There's no place like The Castro (district) in San Francisco, not even Greenwich Village (which is hallowed ground, thanks to the 1969 Stonewall riots that began the rebellion against repression and police raids against gays. Honestly, it boggles my mind that police were concerned about gay men's . . .
You've heard the expression, right? You probably didn't know its title, which is To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time. Virgin or not, everyone can appreciate the reminder to seize the day, to live in the moment, to do all we can while we can. And boy, does that take on new meaning after . . .
There was once a day when we knew the model and make of every car on the road. Including this iconic finned Cadillac Coup de Ville that we spied while out on errands a few days ago. Is it a 1960? The fins are a clue that it could be. More than 50 years old--whoa! My husband always compares these . . .
Alcatraz is a mystical place for me. That big rock sitting out in the middle of San Francisco Bay, sometimes glinting in sunshine and other times cloaked in fog. Where convicted criminals were housed in cold, bare cells and isolated from the world. It's said that at night they could hear the music . . .
Spring. It's sprung, at least this week and at least in the San Francisco Bay area and on the Monterey peninsula. And in Sonoma. Here's what I found on my street: Down in Big Sur, the succulents are plump and green: Some are even flowering: Flowers in the wooden box at the Big Sur River . . .
City Lights may well have the richest literary heritage of any independent bookstore in the United States. Inhale, and breathe in the history of Beat literature. City Lights is, arguably, where it all began. In San Francisco. It was founded in 1953 as a bookstore-publishing house by poet Lawrence . . .
When we think of pilgrimages we think of white-robed faithful walking a spiritual journey. They leave their destination expecting to encounter hardships along the way and, while seeing new things, develop new eyes. New ways of seeing. Their aim is to be changed at journey's end, to be changed . . .
We think we're brave? No. Here's brave: A mother with babe in arms getting on a boat in Sicily--or Ireland--or any other country-- in some form of steerage under horrific, unsanitary conditions and coming alone to a strange land where she didn't even know the language. That's BRAVE. And this is . . .
So girlfriend and were chatting yesterday. She's around my age and had a beautiful mother whose genes she inherited. Although she doesn't think so. And so she's had a few little cosmetic tweaks, even though her significant other thinks she's a goddess. No surprise. Because every girlfriend with a . . .
Snow. That scene's idyllic, isn't it? The snow looks so soft and fluffy. But when you've had so much of it, the charm dissipates a bit. That's what my sister-from-another-mother in New Jersey tells me. And if I really try, I can remember my upbringing in the Snow Belt city of Rochester, NY and . . .
