Last week I elected to have my eyeballs lasered to correct the nearsightedness that has been a part of my life since third grade. My glasses sit on my nightstand now, unused since Thursday, rendered obsolete. It is thrilling to be without them, even while my vision is stabilizing. The recovery period for the procedure I had (PRK) is more
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I arrived at Steinbeck in a roundabout way, but from this vantage point the journey seemed inevitable. Last summer’s drought was one to inspire the casual and not-so- use of the phrase “Dust Bowl.” The summer months were peppered with the moniker, the frequency of its usage increasing in direct proportion to the distance from the last measured rainfall. I
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We spent all last week with the Flu. I’m still a bit glassy-eyed from all of the screen time and am sporting the stamina of a fruit fly. Even so, I managed to put away Christmas; it had turned vulgar and garish through the haze of the Flu. I spent nearly three years with my new friends, the Bravermans last
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The new year falls like a coat of fresh snow, obliterating past goals, unmet, laying the foundation for a regrouped effort. Start fresh, it beckons, and every year without fail, I feel that message through to my bones. Maybe it’s the crisp newness of a calendar’s pages, not yet creased by time’s plow and dirty fingers. Maybe it’s the power
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Sweet, vital, enveloping beeswax – it is the defining aroma of the Solstice and the days leading up to it, when big blocks of golden light incarnate are melted down on the woodstove and poured into votive molds to await summoning on Solstice night. We celebrated our first family Yule by illuminating the night with candles and sharing a meal
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Grampa had a big birthday this Thanksgiving, one that could only be properly rung in with a piñata. It was all things a piñata fashioned by little hands should be – slightly awkward but bearing much charm, boasting a roomy interior, and surprisingly concrete in only one or two spots. The nose on this guy, for example, could withstand the
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Meet Olive. She’s a French Bulldog, about 5 years old. We’re still very much getting to know her, but already she’s established herself as a world-class snuggler, a prerequisite for all of our dogs. She has brought back snorting, snoring, and heavy breathing back into the soundtrack of our house, much to our collective relief. (it had been too quiet
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The new Mumford and Sons album magically arrived in my inbox this morning, setting the tone for a stellar day. There was knitting. Reading. Puppy love. And an ever-growing awareness that we’ve not got enough chew toys to satisfy those puppy teeth. Yes, Leila, we all think Errol’s feet are delicious, but we mean it metaphorically.
