In the nine years, seven months and 24 days since Sept. 11, 2001, not too many cloudless, crystal clear blue sky days have passed in which I haven’t been reminded of that one that shone brightly in the warm, early autumn morning when I scrambled desperately along with most of my immediate family to
It seems begrudgingly fitting that shortly before I enter one of the final years in my 30s, I took a minivan for a test drive. That it was during one of the final years in my 30s certainly doesn’t make it better and possibly makes it worse, but it seems apropos nonetheless.
Late last month, the chain of restaurants whose claim to fame is always being open announced a radical addition to its menu — the Maple Bacon Sundae. Boasting that “bacon makes a classic ice cream sundae even more awesome,” Denny’s is delighting in the fact that any time of day, customers can now re
It was revealed last week that Prince William and his fiancée, Kate Middleton, have officially registered for their wedding, which is later this month.
I’ve been called many things in my life, although most of them have been nothing to write home about (unless I needed bail money as a result and had no choice, of course).
Whoever said you can’t go home again should have added that you also can’t go back to a same beloved getaway spot with a toddler and enjoy it nearly as when you used to go before she was born.
I don’t admit this very often in public for fear of damage to my gilded and much-revered reputation, but I’ve spent the better part of the past several years walking around with bloodied, wounded pride as the ever-aloof Pulitzer Prize Board has roundly ignored the artistry of my writing.
My husband isn’t a stereotypical guy’s guy. Unlike some men, Rick doesn’t personally change the oil in our car. In fact, he never personally notices when anything’s even wrong with the car (although I suspect if black smoke were pouring out from under the hood or if the car itself disappeared, it mi
While it may very well be true that everyone loves a parade, I wonder how much they’d really be appreciated if people had to live through the equivalent of a marching band, cheering squad, decorated floats, fireworks, cannons, confetti, costumes, cotton candy and fried dough in their living rooms al
Opinions are like armpits, everybody seems to have two of them, and usually they both stink. While I recognize that fact in theory, it doesn’t mean in practice that I was prepared for my daughter to have a point of view, never mind many of them — often times several of them a day — and certainly not
I don’t want to brag, but I easily beat an 11-year-old at Trivial Pursuit for Kids last week. Technically the margin of victory was only a single piece of pie, but he never had a chance, really.
Whoever thought I couldn’t possibly cry for a country I’ve never been to, especially for one that isn’t suffering from war, famine, genocide, drought, poverty or the Tea Party, sorely misjudged me.
