There is a shelf in one of my bookcases where books relating to birds are nested.

During the final months of winter, the world has been out of balance.

March is upon us and I’m finally feeling alive again.

One February morning when the temperature dropped below freezing, rain that had been falling for days turned to snow.

Bestselling author Matthew Goodman has just published his latest brilliant work of non-fiction.

Let me begin today’s blog with a short summary of an event that took place on January 25, 2025.

Around 4:30 on Jan. 25 I took a 30-minute walk in our hilly neighborhood to destress from the chaos in the world and all that is going on in my life right now.

On January 20, 2025, the inauguration of America’s new president took place in the nation’s capital.

Sprawled across the standup desk next to a sliding glass door in my studio, my ginger cat Peekay is having an unseasonably warm late January sunbath.

Fifty years ago, my romance with Los Angeles began following four years of teaching in Nebraska and its long gray winter months of snow and ice.

In today’s world as in the past, it is often simple comfort food that is the recipe for survival.

As my readers may recall, Peekay is the resident cat at our home in the Sierra Foothills.

As 2025 approaches, I’m sharing a journal entry penned when I was on the cusp of becoming a published writer.

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.