It’s a Wonderful Life



I don’t know how you’ll be spending this last day of the year. I hope that if you look over your shoulder, you’ll see more smiles than sorrow. I also hope you won’t have to go to the extremes of George Bailey and Clarence the Angel (Second Class) in order to find your gratitude for simply being alive.


You matter. Your life matters. The world wouldn’t be nearly so sweet without you in it. It really is a wonderful life.


Cheers to you and yours.




I can’t help it. It’s the end of the year, and I can’t seem to do much of anything but lollygag. And I like it, dammit!


Maybe this is a time to stop trying to help it. I mean, the New Year will be upon us soon enough, and there will be work, goals, resolutions and general life to contend with. Maybe a little lollygagging now is okay. I vote for yes!




I feel for all of you who are under the heavy thumb of ugly winter weather. And I send you prayers.


I also hate to tell you how fantastic our weather is, here in Los Angeles. I’ve got the doors open to let in the warmth and it is bee-you-tee-full! It is just one of our So-Cal blessings.


What are some of your blessings, where you live? Come on, now, we all have blessings!

Car Guys



I’ve had a couple of recent visits to the auto shop. I’m not happy about this, as I don’t particularly enjoy when things break. I was raised by depression-era great-grandparents: I expect stuff to last forever. But things do indeed break and sometimes we just have to give in and deal with it. Hence, my recent auto shop stints.


Both times I was at the shop, strange dudes followed me around the waiting area. I wasn’t afraid. I was annoyed. I had planned ahead for my wait and was trying to read, dang it! Those dudes were either talking – loudly – on their phones or wearing super-too-much cologne.


Let me say something on this point. When a person doesn’t manage to bathe, slathering on copious amounts of cologne or perfume is NOT an acceptable alternative. Stinking is stinking, no matter if it’s due to spendy waters or cheap dirt. End of sermon.


Anyhoo, the car guys at the auto shop finally got the message. After I moved several times to get away from them. And again, they weren’t scary or anything. They were just annoying. I’m just hoping the old horseless carriage keeps rolling a while longer. I can only take so many car guys.




I love documentaries. The best ones move me, make me laugh, touch my heart and leave a well-appreciated impression on my movie psyche.


Mister and I recently watched “Jiro Dreams of Sushi” and I couldn’t be happier. This master sushi chef, born in 1925, is a true artist with an astounding life philosophy. Watching him speak about his job (which he began training for at the age of 10) causes one to stop breathing for a moment, just to take in the weight of his words. And then there’s the food. The food! Beautifully photographed and shot, the food images were frame-worthy. And they made me hungry. That’s why Mister and I headed out for a sushi dinner immediately after watching the film. And that, friends, was an excellent idea.


“Jiro Dreams of Sushi” is a wonderful documentary. It has depth and humor. So much life is shown in this film, I am certain it will stay with me for a long, long time. And if I ever make it back to Japan, I will definitely be making a reservation at Sukiyabashi Jiro, the 3-Michelin starred, 10-seat restaurant owned and operated by Jiro Ono. For this gal now dreams of sushi, thanks to Jiro.

Cookie Hips – Update



Remember when I shared my stress over an upcoming, unexpected physical exam? Well the whole thing went down the other day, and I survived.


I was so worried about it. That’s a bad habit of mine, worrying about things I cannot change. I lost sleep the night before, which is silly, but that’s how I can sometimes be. Mister wasn’t worried, so why was I? Because I’m not him. Because I’m not always together enough to recognize the obvious. Because of a lot of things.


In the end, the physical was just swell. On that morning, before it went down, I finally let go of my stress. By the time dinner rolled around, I was as happy as a denuded lark in a thistle patch. And the duck dinner I’d saved as my reward? Heavenly. Absolutely heavenly.

Christmas Drunk



That’s right, funk masters! It’s Christmas morning, and you know what that means: Christmas Drunk!


Mister and I are popping the champers and lounging about in our pa-jampers. Steak and eggs are sizzling and our drinks are swizzling.


Tradition! It’s a beautiful thing.

Waiting for Santa



This photo is from a few years ago. Tommy Boy was only a toddler. As we’ve not seen him for quite a while, I imagine he’s grown into a confident, big boy.


For that’s what kids do – they grow. There will come a time when Tommy Boy finds no reason to look out his front window. There will be nothing there he’ll want to see. We can’t judge him for it, because we stopped looking out our own front windows, too. We grew up and didn’t want to spend any time looking for something we couldn’t name. And really, what is there outside front windows? A bunch of nothing, really. Lovely, watching-the-grass-grow, unhurried nothing.


Maybe tonight – no matter how confident and big-boy or big-girl we may be – we can take a few moments to sit quietly and look out our front windows. If anyone asks what we’re doing, we can say we’re waiting for Santa. And maybe that’s exactly what we will be doing.


Merry Christmas.

The Hunger Games



I’m hungry. The weekend found me snarfing mostly rabbit food, and this morning I’ll have a physical exam. That means I’ve been fasting since yesterday. I do not like fasting, y’all.


But! After this morning, I will eat my normal, boring breakfast. And after that, I’ll allow myself an actual lunch. Those things will be fine and well. The evening meal, however, will be seared duck breast with a cherry-port sauce. And wine. I’m super-excited about that meal, I tell you.


But for now, I’m hungry. I can hardly wait for this physical exam to be checked off the list. Hallelujah!

Cookie Hips



I’m enjoying the holiday season. It’s been busy, but it’s also been fun and joyful. And it has been decadent.


Ordinarily, I wouldn’t yet be stressing over my seasonal indulgences. I’d be waddling my way through the next couple of weeks with a crumb-laden grin on my face. There’s still Christmas and New Year’s to get through, for cry-eye! As over-the-top affairs go, those two take the butter-cream-frosting cake.


But there’s been a slight hiccup here in my little corner of the world. Due to major screw-ups by The Man (and I say that with squinty eyes and a curled lip), I am now in need of a physical exam for bureaucracy and managerial purposes. Since this was sprung on me with no warning, I am more than a little concerned about the height/weight reporting. Y’all have got to know I’m swinging some cookie hips right now, and they do not line up with so-called charts of acceptability.


Could I be fitter? Of course. Could I be thinner? Absolutely. Has that been a recent goal? Not even a little bit.


Like most folks, I was looking to gobble up the rest of the holidays and then hit the New Year with a slant on working my way back to my pre-celebratory weight. Instead I now find myself trying to stretch vertically and shrink horizontally. In a matter of days. I think I just heard you laughing, “Good luck with that one.” I know, I know.


I happen to like carrots. And water. I guess – over the next couple of days – I’ll find out just how much I like them. Because for now, I’m on major calorie-restriction. Fingers crossed…


And for anyone wondering just how out-of-control I’ve gotten during the season of excess, allow me to share this little tidbit: Yesterday morning I was out walking along a major street. There were no other pedestrians in the vicinity. A city trash truck rolled past and the driver leaned out the window and whistled. He drove on and I kept walking. I can’t be too far-gone, or that dude wouldn’t have rolled down his window in the early morning cold.  Or maybe cookie hips are his thing. Either that or he was really into my monkey hat. Some dudes roll that way. Word.