The last time I saw Robert Morse there were beads of sweat on his forehead. It was 1967 and he was working the crowd on the set of a local TV comedy show. Robert Morse was on. He was going for laughs and he was going for them with the intensity of a rocket launch. He was doing what mid-life folks do – he was striving.
Christmas has gotten to be a scheduling nightmare. Peter lives in Minnesota. Christina lives in Southern California. Jon and I live in Northern California. That puts 400 miles between us and our daughter and 2,000 miles between us and our son. Not exactly over the river and through the woods. Read more.
Somebody owns Eagle Top. They bought it ten years ago and built a cottage on it. I didn’t think it was possible to buy, sell or own Eagle Top. Eagle Top was a wild place. I thought it belonged to itself. Read more.
The long dress I was planning to wear to my son’s wedding needed earrings. Not a necklace. Not a bracelet. Not a glitzy ring. My gown needed earrings. Big, attention-grabbing, dangle earrings. Read more.
My aunt was tall, red-headed, blue-eyed, self-sufficient and glamorous at a time and place when most women in her hometown wanted nothing more than to get married, have babies and put up green beans and blackberry jam. Read more.
I feel bad about my lip. My upper lip. Nora Ephron felt bad about her neck, a body part she made famous back in 2006 with her book I Feel Bad About My Neck. Nora also felt bad about her frizzy grey hair, parched skin, incipient mustache, flabby upper arms, and tendency toward belly fat. She was getting older.