Veteran journalist Barbara Falconer Newhall riffs on life as she knows it.
Need some levity? Read on!
When I was a kid, Pentwater was not the place to be. The place to be was on the beach or in the woods with the wild critters. But now that I am thoroughly grown up, I’m preferring the charms of Pentwater village to the toads and grasshoppers of my 9-year-old self. Read more.
Los Angeles is an awful place. It is 469 square miles of bumper to bumper traffic, sinus clogging air pollution, starless nights and unrelenting summer sun . . . Read more.
I emailed my cousin Jeanie. Did she want to visit some of our childhood haunts, like Eagle Top? Read more.
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.
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.
My trusty point and shoot goes with me everywhere these days. But for my son’s wedding I resolved to Be In The Moment and resist the temptation to digitize every last detail of my son’s big day. Read more.