My mom made me a very special birthday gift this year: a “city quilt,” pictured above. The jewel-tone colors are so bright and pretty, and it’s big enough to fit on my King-sized bed AND for Jim and me both to use in the living room while we’re hunkered down, watching TV. (Thanks, mom!!!) When my parents and sister came over to our back patio for outdoor birthday dinner last weekend, my mom announced it was time for gifts and then she handed me a huge black garbage bag. I knew immediately what was inside because: It was public knowledge that she had been working on a quilt for me.…
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My Earliest Political Memory Was That Time I Got In Trouble.
Just look at that eight year old up there. She looks like she means business, doesn’t she? She was me. Well, she is me. I thought it would be fun to tell the (very) short and sweet story of the very first memory I have that involves politics. Back in 1976 when I was obviously trying to be some kind of supermodel, there was more talk than usual about America and politics. Jimmy Carter and incumbent Gerald Ford were running their presidential race, and we were also celebrating the Bicentennial—the 200th anniversary of the First Continental Congress, which led to the signing of the Declaration of Independence. A year-long wave…
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Lazy Susan on a Lazy Sunday
I've done practically nothing on this lazy Sunday except stare at my custom-made lazy Susan. You would, too.
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Go Big Or Go Home Didn’t Start With Me
I would be hard-pressed to find just one favorite picture of my mom, because there are so many. There’s the one that used to hang in my Grandma’s house: mom wearing her ballet shoes and posing on pointe so beautifully. There are the black and white ones: her wearing knee-high white boots with a skirt/blouse vest outfit that is so 1960’s it hurts, and just hanging out with my dad next to one of their many VW Beetles. There’s the one that was staged by her wedding photographer: mom, the young bride, pulling twenty-dollar bills out of my dad’s jacket pocket. There’s the one of mom, my sister and I…
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My Mom Is Pretty And Other Mantras
Although I wouldn’t say that I’m a worrier by nature, I do sometimes grab onto an idea or a situation and mentally wring it out for all it’s worth. My latest worry is the quality of my skin. I know how it started. Two things: 1. I recently remembered for no reason whatsoever that I will turn forty-six years old this fall. I’ve never been one to freak out about aging and I’m still not, but the fact that starting in November I will be in my “upper forties” instead of my “mid-forties” gave me pause for a moment (and yes, technically I think forty-four to forty-six is probably still…
