Author: punchwpadmin

Words by Johanna Harlow

Silent and still is something SFO Museum is not. At San Francisco International Airport, Terminal 2 is alive with the whir of rolling luggage and the constant murmur and flow of people. Some stop to appreciate a museum display, resting their arms on suitcase handles. Others hitch up their backpack straps and press on to the nearby bookstore or Air Canada lounge. One harried traveler rushes by in a whirlwind of wheels and heels in a desperate bid to make her plane.

“Over 52 million passengers from all over the world travel through annually,” says Nicole Mullen as she halts before San Francisco: City of the World, one of the museum’s many galleries scattered throughout the airport. “Our goal is to do shows that can delight and engage a vast public audience and can be accessible to a lot of people.” Nicole, the curator in charge of exhibitions, strikes a whimsical figure in a floral-print dress and librarian-chic glasses. She wears a lobster broach on her coat and an octopus bracelet clasped around her wrist.

SFO Museum got its start in 1980 as a way to humanize the airport and showcase the rich culture of the Bay Area, Nicole explains. Today, it’s grown to 25 locations throughout SFO with exhibits ranging from popular culture, design and history to technology, ethnography, folk art, natural history and beyond. It also includes photography galleries and the Aviation Museum and Library. “There’s always something new and compelling to work on,” she says.

No plane ticket? No problem. Your passport to learning doesn’t require a boarding pass. A handful of exhibits are located in publicly accessible pre-security areas, while the ones beyond a checkpoint can be accessed through prior arrangement with SFO Museum.

Eclectic Collections

Back at the San Francisco: City of the World exhibit, a couple of travelers pause to check out memorabilia from 1940s Chinatown nightclubs. Nearby, a mother pauses to rummage around in her bag while her little boy runs circles around the display cases in frog-print boots.

“I’m very proud of this show,” says Nicole, explaining that multiple local historical societies banded together to make it happen. Cases in a Golden Gate-red hold a wealth of items. A wool bathing suit from Sutro Baths, a thick section of steel strands from a cable car, an air vent grill from Alcatraz, a 1950s book titled Don’t Call it Frisco—each artifact a glimpse into this city’s big personality. Nicole points out some battered items salvaged from the 1906 earthquake. “That’s a teapot from the rubble,” she says. “Our photographer on staff, that was passed down from his grandmother.”

Besides other museums, Nicole collaborates with private collectors—and it’s one of her favorite parts of the job. Take Brian Coleman, an antiquarian from Seattle who lives in a colorful Queen Anne painted with sunflowers and griffins. “His whole house is bedecked floor to ceiling in the Victorian era. It’s quite spectacular,” Nicole marvels. Among his many loans to the museum: a pair of Victorian beaded slippers for Stepping Out: Shoes in World Cultures and an ornate nut bowl decorated with tiny silver squirrels for Eclectic Taste: Victorian Silver Plate.

For another exhibition, Metallica guitarist Kirk Hammet lent the museum his collection of classic monster memorabilia. His fiendish frenzy of monster magazines, mummy paint-by-numbers, Dracula lunch boxes, Frankenstein figurines and the prop head of the Creature from the Black Lagoon certainly made a splash in Terminal 2.

Occasionally, Nicole has to get creative to win over a more hesitant collector—on one memorable occasion doing so through his penchant for pastries. “I baked him pumpkin bread,” she smiles. “After that we were fast friends.”

The Curator Herself

As Nicole and I set off in the direction of Harvey Milk Terminal 1, she tells me how she ended up here. All around us, travelers pace by with pillows or headphones wrapped around their necks. A girl’s volleyball team, all in bouncy ponytails and leggings, move as one. And a coterie of Emirates flight attendants glide past in immaculate uniforms of crimson and cream.

“Museums are in my blood,” Nicole tells me. “It was something that I kind of lived and breathed.” In Plymouth, Massachusetts, Nicole’s mother worked as a site supervisor on the Mayflower II, a ship gifted to the United States by the English in the 1950s. At seven, little Nicole helped her out as a historic interpreter. “To spend more time with me, she took me to work with her on weekends,” Nicole explains. “I dressed in period attire as a 17th-century English immigrant.” Her role included talking about life aboard the Mayflower in 1620 and playing cat’s cradle with young visitors. By 14, she’d graduated to a paid position in visitor service.

Later, Nicole admits to rebelling against the business she’d known all her life. “When I went to college, I kind of wanted to get away from museums,” she confesses. It didn’t last.

After a year and a half in jobs she didn’t enjoy, Nicole accepted her fate. Museums were where she was meant to be. “I met so many interesting museum people from such an early age and have always been around them,” she explains. “Armed with an undergraduate degree in cultural anthropology, I applied for a job at the Phoebe A. Hearst Museum of Anthropology at UC Berkeley as the education specialist—and the rest is history!”

Nicole landed a position at SFO Museum 15 years ago—and more than 75 curated shows later, she’s going strong.

Past Favorites

One of Nicole’s favorite exhibitions, From Pineapple to Piña: A Philippine Textile Treasure, explored the weaving of pineapple leaf fibers into lacey handkerchiefs, blouses and even shawls in the late 18th and 19th centuries. “These fibers are knotted by hand,” Nicole says in wonderment.

After talking about a show that featured a flurry of leotards from the San Francisco Ballet, Nicole pivots to the time they partnered with the California Academy of Sciences on a natural history exhibit. That show required SFO Museum team to wheel in a number of jarred specimens. “That was pretty wild,” she laughs. “We had a 19th-century giant squid in ethanol, in this antique jar.” They transported it in a van designed to carry hazardous material.

Another tricky task involved bringing in a car for an Art Deco-themed show. “That had to come in at night,” Nicole recalls. “All the engine oil had to be drained. It had to be pushed from the curb … That was quite a feat!”

The Sky’s the Limit

At last, we arrive at our intended destination—Rosie the Riveter: Womanpower in Wartime. “Our program is evolving with the airport,” Nicole tells me. “When they redid Harvey Milk Terminal 1, we gained two new gallery spaces.” This show, orchestrated by Nicole’s fellow curator Daniel Calderon, is a tribute to grit and girl power during World War II. Its cases are stocked with heavy-duty coveralls, rivet guns and welding helmets, plus motivational posters proclaiming slogans like “Women: There’s work to be done and a war to be won” and “Do the job he left behind.” Spirited swing music spills from the speakers.

The walls and ceiling of this space have not been painted your typical “gallery white.” Instead, they’re pitch black. When we step inside, it feels like the gallery has swallowed us up—but in a good way. “People are intrigued by going into this dark gallery space,” describes Nicole of the immersive experience. “They can really step out of the airport for a minute.”

It’s to be expected from an exhibition located in the newly redeveloped terminal. This award-winning concourse is a testament to innovation, featuring rooms for yoga and meditation. It also has a soundproof Sensory Room for neurodivergent travelers with a soothing area stocked with squishy pillows and a mockup of an airplane cabin with two rows of seats for travelers to prepare for the experience of flying.

It goes to show that SFO Museum has evolved as the airport does. Nicole spotlights the (pre-security) Aviation Museum and Library, which opened along with the International Terminal in 2000. Its design replicates the airport’s original 1930s passenger lobby and currently features airline travel posters, Virgin America ephemera and century-old propellers.

Nicole mentions one more recent change. A few years back, the museum’s team of 35 gained a new site to work their behind-the-scenes magic. “We do it all here,” she says. “We have a state-of-the-art storage facility, a conservation lab, we have a wonderful design lab where our designer lays everything out. We have an in-house wood shop and a welding shop.” There’s even a room for mannequin assembly. It’s no wonder SFO Museum is the only airport-located museum accredited by the American Alliance of Museums.

Our tour ends in front of Everyday Elegance in Chinese Ceramics, one of the pre-security exhibit spaces. From one of the cases, a “guardian lion” statue watches steadfastly over TSA. “Whether it is a plastic toy telephone or Chinese jade from the Asian Art Museum, every object is treated as a precious object,” the curator says. “Our registration department handles everything with gloves.”

The guest experience is just as valuable. “We have the ability to reach people who maybe wouldn’t purchase a ticket and go see this particular museum exhibition,” Nicole reflects. “They happen to stumble upon it here and they’re fascinated by it, or something moves them or there’s a nostalgia factor that hits home … It’s very rewarding to reach that type of audience.” Nearby, a family of eight gives a young man a heartfelt sendoff, waving fervently as they stand beside a display of glazed pottery.

find your gate – sfomuseum.org

Words by Bob Siegel

If you’ve made the drive down University Avenue towards the Dumbarton Bridge in recent months, you probably noticed a giant modernist sculpture at the edge of an empty field. It looks a bit like liquid mercury with its shiny, silvery color, and fluid, rounded surfaces. Not only is the shape intriguing, but so is the apparent incongruity of the location. If you tried to capture an image of it, you might have found that the sculpture is more adept at capturing you, as its undulating surface acts like a funhouse mirror, reflecting you in myriad orientations and distortions. Composed of stainless steel and standing an imposing 18 feet high, it originally debuted at the Burning Man festival in Nevada in 2019, where it conjured up the image of a shimmering mirage in the desert. It’s called Talking Heads, and it’s the work of local artist Oleg Lobykin. Born in Russia, Oleg lives in East Palo Alto—so the sculpture found a fitting temporary home. If you’re wondering why it’s gone missing in 2025, Oleg says Talking Heads recently found a new home in San Francisco at Patricia’s Green Park. A highly creative sculptor and stone craftsman, Oleg is also responsible for the statues of Benjamin Franklin and Johannes Gutenberg that adorn the front of the Stanford University Quad. That’s not Oleg’s only contribution to the Quad. He’s also involved in the ongoing restoration of its sandstone architecture. People are likely to have their own interpretations of Talking Heads. This intriguing landmark awaits yours.

Words by Johanna Harlow

San Francisco has a reputation for attracting some real characters. The City by the Bay has long been a favorite filming location. Remember when Scottie from Vertigo visits the graveyard at Mission Dolores and Eddie from Venom battles it out in the Tenderloin’s alleys? Or The Maltese Falcon’s Sam Spade witnessing a boat go up in flames over at the Ferry Building? And who isn’t familiar with the Fuller House family’s home in the row of Victorians known as the Painted Ladies? But it doesn’t take a trip to SF to find filming locations close to home. We have our fair share of scenic cinema-scapes right here on the Peninsula.

Our region’s stately mansions have been the settings for outlandish parties, while our sweeping natural landscapes have also graced the big screen. Classrooms and courtrooms, bridges and bluffs, these Peninsula places can’t help but capture the imagination. “We have everything,” says SF Peninsula’s film commissioner Cam Newton. “We have vast open spaces. We have mountains. We have what look like deserts. We have quaint downtowns. Every setting that you could possibly hope for in a movie is all within a half-hour drive.”

You may have stood in the same places where Robin Williams, Brendan Fraser, Jennifer Lopez and Zac Efron delivered iconic lines. You may even have attended school where Michelle Pfeiffer played an inspirational teacher. Check out the scene at these cinematic settings.

Cover Photo Courtesy of: Mike James / Interior Photo: Jeff Bartee

George of the Jungle Swings by Filoli

Pick a genre, any genre, and there’s probably a film that features Filoli. Fantasy, action, rom-com, drama, soap opera, thriller, musical—they’ve all been shot on its grounds. Is it any wonder? Those who have wandered the historic estate’s idyllic gardens and admired its ambitious architecture understand its magic. You’ll spot an aerial view of Filoli’s mansion and clocktower in the opening credits of every episode of the iconic 1980s soap opera Dynasty, and glimpse the estate’s gravel driveway during an unsettling scene in The Game, a thriller starring Michael Douglas.

Filoli’s ballroom, covered in murals and etched in ornate gold trim, has long drawn filmmakers. It’s been the site of a seductive dance during a pre-war Shanghai flashback in The Joy Luck Club and where Joanne and Maureen of Rent belt out the song “Take Me or Leave Me.” In George of the Jungle, everyone’s favorite ape man horrifies high society when he piles food from the buffet onto a serving tray lid he’s turned into a makeshift plate, then tucks a banana into his tux. This luxurious hall is also Joe’s home gym in Heaven Can Wait, a harp positioned right beside a rack of weights.

Photo Courtesy of: Brandon Price

High School Musical Sings at Stanford

Remember the plucky cast of High School Musical? As the theater kids and athletes ponder where to attend university in the trilogy’s final film, Vanessa Hudgens’ character chooses Stanford. As she settles into college life, we see her walking the courtyard behind Wallenberg Hall. She and Zac Efron also share a sweet song and dance in the Papua New Guinea Garden—right after he stares deeply into her eyes and murmurs, “My prom is wherever you are.” Ah, young love.

A university known for its advancements in the sciences, Stanford also has a cameo in multiple episodes of the long-running TV show Myth Busters. Hosts Adam and Jamie tested out the college’s driving simulator at the Volkswagen Automotive Innovation Lab for an experiment on driving with hands-free devices, tried out a mass spectrometer in an episode on germs and recruited the rowing team at the Stanford Rowing and Sailing Center to attempt the theoretical and outlandish sport of “row-skiing” (waterskiing behind a row boat). Bill Nye the Science Guy also filmed on campus, meeting with biologist and professor Chris R. Somerville to explore “Pollution Solutions.”

Photo Courtesy of: Don Debold

A Fishing Village Comes to Fitzgerald Marine Reserve

Did you know the Fitzgerald Marine Reserve served as a Shōwa period Japanese fishing village in 2016? For the movie adaptation of bestseller Memoirs of a Geisha, a film crew constructed a small hut along the bluffs of Moss Beach. Over two days, they shot the movie’s somber opening scene, establishing our heroine Chiyo’s impoverished childhood and the betrayal that sets her story in motion. Beyond that stormy ocean overlook, you’ll also recognize the cypress grove where a cart rattles along uneven ground. The film also shot verdant scenes at nearby Hakone Gardens in Saratoga and the Japanese Tea Garden at San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park.

Photo Courtesy of: Dennis Jarvis

Flubber Bounces Around Kohl Mansion

Over the years, Burlingame’s Kohl Mansion has been the site of a few ghost stories—so is it really a leap to imagine sentient green goo bouncing off its walls? Flubber, starring Robin Williams as a scatterbrained inventor, used the mansion for exterior shots of the fictional Medfield College. But it’s not just an educational institute in this comedy—it’s home to Mercy Burlingame, an all-girls private high school since 1931.

No stranger to show business, Kohl Mansion was memorialized in film long before “the talkies,” serving as a key set on the silent 1921 film Little Lord Fauntleroy. Considering that the mansion once belonged to Frederick Kohl, heir to the Alaska Commercial Company, this locale seems a particularly fitting one for the story of a poor little rich boy.

Photo Courtesy of: Robb Most

The Escape to Witch Mountain Kids Enter Coleman Mansion

The Italianate Coleman Mansion might be held in esteem by historians and architects, but to the kids in Escape to Witch Mountain, it’s another jungle gym. In this 1975 Disney film, the first glimpse the audience gets of the manor-turned-orphanage is of youngsters shimmying up its Corinthian columns and sliding down the handrail flanking the front steps. In the real world, the Menlo Park estate was converted into a private school, not an orphanage—and some of its lucky students played extras in the film. You’ll spot a number of Peninsula School kids chasing each other around in the background while the camera follows Tony and Tia, a young psychic and telekinetic. The field trip to the cinema was shot nearby at the Fine Arts Theatre on California Avenue. It stopped showing screenings long ago—serving as an oriental rug shop, then ZombieRunner, the beloved cafe and running store—but you’ll still find the original marquee above the entry.

Photo Courtesy of: Robb Most

Harold & Maude Put Pedal to the Metal across Dumbarton Bridge

Harold and Maude are certainly one of the Bay Area’s odder film couples. In this cult classic, a death-obsessed young man who drives a hearse and has a habit of staging melodramatic fake suicides goes on wild escapades all around the Peninsula with his 79-year-old car thief of a girlfriend. Their misadventures take them from St. Thomas Aquinas Church in Palo Alto (where the couple first meet) to Marshall Street in Redwood City (where Maude “liberates” a street tree with the intention of transplanting it in the forest) to the old Dumbarton Bridge (where Maude peels off, a motorcycle cop in hot pursuit).

There’s more. Hillsborough’s Rosecourt Mansion along leafy Eucalyptus Avenue acts as Harold’s family home. In real life, the private residence belonged to George T. Cameron, publisher of the San Francisco Chronicle. And let’s not forget the scene at Mori Point, a picturesque spot in Pacifica where a car careens wildly off the cliffs.

Photo Courtesy of: Robb Most

The Wedding Planner Comes to Crystal Springs Reservoir

What better place for a wedding than Woodside? In Jennifer Lopez’s film The Wedding Planner, an idyllic scene takes viewers for a car ride along Crystal Springs Reservoir. As the camera catches fluffy clouds above that shimmering expanse of water, it reminds us that it might be time for another leisurely drive along Highway 35. Bay Area moviegoers will also recognize one of the places the bride-to-be checks out as a possible venue. It’s Filoli again, its grounds flush with springtime daffodils, tulips and flowering trees.

Photo Courtesy of: Robb Most

Dangerous Minds go to Class at San Mateo High School

Time to hit the books. Both San Mateo and Burlingame high schools were used for filming in the drama Dangerous Minds. Based on a memoir, the story relays the experiences of LouAnne Johnson, a U.S. Marine who became a teacher at Carlmont High School, a Belmont institute with a rough reputation back in the ‘80s. LouAnne must have been over the moon when she found out she’d be played by Michelle Pfeiffer.

Photo Courtesy of: Jerry Pierce

Bicentennial Man explores oracle

Can you really have too much Robin Williams? We think not. Bicentennial Man, the tale of a housekeeping robot who gains consciousness and learns what it means to be human, seems a fitting story for Silicon Valley. When the robot and his custodian pay a visit to NorthAm Robotics, they are actually outside Oracle Corporation in Redwood City. As the two of them share a heart-to-heart, the tech company’s impressive blue glass office towers gleam in the distance. Only a 20-minute drive down the road is the Martin family home. Their charming ivy-covered English manor house with wave-course shingles is the main house of the Fleishhacker family’s 74-acre Green Gables Estate in Woodside.

Photo Courtesy of: Hakan Dahlstrom

Mrs. Doubtfire visits San Mateo County History Museum

Raring for more Robin Williams? Mrs. Doubtfire may have mostly filmed in San Francisco, but Redwood City’s San Mateo County History Museum also featured in this beloved family film. Before it became a museum, this stately building with its stained-glass dome and stone eagles served as the old County Courthouse. You can still step into a fully furnished courtroom upstairs and imagine Robin Williams pleading his case with the judge. While you’re there, don’t forget to check out the museum’s exhibit on lawmakers and breakers with displays of sheriff’s badges and a pair of dueling pistols.

I’m Romeo, and while I may be named after Shakespeare’s star-crossed lover, my life in Menlo Park is anything but tragic. This labradoodle’s got a very good thing going with Carolyn and her three kids, Maxwell, Madeline and Curtis, who brought me home on Valentine’s Day 10 years ago. We go on frequent trips to Town & Country and Stanford shopping centers, where I collect goodies from all the businesses. Sunny days often find us at the beach in Half Moon Bay, where I like to bury balls in the sand to dig up and play with later. And in the evenings, we go visit my favorite dogs and their treat-sharing humans at La Entrada School. I haven’t romanced any Capulets but I’m a little like my namesake in some ways—I love giving kisses! I just can’t get enough petting and snuggling, and I hate to sleep alone. I have so much love to give that Carolyn signed me up with Furry Friends as a trained therapy dog. You might find me at local schools during finals week, helping stressed-out students relax, or hanging out with residents at the Vi’s skilled nursing center and the Ronald McDonald House. If ol’ Will had only had an affectionate dog like me, maybe he would have been inspired to write Romeo and Juliet a happier ending.

Calling All Dogs: If you've got quirky habits or a funny tale (or tail) to share, email your story to hello@punchmonthly.com for a chance to share a page from your Diary of a Dog in PUNCH.

Words by Jennifer Jory

Andrew Fraknoi is a man on a mission—a space mission, that is. For decades, he’s inspired and educated both students and the public on the wonders of astronomy, from Foothill and Cañada colleges to San Francisco State University. “This is the golden age of astronomy,” Andrew declares. From radio stations and local TV to The Today Show, he’s become the Bay Area’s go-to astronomer for explaining celestial phenomena in down-to-earth terms. “My focus right now is to interpret the complex and abstract things we are learning about the universe so that people can understand them,” he says.

Born in Hungary, Andrew and his family fled during the 1956 revolution against communist rule, and ended up in an Austrian refugee camp. From there, they ultimately made their way to New York. “I didn’t speak a word of English,” Andrew recalls. “My mother had the idea of using comic books to teach English to me, and I particularly loved space comics.” He soon graduated to science fiction, and when it came time to choose what to study in college, astronomy was his first choice. “Eventually, I realized I could do space stuff for a living,” he beams.

Andrew’s excitement builds as he discusses the latest astronomical discoveries. “It looks like Star Trek was right,” he says with a smile. “There really are planets around other stars.” In 1995, the common perception was that there were just a few planets outside of our own solar system, Andrew explains. “Now we know there are other suns and 5,000 planets orbiting those suns or stars.” Recent breakthroughs and advances in astronomy are thanks to the James Webb Space Telescope.

“This is the biggest telescope we have ever had in space, allowing us to look back to the beginning of time,” he marvels. While light travels swiftly, the incredible distances mean that the images show galaxies as they appeared a very long time ago. “We are now seeing things 13.4 billion years old that are very close to the big bang,” Andrew adds, referring to the theory of the universe’s origin 13.8 billion years ago. “The earliest galaxies and structures are so far away and so long ago, they are amazing.”

Educated at Harvard University and UC Berkeley, Andrew’s career as an astronomer took off in 1978 when he was hired as the executive director of the Astronomical Society of the Pacific. Fourteen years later, working 80 hours a week at his job and newly married to his wife Lola, he realized the pace was unsustainable. In search of a less intense job, he applied for a teaching position at Foothill College in Los Altos Hills, where he was quickly hired and began a new devotion to teaching about space full time. “It was a very good fit,” he notes. “They have a lovely observatory run by a group of astronomy hobbyists and it was a job where I could have a life. I was there for 25 years and we grew the program significantly.”

Andrew also taught at Cañada College in Woodside, where the enthusiastic public affairs officer connected him with KGO radio. He soon became a regular, and could also be found sharing his astronomical insights on KQED TV. “I was a cheap imitation of Carl Sagan,” Andrew says humbly. The scientific community thought otherwise and the International Astronomical Union recognized his achievements by naming Asteroid 4859 “Asteroid Fraknoi.”

While teaching at Foothill, Andrew saw an opportunity to make astronomy education more widely available by creating a lecture series in the college’s 950-seat theater. Called Silicon Valley Astronomy Lectures, it featured Nobel Prize winners and best-selling authors. NASA took an interest in the program and offered to sponsor it. “Foothill College administrators were so enthusiastic they allowed us to use the theater for free,” Andrew recounts. Soon Andrew began making the scientific talks available on YouTube so that anyone interested in space could hear from experts. “These nerdy lectures have received 4.1 million views,” he grins. “The astronomer Alex Filippenko’s videos explain the James Webb telescope, and it is like watching Columbus get his ships ready.”

Andrew’s other focus centers on the search for life on other planets, which he pursues enthusiastically as a board member of the non-profit SETI Institute, headquartered in Mountain View. “This is the most exciting unsolved mystery in the universe,” he says. “Before I die, I would love to find out if there are other life-forms out there with whom we might talk about philosophy.  Being involved with the search for life has been a gratifying part of my career.” He also wants to set the record straight when it comes to unidentified flying objects. “There is not a shred of evidence that UFOs are alien space ships.”

In the search for intelligent life on other planets, Andrew cites Artificial Intelligence as a game-changing technology when it comes to listening for messages. “You have to look through many stars, through many channels, over a long period of time,” he describes. “With AI, computers and telescopes can work together, while the astronomer sleeps. AI can search for pattern recognition, which is key to searching for messages from space.”

Andrew’s passion to teach the marvels of the universe keeps him on the lecture circuit promoting space education for all. He currently teaches at San Francisco State University’s Osher Lifelong Learning Institute and offers classes like “If There Are Planets Everywhere, Where Are the Aliens?” and one on simplifying the theory of relativity without math called “Einstein Without Tears.” His commitment to communicating scientific concepts in layman’s terms has culminated in his free, online astronomy textbook that has become the most widely used volume on the subject.

Andrew doesn’t just write textbooks, he’s also tried his hand at science fiction. His childhood passion for the genre of the fantastic and intergalactic is still burning bright all these years later. “I have been keeping a notebook of ideas for decades,” he confesses. Despite what he calls “rejection slips from all over,” eight of his sci-fi stories have been published. Andrew now pays it forward to the next generation of future astronomers by writing the kinds of stories that captured his imagination as a young immigrant—a little inspiration for anyone else who wants to reach for the stars.

Editor’s note: This story corrects errors that appeared in the February 2025 print edition.

The CEO of Mountain View’s Harrell Design + Build talks about her top travel treasures, the motto that keeps her motivated and the laundry room feature you didn’t know you needed.

What’s most rewarding about working in the design, build and home remodeling field?
Seeing how the smallest tweaks and clever space planning can have the biggest impact on how one lives in a home.

What are some highlights from your early career?
My mom and I had a design studio together for 12 years prior to my move to California in 2000. We had the pleasure of working with Target Corporation, and worked with the “starchitect” Michael Graves on the restoration of the Washington Monument in D.C.

Is there a movie you can watch over and over?
The Way. Although the movie is about the Camino de Santiago, the movie partly inspired my goal to walk the entire Via Francigena in Italy. This is another pilgrimage walk from Canterbury to the Vatican. I’ve completed 60 miles of it, north of Rome.

Do you have a personal motto?
Produce or die! A friend’s father told her and her seven siblings this every morning. I find it hilarious, yet meaningful, but I have yet to say this out loud at work!

What’s a unique feature you’ve added to a home?
Adding a jetted laundry sink for gentle washing is great!

What’s one thing you’ve brought back from a trip abroad?
One? I love finding local art and bringing it home. Best souvenirs ever.

Is there something people are surprised to learn about you?
As a kid, I was in a Mr. Bubble commercial, and a commercial with John Denver. I also skied with Billy Kidd for a Hart Skis ad.

Have you always been in this line of work?
My first post-college “career” was in film production: I worked with the author/playwright David Mamet and William H. Macy as well as on a number of national commercials.

How did you get into Chinese calligraphy?
My daughter took Mandarin lessons for seven years, and the only adult class held at that same time was Chinese Calligraphy. I have always been fascinated with font design, and the characters are intriguing as a visual art form. It is meditative and calming—and learning the brush techniques and control takes years of practice.

What’s your biggest home-related pet peeve?
Poor consideration for sight lines. (Can we not see the toilet first thing, please?) And not treating the ceiling well.

What’s the best part of your weekend routine?
Not making plans! I hesitate to make weekend plans as my week is fairly structured. It’s my “unstructured play time.”

What do you collect?
Many things, but the oddest of them are probably my oil can collection from the London Eastern Railway and my plumb bob collection!

Words by Margaret Koenig

Believe it or not, the last free-flowing urban creek in the southern Peninsula might be right in your backyard. If you follow San Francisquito Creek from its mouth in the eastern Santa Cruz mountains to where it flows into the San Francisco Bay, your trek would take you through Portola Valley, Woodside, Palo Alto, East Palo Alto and Menlo Park, through nature preserves and residential neighborhoods alike. With an estimated length of 12.5 miles, the creek is the largest on the western margin of the San Francisco Bay and has no fewer than 22 tributaries. Though it’s little more than a dry creek bed during the summer, San Francisquito roars back to life in the rainy season.

Long before the San Francisquito was “discovered” by Spaniards in 1769, the area was home to the indigenous Ohlone population for roughly 15,000 years. The Lamchin tribe, a branch of the Ohlone, once lived along its banks, though this changed with the arrival of a Spanish exploration party led by Don Gaspar de Portolá in 1769. Portolá’s party camped alongside the creek for five nights, and in the period of Spanish colonialism that followed, the San Francisquito came to mark the territorial divide between the missions of San Francisco and Santa Clara. Today, the creek still serves as a geographical border, separating Palo Alto from East Palo Alto and Menlo Park, along with their respective counties of Santa Clara and San Mateo. After disastrous flooding in 1998 damaged more than 1,700 properties, the San Francisquito Creek Joint Powers Authority was formed to oversee the waterway, which is home to California Central Coast steelhead trout, a threatened species. Try to catch a glimpse of them via online images from the city of Palo Alto’s creek monitor cameras, or in-person by strolling across one of its pedestrian bridges, like the one at El Palo Alto Park.

I’m so pleased to meet you! I’m Aki, a friendly mutt sporting white freckled “socks” and a white-tipped tail. Let me tell you about my family. Mike and Mia’s three girls had been begging for a dog, so they decided to check out some local shelters. Their first stop was Pets In Need in Palo Alto. I was only five months old, but I knew right away that these were my people. After spending a little time together, I made my intentions clear by resting my head on each of their laps. They understood that I had chosen them, so they took me home to San Mateo. Mike and Mia quickly realized that I didn’t like my shelter name of Autumn. (Go ahead, try calling me Autumn. I’ll act like I don’t even hear you.) They renamed me Aki, which means autumn in Japanese, and now I happily come when they call. Another thing about me is that I look out for my friends. At the park, I protect my little buddy, a Jack Russell terrier, from any aggressive advances. I play hide and seek with the girls and cover them in affectionate, slobbery kisses. My family describes me as fiercely intelligent, playful and a tiny bit mischievous. They have to make sure I don’t see where they hide my treats, because I will remember that location forever and do my best to get at them when nobody’s looking.

Calling All Dogs: If you've got quirky habits or a funny tale (or tail) to share, email your story to hello@punchmonthly.com for a chance to share a page from your Diary of a Dog in PUNCH.

If you think that Jimmy Fallon is the friendliest late-night host, then I’m just like my namesake. Actually, I’m #jimmyfallon (it’s a long story), but I answer to Fallon and I firmly believe that every stranger is just a friend I haven’t met yet. I was the runt of a litter of ShiPorkis (Shi Tzu, poodle and Yorkshire terrier mix) when I was brought to the Stanford Faculty Club and adopted by Diane just before Christmas 2015. She says that my eyelashes go on for days and make women jealous. She used to fret about my “lack of boundaries” when meeting new people, but if everyone adores me, what is there to worry about? On Christmas Eve last year, I had an accident that left my hind legs paralyzed, but thanks to a great surgeon at UC Davis and intensive rehab at Scout’s House, I’m back on all four feet. I still wake up every day happy and ready to befriend anyone who will give me a scratch behind the ears in exchange for a little kiss. Diane wants me to take it easy, so she got a stroller for our longer daily walks around San Mateo. When I’m not hopping in and out, I sit like a captain on the prow of his ship, offering a friendly greeting to everyone we meet.

Calling All Dogs: If you've got quirky habits or a funny tale (or tail) to share, email your story to hello@punchmonthly.com for a chance to share a page from your Diary of a Dog in PUNCH.

Words by Sloane Citron

The Citron family group text was rife with stories of the T-Ball heroics of one of our youngest members, Theodore Solomon Leonard, or Teddy. Home runs of unimaginable distances, T-Ball coaches telling their players to “back up, back up” and parents beaming with pride.

Since he lives a bit of distance from me, getting to one of his games was not as easy as with my other grandkids. It had to be planned. My daughter told me that Teddy’s last game was scheduled for a Sunday in mid-November, and I put it, underlined twice, into my appointment book.

In the meantime, I was undergoing a procedure on my kidneys and was waiting patiently for the doctor to tell me when he was going to operate. Kidney stones run in our family, with one daughter and one son both needing surgery to deal with them.

Over the past few years, I’ve noticed intermittent kidney pain, a slight dull ache in my lower sides and back. But I didn’t bother with it. At my physical this year, they found some “invisible” blood in my urine. After some other testing, a CAT scan showed two large stones, a 12-centimeter one in my left kidney and a 11-centimeter one in the right kidney.

My doctor told me that if it were him, he would get them removed to avoid the problems of stones that size trying to leave my body. I went with that.

After I awoke from my operation, my doctor told me that, unfortunately, my left ureter was twisted and that while they were able to successfully remove the other stone, they had to put in a stent to straighten the tube to allow the instruments to go up into my kidney. The next surgery would be several weeks out. Frankly, the horribleness of those weeks with two stents (one was in there for the other kidney, which normally would have come out after a few days) was something I would not opt to go through again.

Finally, the clinic called and said my surgery date was on a Thursday, just two days before Teddy’s last game. I decided to just go with the flow, and I kept my airline reservation for Friday morning. I got up the next morning after the surgery and Ubered to the airport, determined to watch Teddy play ball. I made it just fine.

Finally, it was time for the last game and Teddy was ready to swing. The location was magnificent, with permanent T-Ball and coach-pitch fields, and real fences in the outfield, not that temporary stuff. Teddy’s team took the field first and then batted in the bottom of the inning. Up seventh (everyone bats) Teddy geared up and smashed a line drive that settled at the bottom of the left field fence. No home run but a great swing that cleared the bases.

The next inning, Teddy approached the plate with the goal of knocking it out of the park. Opposing coaches yelled, “Get back! Get back! He can hit it!” This alone filled me with pride. Teddy again punished the ball, but it landed at the bottom of the right field fence without going over. A minute later, the game was over. “What?” I said. “Only two innings?”

Yes, that was it, two innings and done. Teddy looked a bit dejected, but he has a good attitude, and no one said a word except “Great game!” and “Great hitting!” Of course, we didn’t care if he hit a home run or not. But after everyone had left, Teddy’s dad asked his boy if he wanted to practice hitting some balls. So, Teddy got up and crushed a few balls, again with none going over the fence.

Finally, on the last ball, Teddy smashed it high and far. All eyes were on that ball. It flew into the blue sky, and we were all urging it on. Would it make it? We held our breath, waiting. Finally, the ball started descending and landed about four feet short of the fence but then (!) bounced over. Technically, it was a ground rule double and it wasn’t even hit in an actual game. But it made no difference.

“Home run! Home run!” Teddy screamed as he went around the bases. We cheered. “I hit it out for you, Saba!” he called to me. Hand in hand, we crowded back to the car, happy faces filled with pride, and headed straight to the local ice cream shop to celebrate.

Words by Sloane Citron

Each year, I go to my hometown of Amarillo, Texas, so that I can see regular life in these United States. On my recent trip, gas was $2.79 per gallon, and if you signed up for the gas card you could get it down to $2.59. There’s a start for you.

I flew into Denver to spend the night at my brother Dan’s (he is a doctor there). Next morning, we got up early and started our road trip south, driving through Colorado Springs with the Rockies as the backdrop, then into New Mexico with its Southwest pines and rough terrain, before the final stretch into Big A. It’s an easy seven hours with a couple of stops to use the bathroom and get some bad food. We bring CDs but mostly keep the sound off so we can talk—that’s the true beauty of being on the road together.

We have a dear, lifelong family friend, Trudy Klingensmith, who has a simple, ramshackle cabin that her parents built 70 years ago in the Palo Duro Club, just south of Amarillo. The views change throughout the day but are always captivating. The club is in an offshoot of the Palo Duro Canyon, the second largest canyon in the United States, spectacular to traverse and fascinating to read about. You probably haven’t heard of it, but it’s worth the trip.

We sit on Trudy’s large porch overlooking a gently flowing creek, high above golden fields with hills beyond. We watch for green herons, turkey vultures and assorted ducks. We walk along dusty roads hunting for arrowheads and fire-cracked rocks from the Comanches and Cheyenne who roamed this canyon for thousands of years. Life takes on its own flavor here, wonderfully free from the world’s distractions.

I take a break from the cabin and spend a day with one of my oldest, dearest friends, Mike, who stayed in Amarillo to run the printing company his parents established. Mike has the beginnings of early dementia, and I wanted to reassure him that I was there for him. We always play golf, both having grown up with the sport. In Amarillo, it’s easy to belong to a country club and Mike still does.

For many years, we had been playing the “new course” at Tascosa Country Club since it’s easier to get a starting time there than at the old course. But what I really wanted was to play the original course, the one that I had played hundreds of times since I was about five years old. This time we got lucky: the night before it had rained heavily, and it was overcast when we showed up the next morning. I pleaded my case to the starter (my father was one of the original founders of the club since Amarillo Country Club did not allow Catholics, Jews or Blacks) and he got us right on.

Mike might be forgetting some names and thoughts, but he is all there on the fairways. As I like to do, we played scramble golf where we work as a team rather than against each other. The course, while still mostly as I had recalled it, had been changed.

They cut down about half the trees and made the course easier. And the fairways and greens were in much better shape than I remembered. The most significant thing was that there were now homes lining every hole, displacing the challenging rough that was once was filled with yucca plants, rocks and foot-high tumbleweeds. I felt as if I was playing down a street of some new suburban home development.

We played well, Mike outdriving me down the middle of the fairways on most holes and I putting it on the green in regulation. My putter (borrowed, of course) was on fire and I made about six putts over 15 feet. Together, we played a solid round.

After we played, we headed to the club’s fine restaurant and sat down for conversation and food. We have lots to say to each other, though much goes unsaid because neither of us are big talkers. But being side by side, like we have been since about 1968, was all that mattered. I love the guy.

Mike kept telling me how important it was that we spend the day together since he’s not been getting out with friends as often. But he’s still at it: he’s helping run the ranch he and his wife own; still doing his part at the shop; and still buying old cars (barn finds) that he encounters. He’s moving straight forward, though with changes looming.

The next day, Dan, Trudy and I enjoyed some spectacular views from the porch, with wonderful conversations about all our old Amarillo friends. (“Now didn’t his son go to UT? I believe he’s a vet in Dallas now.”) The next day, reluctantly, Dan and I packed it up and drove to Denver, back into the reality of our worlds.

Amarillo is important to me. It’s a unique, somewhat beautiful small city of 200,000 where everyone seems to be connected. I like tracing my childhood life while I am there, by way of my old schools, homes and people. There is a continuity in my old hometown. But, of course, nothing stays the same.

The golf course is changing. Mike’s changing. I’m changing. Together.

Words by Sloane Citron

Growing up in Amarillo, Texas, my family’s Hanukkah celebrations were subdued and uneventful. We would light the candles without much fanfare, and I was given one gift from my grandmother and one from my parents. Usually, my grandmother gave me something of substance, like a bicycle or a musical instrument. She was always good for something up to $75, which would be a large number in today’s money. She was a generous woman, not just with her family but with everyone, and I learned from her.

When I had my own family of four children, I felt compelled to give them the full treatment. There are several prayers and songs that accompany the lighting of the eight candles (one candle the first night leading to eight on the last night), so doing the liturgy and songs every night is the best way for children to learn them.

Besides the poetic experience of lighting the candles, I felt compelled to provide plenty of materialistic things for my children. In what would seem an effort to make up for the muted holidays of my youth, I decided to shower my kids with delight. So, I took on the responsibility of finding eight presents for each child, a total of 32 gifts.

On the face of it, this seems like a ridiculous idea. But I was committed and so I set about doing the best job that I possibly could—these were my kids after all.

The first step was to get each of them things I knew that they wanted, from a telescope to a party dress to flying lessons. Each child was unique with very different interests and desires. Finding four such presents made a good start.

But that hardly covered the goal of getting them each eight gifts. I would wander the aisles of Target and the stores at Stanford Shopping Center looking for presents I thought they might like. I would usually find a few choice things this way, narrowing down the number left to find.

Some of the gifts were truly small gestures, though not quite as bad as giving them an orange, like in days past. I would go to local bookstores and buy up a dozen books, maybe head over to Big 5 for some baseballs or hats or sunglasses. Eventually, the job got done.

Each night of Hanukkah we would summon all the kids (and often their friends) into our kitchen. We would gather around the large island where we had placed all of our Hanukkiahs (eight-branched menorahs), a collection that continually grew as we found new ones that we liked. We would place tin foil below each of them to keep the wax from spilling all over the granite surface. Then we would turn off all the lights and, in the darkness, we would find the magic of the holiday.

As the prayers and songs were recited, we slowly lit the candle the first night, adding one more each night. By the fourth day, the Hanukkiahs shone brightly, and the room was filled with the flickering light of the candles. It was wondrous to watch my children open their gifts each night, the quiet light illuminating their efforts to unwrap them.

A book didn’t get the same response as a new baseball glove, but the kids were always grateful and happy. After the gifts were opened and the wrapping paper lay strewn across our kitchen floor, we would have a delicious family dinner with latkes, applesauce and sour cream. After the meal, the kids would play dreidel with golden foil-covered chocolate coins.

Today, life is different. My children now have children of their own, blossoming into a group of 14, with more little ones expected to join our tribe in 2025. And, of course, these grown-up kids have their own homes and are eager to celebrate Hanukkah there, diligently teaching their children the prayers and songs we taught them.

There is no way to get them all eight gifts each, since that would be 112 presents. I think I’d need to hire an assistant for that chore. Instead, I do my best to find one gift for each of them.

We all get together in our family home for at least one of the nights, and it is a true joy to see the new additions singing the prayers and songs with a gusto that I certainly didn’t have at that age. And, with the lights out and the room dark, there’s happiness in my heart as I watch them, just as I had watched their parents, open their gifts against the dim light of the briskly burning candles.

Happy Christmas and Hanukkah to you and your family.

Words by Sloane Citron

I’ve learned to grab any chance at family, memories and happiness. So when my son Josh and his wife Adara asked if I could possibly pick up my grandson, Evan, from golf camp and entertain him for a few days, I jumped at the opportunity.

At five years old, Evan is the eldest of my seven grandchildren and we’re good pals. Like all the other kids, he calls me Saba, Hebrew for grandfather.
Evan had golf camp every day for a week, starting at 8:30 in the morning and ending at 12:30. My job for three consecutive days was to pick him up, feed him lunch, entertain him and get him home safely by 5:30. My little guy loves golf and for a five-year-old, he’s pretty good. Josh and I take him to play—either at the driving range or on a course—and he hangs in there.

On our first day, I picked him up at 12:30 sharp. With no real plan in mind, we headed over the hill straight for Half Moon Bay’s Main Street. We landed at Johnny’s, a friendly local restaurant, where we got egg salad sandwiches and fries. Always fries.

We wandered along the street and went into some interesting shops. In one of them, Evan found small ceramic turtles that he pined for, but I wrangled him out of the shop while promising him that I’d consider coming back for them.

Then we headed to the Pillar Point Harbor, where we wandered down the pier. Though the fishing boats were done for the day, we still meandered about, and I explained to Evan about the anchors, nets, cages and other stuff generally found on these boats. We also caught sight of several seals, and, of course, Evan wanted to feed them.

We ran into a grizzly old fisherman with unkempt hair carrying a 12-pack of beer and I stopped him. The three of us had a good conversation about the world of commercial fishing. I tried to insinuate that we would like to see his boat, but no invitation was forthcoming. I kicked myself afterward for not asking him directly, because I think he would have said yes.

Afterward, we returned to downtown Half Moon Bay to buy the small ceramic turtles that Evan had coveted (also, he insisted, for his sister Mara). It’s hard for me to say no to his sweet requests. After that, I returned him home and got back to my house, a bit worn out from our full afternoon.

The next day, we decided to have lunch at the golf course restaurant, a somewhat run-down place that has seen better times. Evan had his favorite rice with teriyaki sauce. Afterward, we headed south for 30 minutes to Hidden Villa to see what we could see. We wandered through the ramshackle place, petting goats and sheep and trying to catch lizards. We had great fun and Evan sat down on one of the benches to share some of his favorite riddles.

When he tells them with his lisp (as I, “Thloane Thitron,” once had), he’s just so darn cute. The best one was, “What is wobbly and in the sky?” I asked Evan for the answer. He quietly said, “A jellycopter” and we both laughed. He kept telling jokes until he had run out and started making up ones that made no sense. Finally, it was time to head for home, another wonderful adventure down.

Friday was our last day. Despite my efforts to convince him otherwise, he wanted to have lunch again at the golf course restaurant. We ordered a repeat of the day before, but the waitress came out and told us they were out of rice. It’s that kind of place. In exchange, the cook said that he would serve us scrambled eggs, hashbrowns and toast, which I had tried to order the day before but was refused since it was after noon. Evan is a good eater and never needs cajoling into finishing a meal. But he is not quick, so we were there a good hour while my little grandson finished off his entire plate.

From there we headed up north, following a route that only Waze could create, to the Fitzgerald Marine Preserve. Though I knew it was the wrong time to visit because the tide would be high, we still had a great time. We played in the small streams, jumped rocks, looked at far-off seals and studied shells. Evan is cautious but did great at navigating the rocks in the streams of water. “Saba, slow and steady wins the race,” he told me more than once.

We saw hiking trails, so we headed up into the forested area next to the tidepools. It was inspiring being within the canopy of the large, beautiful trees. With no one else there, it was our magic forest, and Evan kept exclaiming, “Saba, this is the most beautiful place I’ve ever been.” And he might have been correct.

My three afternoons with Evan were a singular treat, adventures that we’ll remember. And they solidly met my criteria of family, memories and happiness. When I dropped Evan off after the last of our three days of hanging out, neither of us wanted it to end. Evan kept saying, “Saba, don’t leave.” But with a heart filled with joy, I climbed into my car, knowing our next playdate was just around the corner.

Words by Sloane Citron

When we started PUNCH some six years ago, the first task on my list was finding office space. We didn’t need much room, but it needed to feel bright and cheerful and be in Menlo Park, since that’s where I live. Hunting for office space—and with it, the overall thrill of a new launch—is invigorating.

I’ve had an office in Menlo Park since 1993, so I know the town well. I’m acquainted with its buildings, alleyways and office complexes. I decided that it made sense to roam the city, so I walked the downtown streets and when something looked interesting, I went inside and checked it out. By walking the halls and talking to tenants, I could get a good idea if I might be interested.

I’m picky about my office since that’s where I spend a good third of my time. While I prefer more unique spaces, most of what is available is in typical office buildings. But each space has its nuances: brightness, lighting, layout and overall vibe. The bottom line is that I wanted a space that lifted us up as we walked through its doors and made us feel inspired and creative as we spent our days there.

If something seemed interesting, I made the effort to find out who was in charge and then I rang them up to see if there was a space available, the rate and when it might become vacant. Some had “For Lease” on the side of the building, but many small spaces and offices don’t post anything.

If my memory is correct, I believe I saw the office on Craigslist, despite my hours of wandering around the town.

At the small building on El Camino Real, I met the landlord, and we walked up to the second floor to the office, which was occupied by a fledgling tech startup. Between their mess and the white walls, dirty carpet and the somewhat tired building, I had my doubts. But the layout was perfect, with a larger room in front with a giant skylight and a separate secondary space with large windows looking out over the street.

What really sold me on the office was the wonderful sycamore tree just outside the windows. It brought nature and beauty into the rooms and gave it a unique and positive feel.

Though there was no elevator (ugh, since we always have boxes of magazines to move), there was a perfect niche for storing our issues. The price was right, the location perfect and there was plenty of potential, so I made an offer.

Once the old tenants were gone, we set about making it ours. I asked my designer daughter, Arielle Citron Leonard, what to do and she told me the colors to paint the walls and trim, which carpets to get and what the furniture should look like. In a matter of weeks, it was perfect.

But one of the defining aspects of our office is the tree, what I now think of as our tree. The sycamore is a result of the efforts of a local organization that worked tirelessly to plant them throughout Menlo Park’s El Camino corridor 20+ years ago. We delight in following our tree’s journey though the course of the year. In autumn, the leaves slowly drift away until, suddenly, it is bare. Then in spring, it gradually gains its greenery back until it is once again full.

For the past eight months, there has been a small dead branch that broke off and intertwined with another limb, arresting its descent. It’s dangling by what seems like the tiniest of twigs, in defiance of gravity. Time and the laws of nature will eventually cause it to fall, but every morning we gather to see if the small limb has finally dropped. As I write this, it’s still there.

While I have many issues with the city for ignoring our tired, sad downtown, I’m grateful for the tree. Without question, Menlo Park has the most attractive stretch of El Camino on the Peninsula, all due to the efforts of the “tree people” having the vision to know how these towering gems would make a difference in our lives.

Trees speak to us in a way that man can’t. They give us a sense of comfort and permanence. A sense of protection and endurance. And our solitary tree, brushing up against our office window, swaying with wind, always reliable, comforts us. And we wonder just when that small branch will finally yield to natural forces, as all things must, and flutter to the ground.

Words by Sloane Citron

When I was three years old, my parents moved me from the small room next to their downstairs bedroom to our upstairs. There I shared a rather large room with my brother who was five years older. Danny, being a sweet, kind boy (and a sweet, kind man today) welcomed me into his room without a moment’s hesitation.

In our large Southern-style home in Amarillo, Texas, the upstairs was the province of us children, with two large bedrooms with walk-in closets, a spacious play area and a bathroom for us all to share. Our older sister Shelley had her own room, and Danny and I had the other.

The three of us got along as well then as we do now: in sincere harmony. I, of course, did drive my brother crazy at times, like when he was napping on the playroom couch, and I shot a small cap gun into his ear and scared him half to death. I remember with some clarity Danny chasing me through our home before tackling me and calling me some inhospitable names.

Remarkably, he never threw a punch, which he rightly deserved to do.
Sharing the bathroom was never an issue, partly because Danny and I spent as little time in there as possible. We had to be yelled at by our father to take a shower and we did not spend much time brushing our teeth or hair. Shelley had the bathroom mostly to herself and the drawers were filled with girl stuff. I suppose that made her glad that I wasn’t a girl though I’m sure she had hoped differently when I was born.

Our room had two beds, with carefully matching bedspreads, separated by a small wooden nightstand. Alongside the far wall were two dressers, one cabinet and a desk, all matching. Near the beds was a chaise lounge, perfect for tossing our clothes and other belongings. Next to the foot of my bed was a child’s rocking chair that stayed in place long after I’d outgrown it. Three windows brought in plenty of light and provided great views of our neighborhood.

Underneath the small nightstand was a trash can. Oval, made of metal, it featured a cowboy riding his horse with his six-shooter pulled and ready for action. Behind him were mountains, clouds, yellow turf and a red band at the bottom with western icons.

My brother and I managed to preserve most of the items in that bedroom. Dan has most of the dressers and cabinets, while the small rocking chair and the nightstand ended up with me, along with the trash can, which long ago started showing its age with some rust here and a dent there.

As it just so happens, my boys were not so different from Danny and me. When my son Josh, seven years older than his brother Coby, had the choice to have his own room in the home we were building, he asked if he could share it with his brother. So instead of two small bedrooms, we built one large one.

In that room was the little rocking chair, and the same nightstand between their beds that had separated Danny’s and my beds. And underneath that same nightstand—reminiscent of our 1960s-bedroom set-up—was the slightly beat-up cowboy trash can. I appreciated the resemblance of the room to that of my childhood, even if my sons did not.

I thought having my children at home would be a forever thing, but I was wrong—I guess happily. My boys grew up, moved away and have their own homes—their old room empty and longing. By then, the trashcan had grown a bit wearier, with more rust and more dents after another generation of Citron boys had abused it, whether as a basket for a ball game or from an accidental kicking.

One day, after the boys were long gone—though their room stayed exactly the same—I looked at the poor little trash can, and the cowboy seemed sad. Two generations had given him much enjoyment, and now he was just a lonely old ranch hand. I decided that he needed a new home. And while the nightstand and rocking chair are now in my grandson Evan’s room, I moved the trashcan to my study.

And there the slightly rusty, dented, old (vintage, now?) trashcan sits, chipped paint and all, in a prominent spot where I can see it whenever I’m in the room. With many grandchildren running through my study and with me spending a fair amount of time there, I’m happy to report that the cowboy’s spirits have been lifted considerably, his smile has broadened, and he seems ready for some new western adventures.