Welcome to summer -- shorts, sandals and sheer cotton dresses…gin by the pool, margaritas by moonlight.
By the end of this roadtrip, I'm quite smitten with your basic, garden-variety giraffe.
Devil’s Gate Dam has a rep as a playground for the occult, and there are steamy stories of seances and love affairs and mysterious disappearances.
My amazing daughters now live -- in this bewildering world of voodoo and deceit – as tributes to their no-nonsense mother.
In a single year, this grandbaby has left a mark on my heart…her vainglorious filigree.
"Happy Mother's Day, dude," they said. So at their urging, I drank a six-pack.
Oh, this old house. A good place to peel potatoes or butter a turkey. If the water is running, you can’t hear the TV.
Why are we on Santa Monica Beach? First of all, the place is a poem -- I’ve written sonnets to it before.