The Cliff

Ken used to tease me mercilessly (justifiably) for my choices in footwear. Once, on a Saturday afternoon in Los Angeles, we threw a chunk of marble cheese and some sourdough into a picnic basket and headed for our favorite cliff. You’re wearing those? he’d ask, eyeing my wedges. They’re cute! I’d say. You’re gonna look

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Salvaged

As a kid, I was a frequent journaler. For birthdays or at the height of the school year, I’d receive fresh new stacks of composition notebooks, ready to be scrawled upon in childish loops. They were my favorite things. The possibility, the hope, the faith of discovering something new via the written word. A hundred

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Time Out

The makings of a good day: Coffee. Love. Fresh air. Time. — Sometimes, I hit all four. Yesterday was one of those sometimes, and it was as luxurious as one might imagine. It had been a long while since Ken and I had been on a proper date – the kind where you sit at

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Dual (Duel) Parenting

Do I fight with my spouse? You bet I do. — I used to freak out, quietly, in my own mind, when Ken and I would disagree over parenting. It was more important to me that we were united than right, so with every minor disagreement, I’d settle for a compromise. He’d “win,” and I’d

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When Your Friend Changes

There are times you meet a friend who stands for everything you do, who fights the same battles, who struggles with the same noose. You grow close. You share sweaters and wine; you swap kids and memories. And then she makes a permanent change in her life that you have to accept. It’s a great

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Dinner

Do you know the difference between a dinner party and a dinner? Between entertaining and having friends over? I think it’s candlelight. — I’ve never been one to call it entertaining. It sounds like an ill-fitting shoe for me, like you’ll need a ticket when you arrive, and perhaps valet, and here, can I take

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Lust

It’s just that love, I think, is magic, and work. Madeleine L’Engle once wrote about the great gift of love, the great cosmic pairing of two, and she said this: “It’s a strange thing, how you can love somebody, how you can be all eaten up inside with needing them–and they simply don’t need you.

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Happy Hour

Well, here’s a fun thing to try. Take four women with four different summer calendars packed with the likes of five business trips, three birthday parties, two extracurricular activities, one wedding (and a partridge in a pear tree?) and find a two hour window in which to celebrate all of the above. A woman’s calendar

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