Since my own retirement I have stumbled upon many articles about the best places on earth to retire.
Oh, to be 19 again, when air travel was still a novel experience and the notion of flying to Paris on a Boeing 747 was a dream come true.
The sound of hundreds of alerts being issued simultaneously on hundreds of cell phones and digital devices filled the tropical night air. Just one thought went through my mind. “Uh oh … here we go again.”
The shooting in Parkland, Florida, where 17 students and teachers were killed, is one of 17 school shootings in 2018, according to EveryTown for Gun Safety.
Last year, I think everyone was concerned about the election of our current president. Not only did we not get our first female president, but we got a man who’s talk, rhetoric and history with women was a throwback from some Madmen episode.
My dad and mom want for almost nothing at their tropical retirement paradise. But they can’t get real bagels, so he asked me to bake a batch while I was visiting. When he tasted them, just out of the oven, he gave them his highest compliment: “Not bad.”
Jackie Vaughan woefully reminisces about a time when everyone in her Sag Harbor neighborhood knew each other and looked out for each other.
I’m going to pose a rhetorical question here … Does the world really need another service animal?
I was there to bury my best friend Jack, our flat-coated retriever, who had died the night before, just 10 weeks shy of his ninth birthday.
David Hockney's peripatetic life and personal experiences have been the sum and substance of his work since his days at London’s Royal College of Art.
There is no doubt about the value of good teachers in our lives and in the lives of our children.
Perhaps the bright lights of Hanukkah and Christmas have pulled our attention away from the country’s continued lurching toward totalitarianism.
When it comes to surviving winter, the Scandinavians have it all figured out. I love the idea of sitting in a bubbling hot tub under the stars deep in the woods surrounded by a foot of snow and critters of the night.
Most of the time, neither of my parents had a clue as to what I was up to or where in the neighborhood I was roaming and that’s exactly how I liked it. I didn’t come home until the cowbell rang signaling dinner was ready.
It seems like there are fewer pumpkins on the stoops and fewer wreathes and twinkling lights, and I wonder what has happened to that spirit of celebration.