This week my mind has been busy with thoughts of Decembers past, present and future.

Where do all the treasures of one’s childhood go?  I grew up in a military family frequently on the move.

For those of you who have already been visited by snow, beware of the challenges extreme temperatures can mean for the respiratory system.

November is the season for fruits that like frost.

When Dwight D. Eisenhower was President of the United States and I was in the fourth grade, I memorized and could recite the names in full of every U.S. President.

Like you dear readers, I’ve now had over a week to wrestle with the profound sadness we felt after learning the shocking news that our lighthouse, our beckon of hope, our brilliant star Kamala Harris will not become America’s first Madame President—at least not yet.

These past months have been excruciatingly stressful and challenging.

Today is the single largest postcard mailing date for our 40.3 million postcards to rally Democrats to vote across key states and districts!

On October 17th, the air was chill and a giant Hunter’s Super Moon lit up the night sky over the Lodge where Kit resides.

Birthdays, whether we choose to celebrate them or dance quietly around their annual arrival, are a gift.

As the daughter of a career Air Force officer and pilot, I grew up around planes but never learned to fly.

In my friend Nina’s kitchen and fertile writer’s mind, there are traces of distant other worlds and, she will tell you, something is always combusting.

Rain.  A respite from daily rounds of watering that have kept the gardens hydrated this past dry August.

Peekay, my gregarious ginger Tabby/Bengal kitten, would like to weigh in this morning on a number of subjects.

September is off and running with a return of sunshine and hot summer temperatures. 

Those lazy summer days when the sun makes movement slow to a crawl and people think unambitious thoughts.

Washington, D.C. has played a role in my life for over sixty years.

Whether you are in the American Midwest when summer heat and humidity are thick enough to slice or anywhere hot around the world, ice cream is a universal language.

Recently my friend Phyllis wrote that for some reason she had been compelled to read a book on grieving.

For Kit’s 86th birthday on August 6th, I gave him a copy of author Peter Hessler’s newest book Other Rivers: A Chinese Education.