My mountain. I wish you could see it.

Our view looks west across the glittering Las Vegas Valley. The southern tip of the Strip, with its hotels and casinos and flashing billboards, looms large 15 miles away. On the far side of the valley, the Spring Mountains rise up like waking giants, flexing their granite muscles, daring you to try to cross them to California.

In the evenings, after a neon sunset, my husband and I like to sit on the patio watching the sky fill with jets circling the airport.

“Oh, look,” I say, “there comes another planeload of money.” [Read more…]

Some people get all pushed out of shape if you happen to forget their birthday.

I am not one of those people. Seriously.

For years I have told my family and closest friends that there is absolutely no reason to make a big deal of my birthday.

Come to think of it, that may be the only thing I have ever told them that they actually seemed to hear. [Read more…]

This is a long-overdue response to so many of you who have written recently at surprising length to say, well, all sorts of things.

I’ll begin with the thanks. [Read more…]

My big sister always manages to say just what I need to hear.

Except when she doesn’t. [Read more…]

One of my all-time-favorite movie lines comes from one of my all-time-favorite movies: “Daddy & Them.”

(Note: This film is not what you might call appropriate for “family viewing,” though that depends a lot on the family that’s viewing it. If you decide to view it, don’t blame me.)

(Second note: I should also say I first saw this movie years ago after my sister sent it to me. I’d have likely seen it anyhow eventually, but if I don’t give her credit, rest assured, I will never hear the end of it.)

The line is spoken at the scene of an accident in which the leading character (Billy Bob Thornton) lies strapped to a stretcher, drunk, bloody and wearing a neck brace, having narrowly escaped the clutches of death in a head-on collision. [Read more…]

One morning on “nana duty,” I awoke in a panic. It was 7:30 a.m. The house was quiet. No baby crying. No dogs barking. No patter of 2-year-old feet.

Where was he? [Read more…]

There I was, trying my best, and failing royally, to buckle my 2-year-old grandson into his car seat. “Is it me?” I wondered. “Or is it technology? When did car seats get so blasted hard?” [Read more…]

For more than two years, since my first grandchild showed up in my column, I’ve heard from hundreds of readers who tell me about their grandchildren and welcome me to the “club.” It’s a big club, apparently. Friendly, too. And growing. But we join it for different reasons, willingly or not. [Read more…]

He was due to be born on Christmas Eve, the birthday of his late grandfather, for whom he would be named: Wiley. But like most babies, Wiley had a mind of his own. [Read more…]

Once, when I was very young — with lots more energy and less experience than I have now — I volunteered to direct the Christmas pageant at church.

“What?” said my husband, as if I’d just announced I was moonlighting for the Pentagon splitting atoms in the blender.

“It’s a kids’ play,” I shrugged. “How hard can it be? All you need is a manger, a few tacky costumes and a bunch of kids.” [Read more…]