A friend was telling me how much he enjoyed small, low-profile sporting events. He mentioned going to Sacramento State games. I know the feeling.
I prefer a summer night at the River Cats over the frenzied, obnoxious environments of NBA arenas and NFL stadiums. Sportswriters are supposed to get excited by big showdowns and great athletes.
They wore me out.
If you can’t picture yourself laughing about death, read “Almost Family,” a debut novel by Ann Bancroft.
The Land Park writer will have you chuckling along with the characters as they face death from various forms of cancer. But it’s not a cancer book.
“The topic isn’t cancer, it’s about relationships,” says Bancroft, 71, who twice battled cancer. “We all live until we die and, surprise, we’re all going to die. I wanted to make it easier to discuss death, to make people more comfortable with illness and dying, so I tried to use humor. Cancer’s not one thing. You’re still worried about what’s for dinner. You’re still a whole person.”
When Jennifer Tornatore and Eric Knutson married in 2003, seven years after joining households, they lived in a ranch-style home in Point Richmond. “Eric came as a package with two young sons, so we had a family-friendly home in a good school district,” Tornatore says. “But the home was uninspiring.”
Tornatore, an account executive with Uber, comes from the Sacramento suburbs. Knutson, an architect, grew up in the Bay Area. His design specialty is high-end residential, smaller commercials and multifamily homes.
A little one whispered in my ear, “Gampa-gampa, can we pull carrots?” In the Sacramento summer, there were no carrots to yank, but the request warmed my heart.
Children and gardening are a precious pair. My granddaughters always want to explore the garden.
They pinch off blueberries and grapes, sift through soil to discover potatoes, pluck lemons and oranges, pull carrots, and are fascinated when I turn the compost pile and insects scurry for cover.
A garden is a living classroom. Children absorb science, discover creatures, and learn ecological concepts and lessons about food and nutrition. The garden inspires curiosity and wonder. It offers a healthy diversion from TV, Minecraft, Roblox, Zelda and the idleness of screen time.
My earliest memory of Maureen Gilli is from fourth grade at Sacramento County Day School.
She wheeled her art cart into the classroom and showed us an example of that day’s project: bird masks made from paper.
I marveled at her work. The detail of feathers. The expressive owl face. All from simple pieces of cut paper. I stared in awe. I thought, maybe someday my work will be that beautiful.
Thirty years later, the awe has not diminished. Today I’m in Gilli’s Citrus Heights home. Her work graces the walls, staircase, ceiling and tabletops in every medium you can imagine.
Water ripples around gray rocks. Pine trees and blue sky reflect in the water. The river bottom is visible beneath.
This landscape can steal your breath, but when you realize the Sierra scene is not a photo or paint, but fabric, you may gasp for air.
“I love doing landscapes,” says Merle Axelrad, the artist and wizard behind this textile trickery. “I think of them not as what they are—a rock, a tree—but as layering items in space to create depth and the play of light.”
