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.
“Jesus is risen!” as they say in church, and I’m still stuck down here with a hundred gophers, in the little house that used to be a Wienerschnitzel.
The other shoppers can’t figure out why the checker is laughing. It’s affecting her scanning somewhat. She’s one of those people who jiggles when she giggles.
My grandbaby is all the things I am not. She is new.
Easter is voile dresses and flowers in the kids’ hair. This year, it's also these amazing Ukrainian eggs.