The other day it occurred to me that the best clue to my passions is what grabs me when I scroll through a magazine or newspaper.
For me, it’s advice columns. Especially Carolyn Hax.
When I’ve mentioned this to friends, I either get a “Oh my gosh, YES!” or “Who is that?” So for those in the latter category, let me just say: My new personal adviser.
I feel like a cicada. Suddenly freed after years – I’m sure it was 17 – of pandemic isolation, I don’t know what to do.
After a long winter’s nap, my garden’s come to life, prompting me to scrounge for the instructions left behind by the master gardener who sold me the place and moved to Spain last summer.
“No!” I screamed, when I noticed a chart showing 29 separate spring fertilizer applications I was supposed to deliver on different schedules. I immediately set out to simplify gardening.
A couple of decades ago, in the belief that blondes have more fun, I became one.
I had an assist in this decision from my youngest, who at 13, was embarrassed that her mother was older than most of her girlfriends’.
I wish I could be one and done with learning life lessons. Granted, some are that way. It only took once to learn not to
As someone who’s always valued comfort over style, it’s only twice a decade or so that I become fashion-obsessed.
Until now, the most recent obsession was travel clothes. What were the best picks for no ironing, no bulk, mix and match, capable of hand washing and overnight drying?
Now, with quite the collection and no place to go, I’ve made a compulsive detour into face masks.
I don’t know how I missed it, but according to all those must-have gift guides kicking around at Christmas, mini waffle makers are taking the country by a storm.
“The gift of the year!” declared one. And suddenly the inner child who had loved the Easy-Bake Oven, convinced me that THIS was the item my grandchildren had to have to start the year off right.
I had a sneaking suspicion that outdoor holiday lights would be a thing in 2020. After all, what else is there to do?
Then sure enough, a brochure started circulating around my new neighborhood announcing a holiday lighting contest.
With my possessions already downsized, my move to a new house complete, and the fall garden chores behind me, I was starting to worry.
Pretty soon Thursday would look a lot like Wednesday, which would look a lot like Tuesday.
I didn’t set out to buy a new house with an elaborate backyard garden. Maybe because I toured it in winter, I missed it.
I just know it was a shock when I went back for the inspection and noticed a green three-ring binder on the coffee table. It was captioned “The Gardens,” featured a lush backyard picture on the cover and a 9-page grid of maintenance instructions inside.