Years ago, before the internet settled household arguments in seconds, my then-husband and I had an ongoing disagreement about the lyrics to a song. The song was “Drift Away” by Dobie Gray. I insisted the lyric was, “Give me the beat boys and free my soul.” He insisted it was, “Give me the Beach Boys and free my soul.”

The other morning, I was sitting in a bath at 11 o’clock on a weekday, coffee already cold on the edge of the tub, and I had a very strange thought. I should be somewhere. For most of my life, I always was. Wake up early…

The idea didn’t come from a design studio. It came from my crooked stove. I live in an old house – the kind with character, which is another way of saying nothing is quite level. One evening, I noticed my frying pan tilting slightly to one side…

You’d think that planning a vacation would be the fun part – choosing outfits, gathering travel-size toiletries, imagining yourself doing important things like strolling, lounging, and ordering dessert…

Not desire. Not infatuation. Not longing. This LUST is quieter – and far more durable. And much more important. The start of a new year has a way of asking quieter questions than we expect. Not the loud ones about resolutions and reinvention, but the subtler…

Why does New Year’s Eve evoke such strong feelings in people? It was the best of times, it was the worst of times – thanks for the insight, Charles Dickens. The real question is: how do I bulletproof myself either way?

We were supposed to be writing fiction. That’s what I told myself when I signed up for my fifth writing class at age 58. That was seven years ago. I was excited to use my imagination. Write someone else’s story. Escape into an artistic pursuit…

Every morning, I find myself negotiating with the simplest routines. Why is it so hard to do what I know is good for me? Instead, I play a game. I bargain with my electric toothbrush. I bought it years ago after breast surgery, when it was difficult to lift my arms and brush well. It turns out…

Like many of us, I have a collection. Not stamps or coins – though I admire a good commemorative quarter – I collect stuff I might need someday. You know, the “just-in-case” drawer that somehow turned into a closet, which morphed into a box or two in the basement…

I still remember walking my daughter down the aisle – heart pounding, tears threatening, and… “Why did I wear this?” Two days later, scrolling through wedding photos, I did that thing we all do: zoomed in on myself. Not the radiant bride, not the smiling family – me…