“Oh crud, we need to do our taxes,” I recently told my husband as I do every year around this time. After exhausting every reason to procrastinate ÔÇô cleaning out the vegetable drawer, perusing old Hickory Farms catalogues left over from Christmas, clipping toenails, surfing E-bay for vintage bar signs, napping ÔÇô we finally had…
social scene
Pricing Paradise
Be it a sub-tropical seaside villa in Florida, a rugged mountain chalet in Montana, an Upper East Side condominium, or a Duck-Dynasty-esque Louisiana creekside doublewide — everyone has their own idea of the perfect paradise. And everyone hopes that someday they’ll end up retiring there. As a military family, we have lived north, south, east…
Tortured Tenderness
I really don’t mean to be a bummer, but I just googled Saint Valentine and learned that, not only was he not the patron saint of lovers, February 14th marks the date that he was imprisoned, tortured and beheaded in Rome in 269 A.D. Real romantic, hu? Apparently, the Feast of St. Valentine (a.k.a. Valentine’s…
Bowl Day: A Play by Play
Football-shaped bowl of nuts is on the coffee table. Starter log is sputtering in the fireplace. Dog has been walked. Wings are in the oven. Official play begins. My husband, ensconced in his tattered college sweatshirt, cargo pants he bought himself off the sale rack at Target, and ratty old sheepskin slippers, surveys the field,…
What I believe about Hell and hand baskets