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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
Too Many Angry Diatribes. Not Enough Tact. Why?
On the air and in cyberspace: too many angry diatribes, not enough tact. Do we — you and I — really want to tone things down? 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
My Husband Was Bald — And Then He Wasn’t
With the covid shutdown, Jon stopped going to the hairdresser. Soon he wasn’t as bald as we thought he was. Read more.
My Days Are Numbered — And So Are My Minutes
My days are numbered, so I’ve decided to be miserly about how I spend what’s left of them. Read more.
DON’T MISS!
A Patch of Fireweed in the Northwest — What Color Are Those Blossoms? Do I Need to Know?
I couldn’t make up my mind about that tall stand of fireweed I saw growing on the edge of a woodlet in the Pacific Northwest last summer. Were those blossoms purple? Blue? Pink? Or what? Read more.
The Truth About Widows — We Cry a Lot
We widows cry a lot. But sometime I stop and ask myself, why am I crying? Am I mourning his life — or mine? Read more.