Living With Grandma
When I was a young girl in elementary school, my paternal grandparents came to live with us. I don’t remember feeling anything odd about this
When I was a young girl in elementary school, my paternal grandparents came to live with us. I don’t remember feeling anything odd about this
Over the past few years, my sons have watched more episodes of Dancing With The Stars than they ever thought possible. They’ve chauffeured their beloved Grandma on Target and supermarket runs, held back on their political views, and acted as guinea-pigs on many a recipe, but what they’ve received in return is gold.
Every night he tells me that I need to read it. Read it? I can barely read the title…very cosmic cover. And besides, why read it when I enjoy my sweet man’s nightly anecdotes?
Prior to departing on a trip home to Australia to visit family, I fell into the web (or should I say tapestry), of Indie author, Prue Batten. Prue resides on a farm in eastern Tasmania with her husband. She writes historical fiction and fantasy. In a comment on Amazon regarding one of Prue’s novels, a fan suggested that Prue could make her own version of the phone book or a dictionary and make it intensely readable…
Los Angeles is a city full of tantalizingly creative nooks. From marvelous museums, big and small, to galleries showing both local and world celebrated artists,
She’s not exactly my Zen master, my guru, or my teacher. To be honest, she’s more of a pain in the neck. One perfectly orchestrated look from her can return my delicately written prose into a blank page.
A breeze catches a single leaf and its neighbors surrender to the melancholy of Winter and dance along with the cadence of the moving air.
There’s a new disease spreading through the collective, and it makes me very sad. It doesn’t cause lumps or fevers, and it’s not fixable by a course of antibiotics, but make no mistake — it is frighteningly contagious. The symptoms are as follows: lethargy, indifference, laziness, a lack of excitement, occasional feelings of entitlement, depression and perhaps the saddest symptom of all — a decrease in one’s lack of purpose; it’s called mediocrity.
I love to dance, but I’m not that good at it. In fact, when I was a little girl, my father remarked that I resembled a hippopotamus doing grand jetés across the stage, rather than a graceful ballerina. He was joking, of course, and whenever I remember this remark, it still brings a smile to my face. It reminds me not to take myself, or others, too seriously…
With the holiday season in full force and tempting morsels of food inundating our senses from every angle, I thought I’d let you know that since Life After Gluten And Swedish Fish was published on the HuffPost blog in May 2014, my life without sugar and gluten keeps getting better. Life without sugar is great – seriously! Enjoy 🙂
I can’t remember the exact date when my health and general well-being began to decline, but the moment of realization that I needed help is clearly etched in my mind. It arrived while delivering a plate of leftover cookies to the kitchen at work after a somewhat stressful meeting…
If you’re searching for a fab book to give as a gift for the holiday season then may I suggest Paul Rudnick’s 2013 book, Gorgeous.
Hi, Personally, I think this is one of the most important pieces I’ve written and so I’m posting it again. It was first posted on