Category Archives: Columns

Modern Prometheus In Dodger Blue

by Woody

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

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Dr. Victor Frankenstein, the fictional scientist who created a monster from reanimated body parts collected from human corpses in the 18th century, has outdone himself in 2025, in real life, by perfecting his newest Prometheus.

In Mary Shelly’s famous novel fully titled “Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus,” the unnamed monster measures eight feet tall and is covered from face to foot with horrifying stitches used in assembling the hodgepodge of anatomy, including a brain from the University of Ingolstadt.

This new 21st century Modern Prometheus stands eye-to-eye with the mighty Paul Bunyan, has a physique like Michelangelo’s David that likewise seems carved from Carrara marble, and somehow has been electroshocked to life. It should have a pet named Babe The Dodger Blue Ox.

Shohei Ohtani the Modern Prometheus!

Unlike in the cinematic adaptation, this Modern Prometheus has a baby-smooth face free of scars, no electrode bolts emerging from its neck, nor does it lumber like a drunk walking on stilts on an uneven cobblestone street.

Rather, this monster is as graceful as a Keats poem and fast as the wind – or Ricky Henderson on the base paths – thanks to having been assembled with Hermes’ winged feet and Usain Bolt’s gold-medal legs.

The other appropriated appendages used in constructing this Modern Prometheus include Nolan Ryan’s right arm, albeit with the elbow of Zeus surgically inserted, that throws lightning bolts – straight or veering – with the accuracy of Robin Hood’s arrows.

The only “being” who could possibly hit these bullet-fast projectiles is the new Modern Prometheus itself. Thanks to one eye transplanted from a peregrine falcon and the other coming from Ted Williams, this monster can read the date on a flipped coin from 60 feet, 6 inches away and deciphering the gyroscopic red seams of a baseball is as easy as making out the top letter on an eye chart.

Additionally, this updated Modern Prometheus was injected with a magical serum of mongoose blood mixed with rattlesnake venom. The result is turbocharged reflexes that make a cannonball in flight seem to be in slow motion.

Thus, squeezing a bat in Muhammad Ali’s southpaw fist, which is connected to Hank Aaron’s blacksmith wrist and Hercules’ left forearm and bicep, this monster could smack into orbit every baseball pitched to it if it so chose, but what would be the fun and drama in that?

Instead, like a card shark playing possum before winning the night’s biggest pot, this Modern Prometheus purposely fails time and again until the moment calls for a Hollywood-worthy home run – or three! – and then delivers a skyrocket on cue. Roy Hobbs was “The Natural,” but Shohei Ohtani is “The Supernatural.”

This monster ballplayer’s face is also a conglomerate. On the mound, he has the steely-eyed countenance of an Old West gunslinger. In the batter’s box, he displays Bjorn Borg’s “Iceman” unflappability. In the dugout and circling the bases, he flashes Magic Johnson’s “Showtime” – Shohei-time! – smile that requires no translation into another language.

Ohtani is a great-great pitcher and a great-great-great hitter; as both stitched together, with no apologies to Babe Ruth, he is the G.O.A.T. unicorn.

If not a modern-day Dr. Frankenstein-ian creation, the only other plausible explanation is that Ohtani comes not from Japan, but arrived on earth in a pod sent from a distant planet.

Shohei Ohtani next plays in the World Series – or, in his case, the Out-Of-This-World Series. For fairness sake, Toronto Blue Jays pitchers facing this Superman in a blue L.A. cap with a No. 17 Dodgers jersey covering his red cape should be allowed to doctor the baseball with spit and kryptonite dust.

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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.

‘Psychedelic Snowfall’ Of Butterflies

by Woody

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

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In honor of the “Books, Butterflies & Botanical Gardens” fundraiser benefiting the Ventura County Library Foundation on Sunday, October 19, this column from my archives seems apropos to share anew…

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In “A Moveable Feast,” a memoir of his halcyon days – and nights – in Paris in the 1920s, Ernest Hemingway wrote of F. Scott Fitzgerald: “His talent was as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust of a butterfly’s wings.”

A key reason for my traveling to Key West on vacation was to visit The Hemingway Home & Museum in Old Town. Five minutes away by foot, on the same block as the popular Southernmost Point in the Continental United States, is The Key West Butterfly & Nature Conservatory. Being so near, I decided to see some butterfly wings.

Entering the humid sanctuary with a soaring glass ceiling that seems to touch the clouds was to step into a time machine. Within seconds, I became a bubbly kindergartener on a school field trip.

“Look!” I reflexively exclaimed to my wife, pointing at a butterfly fluttering a few feet ahead.

“Look! … Look!” I quickly repeated, almost singing, as two more painted marvels danced through the air in slow motion.

Seeing a single butterfly in one’s backyard lightens the heart; here, inside the artificial outdoors, there are more than 3,000 representing 65 species. I had anticipated spotting butterflies would be like an aerial Easter egg hunt requiring eagle eyes and good luck. Instead, it was like being in the midst of an NBA championship celebration with confetti – oversized and alive! – floating all about.

My reaction to this psychedelic snowfall was as if watching Fourth of July fireworks: “Oooh! … Ahhh! … Wow! … Look at that one!” So unbridled was my childlike delight that I may have half-skipped along the winding pathway.

Scarlett, or perhaps Rhett, struts her stuff.

The climate-controlled paradise boasts beyond butterflies. The botanical garden features a rain forest of plants and trees, a meandering stream with resident turtles, and two gorgeous flamingos as florescent pink as a Key West sunset.

Long-long-long-legged Scarlet and Rhett were not always so radiant. After two years of bureaucratic pink tape to secure them, they arrived sickly and gray. Loving care, and importantly a diet rich in brine shrimp containing a natural dye called canthaxanthin, returned the “Gone with the Wind” pair to “flame-colored” per the Portuguese derivation “flamenco.”

Rhett and Scarlet, each 7 years old with life expectancies up to 75, enjoy the feathered company of 20 other species of exotic birds that seem to have had their feathers colored by imaginative children using the 64-count box of Crayola crayons.

Indeed, the fabulous fowls – “Look! … Oooh! … Another one over there!” – come in purples and pinks, reds and oranges, greens and golds, vibrant hues all. I wish you could see them.

Yet it is the butterflies that steal the show. One of the guides called them “flowers of the sky” which I think is perfect. I bet Hemingway would have loved that description too.

Two especially memorable moments occurred on my breathtaking stroll through this Land of Ahhs. First, a bird of a royal blue variety lighted on my left shoulder and remained perched for what seemed like a minute, although surely it was 10 seconds at most, before flying off.

Shortly thereafter, a “flower of the sky” as luminously turquoise as the local shallow ocean waters, lighted upon my right forearm. With its wings opening and closing ever so slowly for thermal regulation, it rested there for a true minute before bidding me farewell.

On a sheet of paper in a typewriter at Hemingway’s nearby home, a copy of a letter he wrote to a friend begins: “Having a wonderful time!!!”

That aptly describes my visit with the butterflies!!!

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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.

An Evening Of Silver Linings

by Woody

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

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Sometimes, rare wonderful times, when everything seems to be going wrong it somehow all turns out wonderfully. Such was the case the other evening when a young child cried and technology pouted and traffic threw a tantrum – and serendipity just kept smiling over and again, and once more.

Ever since she was a toddler my daughter and I have gone on “Daddy Dates,” as she called them then, and still does, because to my great fortune she has not outgrown these special outings, just the two of us, even though she is now well into her thirties.

In one of my favorite photographs, Dallas, maybe 5 years old, is in a sunflower dress and holding a bouquet to match, and I am in a “tuxedo” which is what called my sport coat she requested I wear. I requested that when she was older if a boy did not open car doors, and pull out her chair, she not give him another date.

Serendipity brought us to Robert Louis Stevenson’s former residence.

Naturally, when she and I went to a concert in San Francisco’s Masonic Auditorium recently I opened doors and helped her into her seat because I did not want to be unworthy of future Daddy Dates.

This date almost didn’t get out the front door to begin. A tearful two-year-old, with her daddy out of town, did not want her mommy to also leave. A delay that would surely make us late could have been frustrating; instead, it was actually a joy to watch my daughter soothe her own daughter with love and patience.

Heavy traffic, followed by a long security line when we arrived, then a brief snafu with our online tickets, promised to make us miss the opening song. And yet, somehow, we made it to our seats literally five seconds before the house lights went down and the music rose up. It was as if serendipity smiled and asked The Swell Season to wait for us.

As for our seats, a birthday gift from my son, they were terrific: floor level, slightly left of the stage, and so close we could see Markéta Irglová’s fingers dancing – gently sometimes, other times frenetically and mesmerizingly, always seemingly perfectly – on the piano keys.

Similarly, the skill and passion of Glen Hansard strumming his acoustic guitar with speed and fury was a thrill to behold and explains the comet-shaped gash worn through its face just below the sound hole.

The Swell Season sang their familiar old hits from the movie “Once” and new gems from their 2025 album “Forward,” but the highlight was the final encore, an acoustic rendition, sans microphones, leading the crowd of 4,000 in a hair-raisingly beautiful sing-along of the classic American folk song “Passing Through” popularized long ago by Pete Seeger.

Joining in, I was 10-years-old again and transported back to elementary school when Mr. Hawkins, my beloved fifth-grade teacher, would play guitar for sing-alongs.

Walking the city aimlessly after the concert, Dallas and I happened upon 608 Bush Street and serendipity smiled once again with a California Historical Society commemorative plaque noting that Robert Louis Stevenson, the great Scottish writer who penned “Treasure Island” and “Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,” briefly lived and wrote here in 1879 and 1880.

Our Jekyll-and-Hyde evening continued on the drive home with badly congested freeway traffic from an accident, but this, too, proved to be a silver lining because it wonderfully extended our time together.

Naturally, I walked my date to her front door – but there was no need to apologize to her father for missing curfew by an hour.           

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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.

Books, Butterflies, Botanical Beauty

by Woody

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

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The most wonderful thing happened when I was four years old, so thrilling it imprinted as one of my very first memories that to this day remains golden as a summer sunrise, so life-changing it planted the seed for becoming a writer – for before one becomes a writer, he or she must first be a reader.

Before I even entered kindergarten, my mom took me to the local public library to get my very own library card, which goes a long way in telling you I had a masterpiece mother.

While I cannot remember the first book I checked out, the first unforgettable one was “Where The Wild Things Are.” Week after week, I re-re-re-checked out this illustrated treasure by Maurice Sendak until the librarian finally told me I needed to return Max and his wild creature friends for other kids to enjoy.

So it was that my love affair with libraries began, a romance that has grown and not diminished six decades later, for I agree with the great author Pat Conroy who once noted: “I was born to be in a library.”

His and my enchanted experiences seem to be the norm, not the exception. Indeed, it is rare to meet an adult who does not fondly recall going to the library as a child.

Long before he became a silver-screen storyteller, Robert Redford was a storybook reader, having recalled before his recent passing: “I don’t know what your childhood was like, but we didn’t have much money. We’d go to a movie on Saturday night, and then on Wednesday my parents would walk us over to the library. It was such a big deal, to go in and get my own book.”

Public libraries remain a big deal, and a free deal, providing not just books at no charge but also Wi-Fi and, here in Ventura County in the summertime when school is out, free lunches for kids, and so much more. For example, in addition to enjoying listening to storytimes, my young granddaughters love reading aloud to therapy dogs at the library.

“I discovered me in the library,” said author Ray Bradbury and I feel likewise. It is fair to say I would not be a journalist, nor have authored the novel “The Butterfly Tree: An Extraordinary Saga of Seven Generations,” if I had not been a library-goer.

As the title suggests, butterflies and botany are woven into its pages; additionally, a public library has a meaningful role; thus, I am especially honored to be a speaker and have a book signing at the “Books, Butterflies & Botanical Gardens” fundraiser benefiting the Ventura County Library Foundation on October 19, noon to 4 p.m. (For tickets or to be a sponsor: https://bit.ly/4gmQXVP )

My daughter Dallas Woodburn, an award-winning YA author who got her first library card, also at age four, at the bygone H.P. Wright Library, will join me as we discuss writing and reading, favorite authors and books, and such.

Also, Jana Johnson, a renowned conservation biologist, will discuss the two-decade-long recovery efforts to save the critically endangered Palos Verde blue butterfly.

Ventura’s Botanical Gardens afford a lofty panoramic postcard scene of our slice of paradise – ocean, iconic pier, islands, mountains – worthy of mailing to the most beautiful locales on earth to make the recipients a little envious. And yet the views inside any public library surpass this or even Yosemite Valley at its Ansel Adams’ best because the books in the stacks can take you anywhere and everywhere in the world – and beyond, to worlds only imagined.

Thanks, Mom!

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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.

Hall-of-Fame Campsite Cleaners

by Woody

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

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The long road to the International Tennis Hall of Fame is paved with tireless hard work and endless dedication, bottomless talent also, naturally, but the surprising thing is the roadside is remarkably clean of litter.

Mike and Bob Bryan shared this revelation as the capstone of their induction speech, more than 15 minutes of eloquence punctuated at conclusion with a trademark Bryan Brothers Chest Bump, last month in Newport, R.I., for which I was fortunate to be in attendance, further privileged in the third row.

Wearing their newly bestowed navy blazers emblazoned with a white tennis racket and “ITHF” over the heart, Camarillo’s favorite identical twin sons made it easy for the assemblage, even those in the back row of folding wooden chairs that filled the historical 145-year-old lawn court, to tell them apart: Bob’s tie was striped, Mike’s dotted.

Bob (left) and Mike Bryan’s exemplary Hall-of-Fame speech was filled with heart — and humor, too.

Displaying the same synchronicity they used with rackets to become tennis’s most titanic tandem of all time with 16 Grand Slam championships and 119 professional titles overall, both records by a mile, Mike and Bob seamlessly took turns at the microphone recounting their shared career; dispensed heartfelt thanks to those who helped make it possible, most emotionally to their tearful parents Kathy and Wayne; then ended by coming full circle to journey’s beginning.

“Each day,” Mike now said, his mind’s eye looking back four decades, “when we made that seven-minute drive to the Cabrillo Racquet Club, if our dad ever saw a piece of trash on the side of the road he’d pull the car over, we’d jump out and pick it up. He’d often say to us, ‘Always leave the campsite cleaner than you found it.’ ”

Instantly, I was reminded of two more Hall of Famers I likewise had the inspiring pleasure to know well: basketball coach John Wooden and baseball manager Sparky Anderson.

The first time I joined Coach Wooden on one of his daily four-mile walks was memorable for myriad reasons, including when he abruptly stopped, stepped behind me and across the sidewalk, then bent down for a piece of litter – a hamburger wrapper, I still recall – that I had not noticed. He continued to contribute to the cleanup of his neighborhood, and I followed his example, as we briskly padded on.

“Pick up your own orange peels,” Coach called it, his Wooden-ism version of the Boy Scout’s clean campsite rule.

Sparky, on his morning walks in Thousand Oaks, not only picked up “orange peels,” he would deliver onto front doorsteps any newspapers still resting in driveways. Moreover, on trash day he would go for a second stroll in the early evening and roll empty garbage barrels from curbside up to garage doors.

“Woody, it don’t cost nothing at all to be nice,” Sparky said, a core tenet the Bryan Brothers exhibited to the fullest during their playing careers, from signing the very last autograph request after every match to sending flowers to staff after each tournament.

“Always leave the campsite cleaner than you found it…” Mike had quoted their father; posthaste, as if he were poaching at the net, Bob stepped sideways and leaned into the Hall-of-Fame mic:

“…and Mike and I have tried to live by this rule, not just on the side of the road, but with the tennis fans, with our Foundation, and we’ve tried to give back to the sport that has given us so much. We hope in some small way we’ve left the tennis campsite a little cleaner and a little better than we found it.”

Indeed, Coach Wooden and Sparky would be proud.

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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.

Hole Leads To Whole New Beauty

by Woody

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

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Because Ol’ Green recently needed another small repair, and further inspired by my late mom’s quilt shared in this space last week, here is a column from my archives from four years ago…

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Imagine a teenager looking in the mirror while getting ready for prom and seeing an eyesore pimple. That is the kind of chill I felt the other day when I put on my favorite pullover and spotted a small hole, but impossible to miss, in front.

Understand, I have had this wool, olive green, quarter-zipper, vintage Patagonia pullover for close to two decades and babied it most of that span so as to keep it pristine as long as possible. As a result, it has spent more time sequestered inside a dresser drawer than out in the world, which is not a good thing.

Ol’ Green keeping me warm at the Ventura Pier…

Also as a result, it has made more than its share of appearances at happy gatherings and special events, which is a good thing. The unsightly new blemish, however, promised to retire Ol’ Green from marquee billing.

While age finally claimed its youthful beauty, I did not want the small hole to get stretched and pulled and torn into a larger one. “A stitch in time saves nine” but, alas, my skill with needle and thread is limited to sewing a button back on a shirt. Meanwhile, my wife felt the emotional pressure of a surgeon being asked to operate on a loved one and begged out.

My dear friend Kathy, who possesses Betsy Ross skills, saved the day – and saved Ol’ Green. I wish you could see her handiwork. Darned if her darning isn’t masterful. The interwoven needlework is nearly invisible.

Since I know where to look, however, I can see it – and this makes me surprisingly happy. I say this after thinking about the Shakers who were renowned for their furniture craftsmanship yet deliberately introduced a “mistake” into each piece they made in order to show that man should not aspire to the perfection of God. Flawed, they believed, could be ideal.

Ol’ Green is now similarly ideal.

Navajos, likewise, weave a single imperfection into their handmade blankets. To their eyes this makes the blankets more, not less, beautiful. In “Blood and Thunder: The Epic Story of Kit Carson and the Conquest of the American West,” author Hamptom Sides elaborates on this mindset:

“Navajos hated to complete anything – whether it was a basket, a blanket, a song, or a story. They never wanted their artifacts to be too perfect, or too close-ended, for a definitive ending cramped the spirit of the creator and sapped the life from the art. So they left little gaps and imperfections, deliberate lacunae that kept things alive for another day.

“Even today, Navajo blankets often have a faint imperfection designed to let the creation breathe – a thin line that originates from the center and extends all the way to the edge, sometimes with a single thread dangling from its border. Tellingly, the Navajos call the intentional flaw the ‘spirit outlet.’ ”

Henceforth, I will take the Shakers’ and Navajos’ perspectives to heart when I wear Ol’ Green and embrace its repaired imperfection as a “spirit outlet.”

“Kintsugi” also comes to mind, this being the Japanese practice of repairing broken pottery with seams of gold and, in the process, making the object more beautiful for having been broken. That is exactly how I feel about my beloved pullover.

From now on, instead of saving Ol’ Green for special occasions I am going to wear it regularly. And when future holes and “spirit outlets” appear, and surely they will, I may ask Kathy to perform her seamstress wizardry with gold thread instead of perfectly matched olive.

Ol’ Green-and-Gold will then be even more beautiful than ever.

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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.

A Tale of Two Handmade Quilts

by Woody

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

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Imagine a painting by Monet of a pond shimmering with a hundred shades of blue, deep ocean to summer sky, on a canvas larger than a king-size mattress.

Now imagine a different masterpiece, every inch as large and lovely and beautiful and blue, but instead of oil brushstrokes on stiff canvas its medium is five-inch squares of age-worn denim sewn together and framed by a twill border.

“Priceless” is a greatly overworked word, but it is rightly employed to describe the patchwork quilt my mother, gone 33 years now, made for me before I headed off to college.

To begin, Mom surreptitiously saved my old blue jeans, Levi’s mostly, for a number of years. From these she harvested enough squares, or “blocks,” to build a quilt of 19 rows by 13 – 13 being a lucky number in her heart because she met my dad on a blind date on the thirteenth of October – measuring an oceanic six feet wide by more than seven feet long.

She arranged these pixels of denim with an artist’s eye and a mother’s care, forming pleasing patterns from the spectrum of faded hues and varying textures. For example, a small number of blocks have inseams running through them and a few others have front or side pockets removed, leaving behind silhouettes that resemble suntan lines.

One noteworthy square has the white frayed beginnings of a hole, probably at a knee, chosen because Navajos to this day intentionally weave a faint imperfection into each blanket to make it more human and thus more treasured.

Less seriously, near the quilt’s bull’s-eye is a signature 501 Button Fly. Naturally, one square features a rectangular Levi’s label – the waist and inseam sizes erased by age – and a trademark Red Tab tag adorns another square.

In the heart of the blue-denim field, which features nearly 300 tasseled quilting knots securing the touching corners of each and every block, is a large diamond pattern comprised of 16 squares of colorful tartan, in homage to our Irish roots, an eyesore pair of 1970s bellbottoms metamorphosed into handsomeness.

Weighing nearly 11 pounds, thanks furthermore to heavy-duty twill backing and thick batting inside, sleeping beneath this heirloom quilt feels like being hugged. In time, it hugged my daughter throughout college and then my son during his university years. No worse for wear, it now awaits four grandchildren.

Speaking of grandkids, the quilt’s four main corners each have a complete back pocket that my mom said, with a wink, were for condoms because she did not wish to become a grandmother too early.

And yet when I eventually made her a grandmother (for the fourth time) it was indeed too early, for my daughter was born three months premature weighing just 2 pounds, 6 ounces. Dallas remained in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit for two months that seemed like a hundred years. If there is such a thing as angels on earth, I will tell you NICU nurses indeed have invisible halos.

September is National NICU Awareness Month, which brings me to a second priceless quilt. It is crib-sized and new and conjures a field of sunflowers painted by Van Gogh. I purchased it from an on-line shop for my granddaughter, Auden, who is named in honor of my mom.

More than being beautiful, what makes this quilt beyond special is the accompanying note from the seller, written in purple ink in smooth looping letters, explaining that her mom donates the money from her handmade quilts to NICUs.

All quilts are works of art, but some are works of heart.

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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.

Can Black Thumb Turn Green?

by Woody

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

Inspired by a white orchid received when my dad passed away a year and a half ago, which I have miraculously kept alive since, I am sharing this slightly revised column from my archives because, even more miraculously, Spikey is still in my care and thriving four years later!

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In college, for a girl I had a crush on, I agreed to care for her cat and a houseplant over winter break. The CliffsNotes plot summary: I overwatered the plant, overfed the feline, and overestimated the girl’s feelings for our relationship.

Of the three, only the fat cat survived.

For a different girl I soon after met in college, I years later planted a dwarf orange tree as a gift for her fifteenth wedding anniversary. I did everything the gardening expert at the local nursery advised, from choosing a location with optimal sunshine to digging a hole of the prescribed circumference and dept to using the right soil mixture and watering amply but with care.

Alas, for our sixteenth anniversary I did not give my wife a glass of homegrown freshly squeezed orange juice in bed because the tree had already perished. Fortunately, this was not an omen as our wedded family tree now has forty-three annual growth rings.

Some people – such as my great-grandfather, who developed his own registered “Woodburn Golden Dent” corn variety that won numerous gold medals at the State Fair and was popular well beyond the borders of Ohio – have green thumbs.

My thumb, on the other hand (on both hands, in fact) is funeral black. To trees, plants, lawns, roses, even full gardens, I am the Grim Reaper. A Human Dust Bowl. And so it was with great trepidation that I agreed to care for my son and his lovely wife’s small potted succulent named Spikey.

While my wife has developed a light minty-colored thumb to compensate for my inabilities, I wanted to make amends for the long-departed orange tree and thus assumed full care of Spikey.

How is it going, you might wonder?

Believe it or not, Spikey is thriving as never before! A big reason is because my dear friend Sus, whose thumb brings to mind the Emerald Isles, shared some of her secrets.

To begin, she told me I must occasionally take Spikey outside for “recess” in the fresh air. This sounded reasonable and doable.

Secondly, less reasonable and much less doable, she advised that I sing to Spikey. Sus leans towards church hymns for her houseplants and specifically noted her bonsai tree named Little Harmony is partial to “I Come To The Garden Alone.”

Understand, Sus sings in a choir, her voice so enchanted I imagine it can turn weeds into roses. My singing voice, I fear, would do the opposite. Sus suggested I instead play radio music for Spikey so long as I also read to him.

“You’re joking, right?” I said.

It turns out Spikey seems to enjoy hearing “The Runaway Bunny” and “Goodnight Moon” from my lips nearly as dearly as do my three young granddaughters. When I confessed to Sus that I felt silly reading children’s books to a plant, she suggested trying a novel.

“You’re kidding, right?”

I think Spikey’s vocabulary is growing almost as steadily as are his sharp leaves.

It seems I have become a plant whisperer of sorts. As such, I have now been temporarily entrusted with six of Spikey’s relatives: Lundy, short for London, who needs to avoid direct sunlight; Lexa, who likes a little sunshine; Phillip and Mariposa, who must have their support stakes routinely checked for straightness; and Verny and Junior, who prefer to be watered sparsely.

As for books, I was thinking they might all enjoy if I read aloud “Where The Red Fern Grows” – but certainly not “The Giving Tree” for it would surely give them nightmares.

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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.

Crown Cost a King’s Ransom

by Woody

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

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I hope you have a wonderful dentist who not only keeps your smile healthy and radiant, but also puts a grin on your face each visit.

However, if you try to tell me that your dentist is better than my D.D.S., I am afraid I will have to have to knock out one of your front teeth.

Speaking of missing teeth, when I was in Scotland a handful of years ago, I was strolling along a plaza walkway when a woman tripped me from behind sending me airborne headfirst down four stairs whereupon I landed sprawled prone on a cement patio area. Miraculously, I sufferer neither a broken arm or fractured hip nor a concussion.

But my smile of lucky relief had two broken top middle front teeth.

The trip-and-run woman quickly fled the scene, but another lady came to my aid and with kind intentions handed me a pair of cufflinks-sized nuggets of teeth – I’m not sure if she expected me Gorilla Glue them back in place or keep them as souvenirs of my trip, pun intended, to The Royal & Ancient Golf Club of St. Andrews.

For the remaining week of travel that headed next through Ireland, I felt self-consciousness about opening my mouth in conversations and remained tight-lipped for photographs. So you can imagine my great gratitude when my dentist, Doc Stacy, shoehorned me into his schedule the very morning after the night I flew home. By noon, I was smiling widely again with temporary crowns and a week later had two new perfect porcelain incisors.

Doc Stacy has been my dentist for nearly half my life, better than three decades, and over that time he has given me a million-dollar smile – or, at least, six-figure pearly whites. He has given me more crowns than in marathon game of checkers; crafted a few veneers; encouraged me to get braces as an adult; and, most recently, assisted with a dental implant – specifically, tooth No. 14, the upper left permanent maxillary first molar.

By the way, what do you think a snack-sized bag of “Roasted & Sea Salted” whole almonds costs? Whatever you guessed, multiply it by about a thousand, because even with dental insurance that is how much my resulting nut-cracked tooth set me back.

The worst part of getting a shiny new chomper was having the old bad apple plucked out. Dr. Z, whose name I cannot pronounce, much less spell, is the oral surgeon who did the plucking and implanting of a titanium post.

I wanted local anesthesia rather than sedation, but Dr. Z zealously urged me to concede as well to a smidgen of intravenous magic potion to “take the edge off.” Leery he might not stop until my twilight zone became midnight, I nonetheless agreed.

I need not have worried. Dr. Z was true to his word. Right before administering the agreed-upon small dose through an IV in my forearm, he said: “You’ll feel this pretty quickly.” No sooner had “quickly” escaped his lips than I felt like I had quaffed three pints of Double IPA.

“Can I have a little more?” I asked Dr. Z, as if he were a bartender, and he happily served me a chaser that left me still awake and feeling wonnnnderrrrful.

Also wonderful was that for the next few days I had a valid excuse to eat nothing but chocolate milkshakes!

After a few months, after the implant fused fully in the jawbone, Doc Stacy added a Zirconia tooth. I can again eat anything I want – but I still pass on the almonds.

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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.

Kings of the Castle in Doubles

by Woody

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

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This Saturday, in Newport, Rhode Island, Mike and Bob Bryan will be formally inducted into the International Tennis Hall of Fame, so it seems fitting to share this column five summers past from my archives…

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“Don’t tell me about your dreams of a castle,” Wayne Bryan likes to say, “show me the stones you laid today.”

When Wayne and wife Kathy’s identical twin sons, Mike and Bob, were eight years old they taped an image of their dream castle on the Camarillo family’s refrigerator door: “Become the No. 1-ranked doubles team in the tennis world!”

They then laid the stones, day after week, month after year after decade, until they had erected a castle that surpassed their wildest dreams. Indeed, when Mike and Bob retired at age 42 their career looked like Camelot.

Together, Mike and Bob have singularly been Mikeandbob – a two-headed monster with four arms and four legs, standing 12 feet, 7 inches tall and weighing 370 pounds. Even Hercules could not slay Bobandmike on a tennis court.

Their final stat line as a pro tandem: 16 Grand Slam doubles championships and 119 overall titles, both all-time records by a mile, plus Olympic gold and bronze medals for good measure. As for their wild-eyed boyhood goal, they were ranked No. 1 in the world for 438 weeks during 22 years on the ATP Tour.

Mikeandbob also authored one of the greatest goodbye statements in sports history, rivaling Lou Gehrig’s famous “Luckiest Man” speech. It reads like an award-winning children’s book, yet is inspiring for adults too:

“Many years ago, two brothers left home and embarked on a journey up a tall mountain. With knowledge from their parents and fueled by boundless passion, they moved up the mountain together, their eyes fixated on a peak they could see on the distant horizon.

“They lifted each other over boulders, pulled each other up steep cliffs, and kept each other warm when storms battered the mountain. If one boy became weary, the other pushed harder and when one boy had doubts, the other fearlessly pressed on. They often slipped and were bruised but loved their fight against the stubborn mountain.

“After years of climbing, the boys finally reached the top. The view was beautiful but not what they expected. They saw a vast landscape filled with endless ranges of even taller peaks. Without looking back, they continued on.

“The trail eventually disappeared but the boys kept going, clearing their own path and exploring undiscovered lands they never knew existed. No matter the direction, they stayed together, for they knew their journey was impossible alone.

“And when their bodies could carry them no further, they turned around and gazed upon the world they had travelled. They looked at each other, smiled proudly, and headed home shoulder to shoulder, with a newfound peace and a bond stronger than ever.”

Along their fantastical journey, Mikeandbob behaved like chivalrous knights in shining armor. For example, they gave a match-used racket to a 10-year-old boy in Japan who was fighting cancer. More special, they stayed in touch. When they later learned he was on his deathbed, they expressed a final package of gifts to him.

A small thing? The young fan passed away wearing a shirt autographed by his twin heroes.

One more example of thousands: For a young girl fan who was in the hospital after attempting suicide, Bobandmike sent a video message complete with a musical performance – Bob on keyboard, Mike on drums – of an original song they wrote specifically for her.

Back when the kid Bryan Brothers first posted their lofty castle dream on the refrigerator, their mom Kathy told them: “It’s far more important who you are as people than who you are as athletes.”

Remarkably, Mikeandbob climbed that Mount Everest, 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.