Veteran journalist Barbara Falconer Newhall riffs on life as she knows it.
I've written hundreds and hundreds of posts over the years. To help you find your way to the best of the best, I've tagged my favorites "Don't Miss!" Scroll down here to find them.
Another way to locate Riffs on Life that you might enjoy is to click above on your favorite category – "My Ever-Changing Family," perhaps, or "Funny Button." You can also use the search box located way up top to hunt for stories by topic. There's fun reading at "garden," "aging," "kids" and, of course, "Jon."
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.
At 7 on a Saturday night, eight-year-old Peter came home from the park with a lip the size of a ping-pong ball. He had been hit by a hardball on the fly. I wanted to take him to the ER. Jon said no, it was just a fat lip. Read more.