On a typical Sunday morning in yoga class, I set up my mat and props, and then lie down for a few minutes to get myself all nice and grounded and present. But this time, before doing so, I whipped out my phone and took a few photos…

We were all standing around one morning at the bus stop, shooting the shit, while my neighbor’s dogs were waiting impatiently in her car…

It’s not like we had any plans for New Years Eve, so I just thought he suggested going to the zoo because there was nothing else to do…

So, I did a thing. I signed up for piano lessons. At FIFTY. I’m not a first-timer, but it’s been a minute.

“...the word mother is more powerful when it is used as a verb than as a noun.”

I’ve been feeling kind of edgy lately. Like PMS crabby, but with no P and no M. And I can’t exactly put my finger on why. Oh no. Is this my mid-life crisis? I didn’t live for fifty whole years just to become a cliche.

I know I’m not the only one with a “To Do” list a mile long, but recently I’ve had so much going on–in my life and in my head-that I started to feel a little overwhelmed.

There I was on my yoga mat with a cool lavender towel covering my eyes…

“Wait. You cook, like, something different every day?” she said from across the table with just a trace of horror in her eyes.

When I moved out of my parents’ house at the age of 19, my mom handed me her copy of The I Hate To Cook Book by Peg Bracken and wished me good luck.