Veteran journalist Barbara Falconer Newhall riffs on life as she knows it.
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.
Good news. I’ve signed a contract with a publisher for my book "Wrestling With God." The publisher is Bondfire Books in partnership with Patheos.com.
There’s no such thing as a presentable evening bag that can hold what a woman – a real one – needs to put into her purse these days. Read more.
Look what reorganizing my stationery drawers turned up: Coupons from my then 13-year-old daughter Christina promising to do chores around the house — including yard work, for heaven’s sake. Read more.
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.
When I heard about the new windmills, I resolved to take a look the next time I was in Michigan. Were they a noisy, ugly, menacing blight on the landscape? Or could they be interesting — attractive even? Read more.
My Aunt Grace, who died in January, was Jewish. Most everyone else in her family had remained Christian or had moved on to atheism, secularism or indifference. The question was, how does a bunch of Christians and agnostics say a parting prayer for a Jew? Read more.