Friends gathered for a surprise bash in the backyard. Still not sure how my daughters pulled that one off.
Best grilled swordfish I've ever tasted, and the gin was really great too.
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.
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.
LA architecture often looks like the broken omelets I make…like some version of anti-matter.
My bar would be called “The Good Novel.” Debutantes would stumble in late, as would married women with money problems.