscope, like a nautical version of autumn trees in the Midwest, as is the habit on our Gold Coast. Nor was there an island silhouetted in the background to add dimension and further beauty.

Even being lost in a corn maze was a more memorable.

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is now available in paperback and eBook at Amazon (click here), other online bookstores, and is orderable at all bookshops.

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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.

Part 1: A Most Unique Irish Bookshop

by Woody

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here), other online retailers, and orderable at all bookshops.

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Don’t judge a bookstore by its front façade is a lesson I learned in Ireland, in Dublin, in the late afternoon after stepping inside a dog-eared shop, taller than wide, with a recessed front entryway bookended by two display windows above which are three rising arched panes, each one topped by rectangular signage of capitalized gold letters on black, reading left to right:

DRUGIST / SWENY / CHEMIST

To be sure, nothing on the outside suggested a bookshop. My first impression—and second, third, sixth, for I walked past it the daily from across the street for nearly a week—was that it was a pawnshop. And so, while I adore bookshops as dearly as I do ocean sunsets, I kept passing by without stopping to look more closely.

Some of the 45 editions of “Ulysses” all in different languages.

On our last full day in the Emerald Isle’s capital not too long ago, however, after getting happy in Kennedy’s Bar, established in 1850 and famous as a hangout for renowned writers Samuel Beckett and Oscar Wilde and James Joyce, I pointed kitty-corner and inexplicably suggested to my wife, “Let’s check it out.”

It proved to be like finding a four-leaf clover.

Built in 1847 as a physician’s office, six years later it became a pharmacy: “F.W. Sweny & Co. Ltd: Dispensing Chemists.” Flipping the calendar pages further forward to 1904, James Joyce stepped through the front door and consulted with the pharmacist, Frederick William Sweny himself, a visit that is described in great detail in Chapter 5 of Joyce’s novel for the ages, “Ulysses.”

Sweny’s also lies within 50 yards of the location where, that very same year, Joyce was stood up by Nora Barnacle. Two days later, on June 16, his future wife yielded to his advances and thus the date would famously become know as “Bloom Day” in honor of the hero, Leopold Bloom, in “Ulysses” which takes place entirely on that single day.

And so it is that Sweny’s has the great honor of being immortalized in sumptuous prose within the tome’s pages when Bloom comes into the shop. Two very brief excerpts: “He waited by the counter, inhaling the keen reek of drugs, the dusty dry smell of sponges and loofahs.” And: “He strolled out of the shop, the newspaper baton under his armpit, the cool wrappered soap in his left hand.”

More than a century later, I walked inside and inhaled not a reeky smell, but a lovely fragrance of a bookstore and later strolled out with a book in my left hand—Joyce’s “Dubliners,” a handsome limited edition green-cloth hardback with gilt lettering wrappered old-timey in brown paper.

The upper reaches of the soaring shelves, for the ceiling is as lofty as a poetic tree, remain stocked with antique medicine bottles of sea-glass green and ocean blue and fog white. The lower shelves, and handsomely old countertops too, are filled with a different medicine, for the mind—books.

Uniquely, every dose of pages for sale is by James Joyce: “Finnegans Wake”, “Dubliners”, “A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man” … and, most prominently, “Ulysses”—including a collection of editions in 45 different languages. Also on display is a rare death mask of Ireland’s arguably most celebrated writer.

But what truly makes the Joyce-themed Sweny’s one of my all-time favorite bookshops is the proprietor, the great-great-great-great-grandson of Frederick William Sweny. Patrick Joseph Murphy, who goes simply by P.J., is as interesting as the day is long—rather, as interesting as “Ulysses” is long at 700-plus pages.

And I will tell you much more about P.J. here next time.

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is now available in paperback and eBook at Amazon (click here), other online bookstores, and is orderable at all bookshops.

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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.

Laughing Through Mourning Tears

by Woody

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here), other online retailers, and orderable at all bookshops.

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“Tonight’s the night we make Greg shoot milk out his nose,” the 10-year-old oldest of three brothers whispered conspiratorially to the middle sibling, two years his junior, as the youngest boy and victim, age 5, sat across the dinner table totally unaware.

For nearly six decades I have remained in the dark that one of the most memorable meals in our family lore had been orchestrated, at my expense, by my two big brothers. With the statute of limitations for being grounded having long expired, Doug, the middle brother, recently confessed to the premeditation during a beautiful eulogy for Jim.

Though their plan was hatched hastily, it nonetheless was executed to perfection: when I started drinking greedily like a parched man lost in a desert, a wicked wisecrack was delivered and the resultant burst of laughter turned my nose into an Old Faithful-like geyser of chocolate milk. If you have never had milk spew out your nose, I do not recommend it for it stings so greatly as to make your eyes cry.

Here is something else I want to share from the “Celebration of Life” honoring Jim’s masterpiece span that was cut far too short by cancer (today, September 13, he would have turned 69): Never be so afraid of saying the wrong thing that you fail to say anything to those who are grieving.

Indeed, I have come to realize since Jim’s passing, and my 97-year-old father’s death only a few months prior also to despicable cancer, that any words of condolence are more appreciated than no words.

Even just a couple words can speak volumes and mean the world. When I posted my column about Jim’s death on Facebook, a dear friend posted a comment of exactly two words in full—“Oh, Woody”—that touched my heart deeply and brought to mind a line by Bodil Malmsten, a Swedish poet, who once conceded: “This hurts too much for words.”

When words hurt too much, just the simple expression “I’m sorry” is a welcomed balm for grief. As another friend says to the idea of worrying about saying something awkwardly: “When it is said from the heart, it will be received by the heart.”

Those who shared their own memories of Jim, in person or by note, warmed my heart more than they can know. Donations in his honor, flowers or planting a memorial tree, or dropping off meals were all likewise touching.

At the service, I am not sure which was a more powerful salve for the soul: seeing the familiar faces one knows, without question, would be there—or faces that were wonderfully unexpected. Of the latter was a teacher from my adult kids’ past who, despite it being a school day, hustled nearly a mile on foot to the church during lunch break to express his condolences before the memorial got underway and then raced back to class.

Being in a mourning fog, and also mentally rehearsing the eulogy I would shortly give, I do not recall exactly what our teacher friend said to me. And yet I will not forget that he, and every single person who expressed condolences in any fashion at all, made Maya Angelou’s often-quoted words ring true:

“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

Doug, meanwhile, made me wonderfully feel 5 years old again with his belated confession. Had I been drinking milk I surely would have snorted it out while once again laughing through my tears.

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is now available in paperback and eBook at Amazon (click here), other online bookstores, and is orderable at all bookshops.

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Woody writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at

Short Walk to Long Remember

by Woody

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is available at Amazon (click here), other online retailers, and orderable at all bookshops.

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Going for a walk, Walt Whitman poetically penned, left him “enrich’d of soul” and I am of a similar mind.

Indeed, few things leave me feeling more “enrich’d” than a walk on the beach, barefooted naturally, ideally at the shoreline where retreating waves leave the sand wet and cool and firm, but also little squishy between one’s toes.

A walk in the woods is likewise soulful, Walden Pond being one of my most memorable strolls for it is as beautiful as it is famous, and yet such natural splendor is not required to for a walk to be unforgettable.

Nor is a magical walk measured always by miles or hours. The other day, as example, a short walk on a city sidewalk instantly claimed a spot in my heart alongside a second-date beach stroll with a lovely brunette who would become my wife; alongside a hike up-Up-UP the switchbacking trail of Yosemite Falls with my son when he was in grade school; alongside a saunter down the aisle with my daughter, her hand wrapped around my arm and my heart wrapped around her little finger, on her wedding day.

I wish you could see a photograph of my latest walk to remember. It was snapped surreptitiously from behind as my 5-year-old granddaughter and I walked side by side, her little hand reaching up and engulfed in mine reaching down.

Maya, her sandy-blonde hair in a ponytail, seems a human rainbow in a blue-white-and-peach T-shirt, shamrock green leggings and pink sneakers, with a purple backpack decorated with a yellow heart and smiley face.

Her monochromatic escort, meanwhile, wears grey hiking shorts, a black pullover with the sleeves pushed up to the elbows for the morning is sunny and already warm, and black flip-flops.

Unseeable from behind, Maya and I are also wearing smiles.

We are on the way to school, her next-to-last day of preschool before starting kindergarten. To the left of us are some handsome trees, parked cars to the right, and a scattering of fallen leaves on the narrow sidewalk underfoot.

Our strides match perfectly—our outside feet stepping forward and inside feet pushing back in unison in the photograph—as Maya takes slightly longer steps than usual, almost skipping with helium in her socks, while I have shortened mine.

Walking from our car parked down the block to the school’s front door, then two hallways to Classroom 1, takes only a few minutes yet is time enough to talk a little and laugh some, too.

“What are you going to do in school today?” I ask.

“Play,” Maya answers with unusual succinctness.           

“Play is good,” I say and try again: “What do you think you are going to learn today?”

“I don’t know or I’d already know it,” Maya replies, looking up with a wry and playful smile.

She proceeds to tell me that NeNe, this being what she calls my wife, wants to come to school—not to drop her off, but to be a student so she can learn new things.

“What classroom would she be in?” I ask and the reply comes sprinkled with a giggle: “I think there isn’t a classroom number high enough because NeNe is too old for my school.”

“How about me?” I follow up. “Could I be a student here?”

“Oh, yes, Bruno,” Maya sings, using her pet name for me. “You can be in my classroom because you act like a kid.”

“An early-morning walk,” said Henry David Thoreau, echoing Mr. Whitman, “is a blessing for the entire day.”

My day had been blessed indeed, my soul “enrich’d.”

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Essay copyrights Woody Woodburn

Woody’s new novel “The Butterfly Tree” is now available in paperback and eBook at Amazon (click here), other online bookstores, and is orderable at all bookshops.

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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.