Rad Romance: 5 Things That Happen Because I Have The Same Boyfriend at 46 That I Did At 17.

In high school, I was friends with a boy who was handsome, kind, strong, and the most intelligent person I ever knew. Reader, I married him. There are some interesting truths about having the same boyfriend since the eighties. 1. There is a written record of our relationship. On paper. Our romance began in 1987 before cell phones and texting were invented. In fact, though we went to the same high school, Jim lived far enough away that our calls were billed as long distance. There were a few years there when he lived in the mountains and I lived…

Gray Hair Beauty

I’ve never hawked beauty products on my blog before. I’m only doing it now because if someone had shared this information with me when I first stopped dyeing my hair, I’d have saved a load of time and money.  I’ve learned a thing or two in my six years of gray hair and now I’m going to share my highly valuable beauty information with you. First of all, now that I have gray hair, I can’t wear too much makeup or else I look like an exhausted extra on The Golden Girls. I used to love eyeshadow and all that stuff, but now,…

Hair Retrospective

In an if-you-give-a-mouse-a-muffin scenario, I decided to write a post about Gray Hair Beauty. In order to prepare for this post, I had to look through old photos of hairdos I’ve sported through the years. When looking through the pictures, I realized that I wanted to share with you all of the different hair journeys I’ve taken to land at a full head of gray in my forties. I’ll still do the Gray Hair Beauty post, but first here’s a post of different hairdos I’ve had for the past forty-one years. Remember this is a Back-To-School Issue September challenge, so…

Back-To-School Issue

I used to be obsessed with magazines. My favorite? The Seventeen August issue. The Seventeen August issue was packed with advice on everything, gorgeous ads, and an East coast style sensibility that while super impractical for a California girl with no fashion budget, was the epitome of dreamy sophistication. As an adult, I’ve subscribed to Allure, Vogue, Poets and Writers, Writer’s Digest, Martha Stewart Living, Domino, Shape, Fitness, Oxygen, and Women’s Health. I love going to my mailbox and finding a shiny new magazine. It’s old-fashioned and cool. The problem is too much of the content doesn’t apply to me anymore. My…

What Resilience Looks Like

Some of my favorite lines of poetry come from DH Lawrence’s “Self Pity:” I never saw a wild thing  sorry for itself.  A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself. My students have stories that I sometimes never hear. We are busy people in the classroom. We don’t have a lot of time to sit around and talk about our feelings and cry. Sometimes, though, I get a chance to know the true resilience of the rising generation. Their stories evoke the tenacious bird of the poem, its gnarly little feet curled around…

Guest Interview: Have Fun

My twelve-year-old daughter Margaret suggested today’s topic after I read to her the list of things I’ve written about so far. Perhaps she sees a lack in my January program. Perhaps she sees a wisdom void that she is uniquely qualified to fill. Here is our interview. Me: I have a hard time having fun. I don’t really know how.  What do you think is fun? Margaret: Slurpees in the wintertime. Going for walks in the rain. Jumping on trampolines. Me: Since I gave birth to you, trampolines aren’t fun anymore. Margaret: Why? I ruin fun, don’t I? Me: No,…

Rerun: Mistaken Identity

First run Friday July 26, 2013  (The photos are from 2015) Today in the middle of a five mile walk I stopped at the Rite Aid to take a break and look at make up.  I didn’t want to buy anything.  I just felt like looking at the little pans of powdered hope before I hit the road again. I was feeling pretty cute if you want to know the truth. I’ve been exercising all summer and I’m tan from swimming with my kid. I was wearing a tank top that in my mind showed off my glorious biceps, and a ball…

I Stopped Dyeing My Hair

In the late nineties my baby and I waited at the corner of Euclid for my husband to get out of class at UC Berkeley so we could go to dinner when a beautiful young woman walked towards us down Hearst Avenue. We were about the same age, twenty-seven or twenty-eight. She wore a plaid skirt and tweed jacket like somebody out of The Paper Chase and her long hair was shot with gray. I stood amazed, fraught with jealousy, horrified. By the time she passed us without even a smile for the baby, I had constructed an entire mythology surrounding her. She was…