by Lisa Frances Judd So, here I go this morning, back east to the land of sand and sunshine, snowbirds and lower real estate prices. Tampa, Florida. It's also the home of some of my best friends ever and oh, how I'm looking forward to spending some in-person time with . . .
Ain't it the truth! We are off this morning to a tiny town outside Boulder, CO, where we'll spend the holiday with a longtime friend and her companion. And her dog, horses and cats. And some of her friends.I've known J since the mid-1990s, when we worked for the same boss. We both had staff in . . .
The "neighbs" and their dogs came over the other afternoon for an impromptu, 1950s-style potluck. Shrimp on the barbie, flatbread with pear, arugula and caramelized onion, cheese, crackers, strawberries, raspberries, lemonade and an abundance of beer and wine. I'd put together a party tune . . .
Or rather: I'm not really a fan of syrah, are you? But I read a legend about it: It was brought from Syracusa by the legions of Roman emperor Probus after 280 A.D. But historians say it's a lie. That it really originated in the Rhone region of France. That's probably more than you . . .
Most of my most significant old photographs have disappeared. Too many moves, for one thing. But also, when M. and I divorced in 1980, I discarded all our old pictures. Including our wedding album. They were a memory of time and a person I thought were long gone. We didn't have kids; there seemed . . .
Hotel Valencia lounge balcony.An icy cold cosmo and a bottle of fun Butter polish I found in Seattle last year.Butter polish is 3-Free: no horrible chemicals. Years ago, I was one of those women who had biweekly manicures. Gel nails, to be exact. French, hot pink, red -- whatever color struck me . . .
The winter air is soft in west-central Florida, soft and just a little humid. Walking through the warm jetway heading toward the terminal, I felt the start of a warm caress. Already.On the road a few minutes later I realized that every block in this town holds a memory. That qualifies it as a place . . .
It's that time again. To Florida I gofor my annual, week-long visit with my girls.Yes, girls.Oh, of course they are women.But I like us best when we are doing girly things.Nails.Shopping.Tea.Gossip (benign, of course).And laughing.Sometimes giddily.So, yes, girls.No faux sophistication, here.Love my . . .
The holidays are half over: had enough of family drama? I have to tell the truth. The Legal Eagle and I like our holidays a deaux. I know we're not supposed to. We're supposed to want warm holiday gatherings of kith* and kin. But we don't. He watches football, I cook a meal and we hang out with . . .
South in winter, north in spring: birds always know where home is. Back in the day, extended families all lived in the same area. "Home" was clear. Today, not so much. Many of us who live away from our hometowns talk about "going home" when we visit our families. If you have children, you've formed . . .