Oxnard--My life, in a nutshell, is not fancy. That’s okay; I can live with that. My grandparents on my mother’s side of the family came from Jersey City, New Jersey, and Brooklyn, New York, and said things like earl instead of oil.
THERE was nothing fancy at home when I grew up, either. My mother kept the house clean, tried, and failed to make me responsible for cleaning my room, made sure that I did my homework, and would always quiz me on my subjects.
Conversely, my father maintained the yard, grew veggies, painted the house, mowed the lawn, and trimmed the hedges until I was old enough. He would do projects at the demand of Good Ole Ma when she would say, Ward, get the yard and roses done today; my mother is coming.
The great equalizer for my parents was dinner, conversation, and a couple of glasses of chianti.
Fast forward a generation, and things haven’t changed much. Being a former restaurant professional, I do all the cooking, although I would be thinner if the J-Train cooked. Cooking relaxes me, so it’s my pleasure. I also do most of the cleaning, much like my mother.
The J-Train…
