When I was a senior in high school, I remember the buzz surrounding some of my classmates who were applying to Stanford. Unlike most application essay questions at the time, the Stanford question was always unique and interesting. That particular year's question was this: use one adjective to describe yourself and explain why that adjective best fits you. I never had to ponder the adjective question because I knew that this was a school beyond my reach, so I lived vicariously through friends more willing to test their mettle with Stanford's admissions staff. One friend, in particular, decided to write the most gutsy college essay ever and describe herself with just three words: I am succinct. End of essay. Not only did this friend graduate from Stanford, but she is now an English professor. I just love that story. Now it's my turn to be succinct with you. Very simply, I want you to stop what you are doing and go out and buy some summer berries while they are still availab
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I'm baaaaack! No, I have not given up on this blog. It just took a much appreciated summer break to help me find some down time to write and create. My sister recently asked me how far I was from my goal of 50 drinks. Well, let's just say I still have a ways to go, mais c'est la vie. If you'll be patient with me, I will get there. Hopefully before my next decade birthday. I've done some important things since last sitting down to write. I went on a yoga retreat in the beautiful San Juan Islands and learned how to fence and throw a hatchet -- two activities that were way more fun than the yoga. Perhaps relaxation is just not my thing. My partner in this medieval fun, Debbie, has been a friend and adventure buddy since the day we met (long ago) while training to become bike trip leaders. The miles between our homes make our gatherings few and far between, but they are always filled with enough laughter to (almost) last until the next escapade. When school let o
Some people collect stamps, others recipes. I seem to have a penchant for shoes, but let me just say that mine is not a typical collection because it has an extreme lack of diversity. To be honest, I was a little horrified the other day to look down in my closet and realize that perhaps, just perhaps, I had gone over the edge. You decide. Now, I have my justifiable reasons -- don't we all? My feet have always had issues, just ask my sister. For years she kept track of my toenails, or lack thereof. After years of running, hiking, skiing, and spending time in large, clunky boots with low arches that don't prevent my toes from slamming into the front of those boots, I have bruised (and lost) many a toenail. Nowadays, my feet are cursed by plantar fasciitis. If you've never suffered from this ailment, may you pray to the feet gods that you never do. This tends to be one of those aging problems. Your arches sink over time, which is not a good thing if you didn't hav
I'm trying to. Spring forward, that is. When I was growing up, fall was my favorite season because I loved getting back to the school routine. Maybe it was the new clothes. I still have fond memories of a flannel dress I wore on the first day of sixth grade. It had license plates all over it, and I thought I was destined for the cover of Vogue, especially with the accompanying black and white saddle shoes that were all the rage. But I'm a summer gal now. I suspect this has something to do with where I live. Every year at this time when we return to daylight savings time, I find Mother Nature to be particularly cruel. One day it's sunny and warm, hinting at what's to come. Then the next five are wet and cold, forcing the capris back into the closet. It could be worse, I know, and my apologies go out to those of you who live east of the Mississippi. But you will soon have something that those of us in the Northwest rarely get -- a real, sustained spring. So I'm f
As you may have noticed, my productivity has decreased noticeably since last summer. This is not due to lack of interest. No, this is due to lack of sleep. I have a teenager who should be going to his first period class around 9am but instead is learning trigonometry at 7:20. He has a mom who should be sleeping until 7am but is awakened over an hour before her body would like to see the light of day. All work and no sleep has made me a tired and unproductive writer. I was once asked if I am an early bird or a night owl. "Neither," was my reply. "I am a wimp at both ends." Always have been and always will, I suspect. And so my ears perked up last week while listening to an interview with Jennifer Senior , contributing editor at New York magazine and author of a new book on parenting called All Joy and No Fun: The Paradox of Modern Parenting . Kids, she points out, were originally part of the economic engine of a family; they were housed and fed and expected to wor
Most every Friday I go to work with tears in my eyes. I know this doesn't make sense -- it is Friday, after all. But at 7:25am, when I am about a half mile away from my school, I always hear the familiar jingle that identifies a new segment of StoryCorps, the NPR program that helps people record their life stories, archiving them to leave a lasting legacy for their families and loved ones. Like a Pavlovian dog, just hearing that jingle gets my tear ducts ready to flow, and like a junkie who knows that showing up to work in tears just doesn't make any sense, I can't help myself. These conversations are just that compelling. Sometimes they're funny, sometimes sad, but they are always a fascinating look into two people's lives and the connection that exist between them. In a world of news that often feels removed, these stories are very real. Birth, death, and love, the essence of human existence, are the most common topics, and these conversations illustrate that n