Snow in July
The Snowman Who Could It’s the oldest wish in the world. Wanting snow in July. Not just any July, but a July that is breaking all time heat records. I love to visit snow. In SoCal snow is but an hour away, so yes, that’s what we do. We take day trips on Saturday up into the mountains and pretend we’re living back East. I love snow at Christmas. I positively adore snow on a ski trip, as I’m sure you do. I think snowflakes are the seven wonders of the world. I am complet


My Summer Car
My Summer Car I have a new car back at home. I love my car almost as much as I love my pets because I’m a Southern Californian and we love our cars inordinately. But I’m on vacation now. For six weeks I get to idle my time in the soft and green humidity of America’s heartland, far away from the sharp frenzy of the CA’s summer beach life. And while I’m here, the buggy in the picture is my buggy. She’s about ten years old. She has over 150 thousand miles on her. She has a


Winter Red in Summer
Beach Red Reading about winter clothes in Vogue, in the depths of a Midwest summer, has presented me with a challenge. It turns out I’m supposed to wear red this winter and love it. Oh, and by winter, Vogue means this fall. Just so I’m clear. This fall I’ll be in Paris. In Paris, as all us American tourists have emblazoned on our brains like permanent dye, one wears black. Not red. Just ask me about the time I got caught wearing my red Beijing baseball cap in Pere La


Sloth in the Midwest
Orange Red Farm Door I’m in this tiny town in Western Illinois and yesterday their monthly air raid siren went off. It wailed long and strong. Went on longer than the tsunami siren they’ve just installed at the end of the Balboa Peninsula. And at the end, the sound even got creative. Short and long and short again. This morning a one- propeller plane flew over. I haven’t heard an airplane in two weeks, let alone a propeller airplane. I rushed out to have a look, and fo


SoCal to IL to Paris
Queen Anne's Lace I just read the name of a recipe. Pear Tart with Stilton Cheese and Cranberry Rash. Cranberry Rash? Ghastly. Maybe they mean rasher, as in rasher of bacon. Anything’s possible, just off the plane, train and automobile, getting from California to Illinois. My head clears. I look again. Cranberry Relish. The recipe is for Cranberry relish. I hope the rest of my stay here goes like that. My world upside down, but upside right if I read sideways and fro

