Why do people get married? Most of us, I hope, would say that we married for love. Love is no guarantee that a marriage will last. But without it, the chances for happiness _ let alone for fun _ are pretty much slim to none.

I married twice for love. My first husband was a teacher and a coach. It was a good marriage that grew better and stronger over time. It lasted 30 years until he died of cancer.

It gave me three children who will always be the crowning achievements of my life. It also gave me a gift I never wanted: For four years, I was a healthcare advocate, spiritual cheerleader and end-0f-life caregiver for someone I could not imagine living without.

Getting married is like being a parent. It’s best not to know at the start all it might require. [Read more…]

(Dear Reader: I’m taking this week off for vacation. The following column is from 2013. But I assure you, my brother was equally ecstatic this week after Clemson’s recent win.)

Happiness means different things to different people.

Take my brother. Blind all his life and crippled by cerebral palsy, he lives alone with plenty of time to dwell upon the things he doesn’t have and the loved ones he has lost.

But last night, when I called him, he was as happy as happy ever gets. Why? Football. [Read more…]

Two days after Hurricane Harvey ripped into the Texas coast, I sat at a window in Pacific Grove, Calif., watching the sun set on Monterey Bay.

In the distance, on water as blue as the sky and calm as a lake, sailboats glistened like the wings of angels. A tour boat of whale watchers left a “V” in its wake as it headed back to dock in time for supper. Seagulls soared and swooped and cackled. Pelicans glided along the shore, diving for sardines and anchovies.

In a quiet cove by Lovers Point, a family of sea otters lay belly-up, anchored in a bed of kelp, cracking clams or crabs (“clack-clack!”) with a rock. [Read more…]

Kids’ birthday parties have come a long way.

On my seventh birthday, I invited all my classmates to a party. I meant to tell my mother but I forgot. Two kids showed up: A boy who gave me a candy bar, and a girl, who ate it.

When I turned 16, my mother meant to give me a “sweet 16” party but she forgot. The next year she gave me a surprise “sweet 17” party. The day of the party, my friend Jane was supposed to keep me busy at her house. We got bored, so I let her trim my bangs “just a hair.” They ended up three inches too short. When I walked into the surprise party, my guests looked more surprised than I did. [Read more…]

I grew up in a family of sinners and singers and storytellers. Maybe you did, too. We didn’t have much materially, but we had each other and a whole lot of fun.

By the time I was old enough to know right from wrong _ 4 or 5 years old _ I had learned three fundamental facts of life: [Read more…]

Bats over penguins. That’s how I describe things that defy expectations and leave me drop-jawed in surprise.

Years ago on a trip to Portland, my husband and I went to the Oregon Zoo mostly to see the penguins.

I love penguins. They’re like toddlers on a sugar high from too much birthday cake _ fun to watch, if you don’t have to chase them. I could hardly wait. [Read more…]

There are places on the Earth that we connect with in the same way that we connect with people. Something about them attracts us and puts us at ease. We feel a kinship, a sense that we have come home. And then, if we’re lucky, that place becomes a friend.

My first “Earth friend” was a mountain in South Carolina. I was 6 years old when my family moved 10 miles away from my grandmother’s home, where I felt whole, to a cow pasture where I felt broken.

One evening, I left my mother and stepfather arguing in the kitchen and went out to the pasture to climb a tree and sulk. As I sat there, straddling a tree limb, the setting sun brushed my face. I looked up and in the distance, I saw a blue mountain. [Read more…]

Sometimes the best adventure turns out to be a bit more adventurous than planned.

Weeks before his birthday, my youngest child decided he and his wife and their three children should celebrate the occasion in Yosemite National Park.

When the boy was growing up, we camped most every summer in that glorious valley. After his dad died, he worked in the park for a year cleaning campgrounds and running the ski shop.
It was no surprise he wanted to celebrate his big day in the shadow of Half Dome. He invited the whole family to join him. We all wanted to go.

But only one of us could make it. [Read more…]

What do people call you? Not when they’re mad. What do they call you when they want to tell you who you are to them?

Readers often begin notes to me with an apology: “I’m sorry if I seem too personal addressing you by your first name,” they say, “but I feel as if I know you personally.”

I love that. I often feel as if I know them personally, too. As a columnist, I write about things I care about. If someone connects with that writing, I like to think it’s because they care about those things, too. We may not know each other’s faces. But we know each other’s hearts. To me, that’s as personal as personal ever gets. [Read more…]

It never fails. When I run to the market for just one thing, I never know what I’ll bring back.

Last night, for example, I wanted to make pesto. I love pesto. It’s good. It’s green. It’s easy. And my half-Italian husband loves it even more than I do. I’ve seen bloodhounds get less excited chasing a rabbit than he does over a plate of pasta with pesto.

I had everything I needed to make it … except walnuts.  Most people use pinenuts for pesto. To me, pinenuts taste like kerosene. Not that I’ve tasted kerosene. I just prefer walnuts. But all I had were Brazil nuts. They might work. Or not.

I can’t tell you how often I’ve substituted ingredients that “might work,” but didn’t. If the cooking channel did a show called “Recipes for Disaster,” I could be their celebrity chef. [Read more…]