When the only places open were the grocery store and Home Depot, I turned to Amazon for retail therapy in the dark early days of the pandemic.
As we peer around the corner where 2022 lurks, a year-end ode to the one thing holding us together.
A look at the calendar tells me it's March 18. Only March 18. This Year of Hell, which feels like three years of hell, is barely three months old.
On the way home from a weekend trip with friends, we took a short detour into the foothills above Chico, California. Our destination: What remains of the town of Paradise.
Maybe it’s the hours of darkness in winter – and the hours of daylight in summer – but Scandinavians are passionate about nature. They have codified that love in law and philosophy.
The candle’s flame sputters and then dies in a ribbon of white smoke, the smell of burnt wax mingling with the scents of pan dulce and tequila. Faces of people, long gone now but never forgotten, peer out from behind glasses of milk, cans of Coke and marigolds. A pack of Marlboro Reds, a can of Bud Light, a package of M&Ms and plates of salt and apples complete la ofrenda, the offering, for the traveling souls of our loved ones.
My city’s in the news again – and once again, the news isn’t good: A group has pulled permits with the city to hold the region’s first straight pride parade. But pride of being straight isn't the only thing they hope to celebrate at their event.
The West is a great place to live. That I’ve never lived anywhere else might make such a claim suspect. On the other hand, that I’ve never left is a ringing endorsement of the validity of my statement.
On a recent trip to Berlin – my third visit to the German capital in five years – Airbnb recommended an activity: An absinthe tasting experience guaranteed to bring me face-to-face with my green muse. Having regretted not indulging in Amsterdam’s coffeehouse scene whilst visiting there not once but twice (sort of – I have
When I was a child, the most thrilling day of my year was the day the Sears and J.C. Penney holiday catalogs arrived in the mail. Always the size of a coffee-table edition of Tolstoy’s “War and Peace,” the catalogs held the secrets of how to make a child’s Christmas merry and bright – in high-color glossy detail.
Losing or gaining a measly hour in March or November feels like a complete unraveling of the fabric of time to my body. So my heart leapt for joy, briefly, this summer when the California Legislature decided to give voters a say on whether to scrap springing forward and falling back in the Golden State.
