Each morning I swear I won’t. Yet every morning, I begin a new round of my personal Mission Impossible. My impossible mission? Get control of my house AND my life.
Each morning I swear I won’t. Yet, first thing each day I make the bed and fluff up the “just for show” pillows. I maniacally wipe down the counters, speed-spritz the fridge to eliminate fingerprints and Windex with a fury the glass dining room table.
My mother was pro-mink. She believed fur symbolized luxury, style, wealth and to the manor born. Not me. I was decidedly anti-fur. I grew up in a cloth coat, pea- jacket, egalitarian world.
My mother was a native New Yorker, so fur was practical too, good for keeping the cold out. I, on the other hand, grew up in sunny Las Vegas. So I avoided the cold and the culture of fur for a long time.
The Fur Flies
But in my late 20s, I was D.C.-bound for an exciting new job. I was also in possession of a small insurance settlement from a leg injury. For my mother, the stars were aligned. She saw fur in my future and pounced. Read more
Remember when salad was simple? Throw together some iceberg lettuce and a few tomatoes and you were done. Now when you shop the produce aisle, you wade through 50 shades of green. Dine out and you wonder if you’re reading a foreign-language menu, so unknown are the leafy options.
These days you need a Ph.D. to make and eat salad! To help sort through the confusion, join me for a walk on the wild produce side. Ready, set, lettuce go! Read more