Honestly, I don’t want to live in a world without print newspapers, journalism’s only link to Shakespeare.
Dogpark Gary-- always a sage, often an inspiration – explains that we have entered the Age of Frustration.
This is where the Happy Hour Hiking Club met Saturday, some 60 souls awaiting salvation and a Messiah in stone-washed jeans.
This time of year, I miss picking out pumpkins with the kids. I miss getting down on the garage floor and carving them.
It was an easy ride to Santa Barbara. You just follow the pumpkin stands along the 126, from Santa Clarita to the sea. Cowboy country.
This fall has had an early start – a little crisp, a little soupy. The other night, I made a fire. And a candy-corn martini.
Since Smartacus left, I’ve been living mostly on microwave popcorn and cheese curds. I call it “the Packers Diet.”
Found a wad of Smartacus’ dirty socks under the couch. Not many, 60-70 at most. That turned me into a wistful mom all over again.