Veteran journalist Barbara Falconer Newhall riffs on life as she knows it.
The fine artist wannabe in me asserts that, as a rule of thumb, flowers are just too nice, too darned pretty to be the subject of Real Art. Real Art needs grit. It needs to be problematic. It needs tension. Something has to be askew. Flowers, on the other hand, never seem troubled to me, or even ruffled. Read more.
A couple of weeks ago, I mourned the loss of little hill in Michigan called Eagle Top. This week I’d like to celebrate a place that — unlike Eagle Top — has been preserved in all its wild and pastoral beauty – the vast triangle of land along the California coast known as Point Reyes, and especially the narrow outcropping called Chimney Rock.
I wasn’t looking. I was at the computer all weekend with my back to the world. When I finally took a bleary look out the window Monday morning, I saw a front yard crazy with life — poppies, blue-eyed grass, armeria, pansies and several lascivious stalks of lupine blossoms. 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.
Dress shoes for women right now, as you may have noticed, sport heels that go on forever. Wedge heels, spike heels, stack heels – everywhere I look I see nothing but heels of skyscraper proportions built to lift their wearers four or even four-and-a-half inches off the ground. Read More.