When people ask me what my real hair color is, I usually tell them it’s grey. The truth is, I was blonde when I was young, but as I got older, my hair darkened. By the time I was in high school, it was considered “dirty blonde” – no matter how often I washed it.
I am a night owl still trying to be an early bird. Lately, though, I haven’t been trying hard at all.
Like every Easter weekend of my life I will be doing one of two things this year: eating chocolate or trying not to.
“Spring forward, fall back” is an easy quote to remember, guiding us in the direction we should be changing our clocks during daylight saving time. But is there something simpler we could be doing instead?
More than ever people are famous for … well, for being famous. Why? Reality TV is certainly one of the reasons.
In more than a few columns over the years I’ve written about my lack of interest when it comes to watching sporting events, but give me an awards show in the entertainment world, and I’m in. Particularly if it’s the granddaddy of them all: The Academy Awards, also known as the Oscars.
In our house Valentine’s Day is about the kids, just as it was when I was a child. When my brother and I were young our mother made a big deal out of this special day. She made a big deal out of every holiday, but for some reason I remember especially liking Feb. 14. It might have had something to do with the chocolate
My fear of heights is only slightly outweighed by my fear of snakes, so when my 8-year-old daughter asked me to chase after a guy covered in the long limbless reptiles one day at the beach, I was less than keen.
As we enter fall, or autumn, or whatever you like to call it, I feel excited to embrace the new season like I do every other season. Except, maybe with this one, a little bit more.
Like every adult out there, I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing on September 11, 2001 when I first heard news of the catastrophic terrorist attack on America.
I don’t go to garage sales for a reason: I have enough junk. Apparently my kids don’t.
My friend’s 8-year-old son was recently attacked by a pit bull who bit his beautiful face so severely that he was rushed to the hospital. After receiving approximately 40 stitches that ranged from just under his left eye, cheek and under his chin, it was immediately obvious to his family that they had narrowly escaped a parents’ worst nightmare.
Walking down a dirt road to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night isn’t my idea of a relaxing vacation, but for some reason it’s what my family wanted to do this year.
Have you ever fantasized that you had a clone? I have. And with school out for the summer I’m fantasizing more than ever.
The unfortunate thing about having a Tuesday deadline is that if my favorite hockey team plays in the Stanley Cup Finals on Wednesday, a game that ends with a riot that makes headlines around the world, I can’t write a column about it for another week and a half. But so what? It’s not like I’ve never been late to a party before.
Back in the ’70s my parents were huge fans of their city’s new hockey team, the Vancouver Canucks. My little brother and I were not.
I had lunch with my young friend the other day and during our brief visit together she texted the entire time. It wasn’t the kind of texting where she apologized for having to attend to an important matter, but the casual kind that could have waited until after the rare hour we spent together. I knew this because I asked.
I like it when people call me Miss. It doesn’t happen very often anymore, so when a young barista at Starbucks called me that the other day, I thanked him for it.
After 25 years the Oprah Winfrey Show is ending, and I’ll be sad to see it go.
Motherhood equals guilt. I understood that the moment I had my first child almost 11 years ago. I instantly worried I wouldn’t be good enough for this little baby boy I was holding for the very first time, but whom I already loved more than anyone.
When I was my children’s age a movie came out that had me, and millions of others, terrified of going in the water for fear of being attacked by a shark. It was called Jaws.
