complaining. I grew up in a poor and chaotic alcohol-laden world loaded with complaining from my wonderful "step-father" who sat at our cheap Formica kitchen table with his whisky highball and bitched about everything, including how I was always "eating us out of house and f&
my daughter Maya, who lives in Los Angeles. We talk almost every day, and on this day, when I called, she was shopping at a Whole Foods store. I love to cook, and so does Maya, and we have spent many hours in the kitchen together creating great meals. One
walk with my dog Juno when I noticed a white spot in the fall leaves and grass. I walked past it but then turned around to check it out, and it was this little mouse. Dead. And on its back. The mouse looks peaceful and, well, kinda comfy, right? To
my elliptical in my Lulu Lemon underwear, Goruck merino wool socks, and orange and black 20-year-old New Balance tennies, I turned on the TV mounted on the wall in front of me and sifted through the deck of thumbnail cards that Google decided to deal to me on that day.