I was thinking the other day about mom advice. That advice mothers give us. Or, as mothers, we give our kids. Solicited or not. My mother didn't exactly give advice, she mostly just flat out told me what I should and shouldn't do. I would call it more a demand or mandate. Which I usually didn't . . .
Tired of the usual Mother's Day gifts, like flowers or brunches? If you're lucky enough to still have a mother to honor on May 14, you may want to show you are thinking of her with a very special gift. I've got some very special ideas: (not sponsored, just things I love) Suggest you take a look at . . .
When my mother died in 1999 I figured she'd be all over me from the afterlife. I couldn't have been more wrong. My mother has been MIA pretty much since she died. Which has surprised those of us who have talked with my father in the afterlife. Because my father was not the primary person in this . . .
And everywhere I go There you will find Sandy So the other day I was driving down Highway 17 toward the Los Gatos hills, thinking about my mother. It was the day of my post on Nepal, THIS one, and I was thinking about how we would have talked about what was going on there and what she would have . . .
This began as a post about saying goodbye and then morphed into one about mean girls. I don't think that's an accident. The stories in Dumped, Women Unfriending Women continue to swirl around in my head, along with so many questions that don't have good answers. When grown women are mean to one . . .
Seniors Day thoughts. I don't feel like a senior. My hair isn't grey, at least it's not supposed to be, given my monthly investment at the salon. I'm usually pretty active But there I was, pushing a metal shopping cart around Walgreen's on Seniors Day, the first Tuesday of the month. I AM a . . .
During our life together I spoke to my mother just about every single day. We lived thousands of miles apart for decades, but hearing her voice was an important part of my daily life. I can't explain it--I was a grown woman, after all--but in some way my mother's voice rooted me. Ironic, isn't it, . . .
Do you ever look at old family pictures and wonder at the innocence they portray? How we knew nothing of the life that was to unfold? How each decision we made took us in one direction or another, and that direction completely changed what might have been another outcome? Do you look into your own . . .
After zipping my suitcase shut and slipping my laptop into a carryon, the last thing I did this afternoon was slip one of my mother's rings on my finger to wear while I'm in London. As I did, I thought about the many things she didn't get to do, partly because she died young at 74 but also because . . .
No, it's not Christmas or even close to that holiday. But it's come to my attention recently that there are still people around who do not believe in psychological therapy. Could this be? Yes. It could be and it is, and I know some of them. So here's the deal: I remember being in my mid-teens and . . .