I love love love Throwback Thursday. I love old pictures from my past. I love old pictures from your past. I really do want to admire your grandmother’s wedding dress, or glory in your father’s old racing car, the one he crashed that time. And your mother never let him race again…or so she thought. I love every old baby photo that is posted, especially if it is of you as a baby, or your mother as a baby. I love to see that old dog of yours when he was a puppy and still fallin

I adore the beginning of the HOLIDAY SEASON. That swell of happiness. Like Pavlov’s dog, Christmas bells light up my life. Yours too, I’ll bet. But by the time Christmas and New Year rolls around, I’m tired. I’m resentful. I’m ready to throw in the towel. Because we all know how hard the HOLIDAY SEASON actually is. The cooking, the shopping, the frayed nerves, the money… I want that thrilling holiday season mood to last longer. I have tried pacing myself with all the work. I’

September is the sorrowful month of starting school. Seeing all those little kids letting go of summer bliss, standing on the corners waiting for buses, wearing real clothes and heavy shoes…I could weep for them. The horrible day I went to first grade, I wore plaid. My father was thrilled with this. He’s a Southerner by birth, doesn’t have a drop of Glasgow in him, and yet, the man loves plaid. So there I was, first day of school, wearing a plaid dress, and some kind of tam

Montserrat, Barcelona So, I’m a reluctant tourist at best. Short attention span at best. And best at being the tourist who has a companion leading the way. So I don’t have to think or plan or pay attention– But here I am, exploring a new place, alone. Which is how I like it, so as a tourist, I’m in a little bit of trouble. Take yesterday and a nice little jaunt to Montserrat, an old monastery an hour and a half outside of Barcelona, up in the mountains. I wanted to go for

Rain So, I don’t like road trips in the first place. Maybe it’s because I live in Southern California, and to say I live in my car is not to exaggerate the situation. But I don’t think I ever liked them, even though the childhood road trips were as pleasant as my mother could make them. These included bi-annual trips from Massachusetts to Kentucky where my parents had grown up. It was on one of those trips, that I left my blanket behind in one of the motels on the way, and