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About Barbara
I’m Barbara Falconer Newhall and I’ve got a serious case of the human condition.
I’ve done it all: career, family, house, garden, and a prize-winning book, "Wrestling with God." The result: I'm a woman of years, lots of them, who can't help seeing things from the funny side.
Tucked away on this website are hundreds of riffs on life. I hope you’ll seek them out – and keep me company as I discover the humor, if not the meaning, in what life throws my way. Learn More
THE LATEST
Sixteen Years Left to Live. How Many Bowls of Froot Loops Is That?
In the sixteen years I’ve got left, how many of the gotta-do items on my to-do list will I get done? Read more.
BARBARA’S BOOK
★ Publishers Weekly, starred review
Any seeker of any faith will be blessed to read the words of this fine author and observer. Read more.
An inveterate doubter for most of her adult life, journalist Barbara Falconer Newhall embarks upon a quest to find a way to believe in God in the twenty-first century.
The result is Wrestling with God: Stories of Doubt and Faith, which details her search for the Divine in the lives of diverse Americans – from a fundamentalist Christian to a progressive Muslim to a Buddhist monk.Seekers of all persuasions will feel represented here, from priests, ministers, and rabbis to engineers, physicists, and avowed non-believers . . . a riverflow of a book. — Phil Cousineau, host of PBS’s Global Spirit
Recent Riffs on Life
Was My Mother a 1950s Tradwife?
My mother was a tradwife, a bona fide 1950s tradwife. That’s what she wanted. That’s what she got. Read more.
The Trouble With Poinsettias
The trouble with poinsettias is — they don’t know that Christmas is over and it’s time to make an exit. Read more.
DON’T MISS!
The Writing Room: My Book’s Almost Done, Sorta
[caption id="attachment_4618" align="aligncenter" width="450"]
My computer monitor the day before my mother broke her hip and brought progress on my book to a halt for a year. Photo by Barbara Newhall[/caption]
My book is close to done. I’ve been working on it for nigh on to 13 years now. Can’t imagine what it will feel like to have it done-ish. Read more.
Widowed: Where’s My Lead Pony?
A lead pony is the seasoned horse who escorts a anxious racehorse to the gate, exerting a calming presence. I’m widowed. Where’s my lead pony? Read more.
When the Bride Doesn’t Wear White — And Neither Does Anyone Else
It’s an Indian wedding with all the trimmings — drums, gongs, garlands of flowers, priestly blessings and flocks of women wearing gorgeous saris. I’m a Westerner. What do I wear? Read more.