My Blog

The Stuff That Really Matters

The Stuff That Really Matters

There’s a soft, brown cotton sweater hanging on a hook in my closet that I slip on when I wake.  Mornings can sometimes be chilly in L.A., and even though I’m Minnesota born and bred, I’ve lived in California so long that 60 degrees can seem downright freezing.

The sweater was worn by my dear friend Elaine.  She died of ovarian cancer in 1999, and I think of her every morning I put it on.  It’s a piece of clothing that probably didn’t hold much significance to her when she was alive, but it’s become something I treasure.  

When

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The Strongest Woman I’ve Ever Known

The Strongest Woman I’ve Ever Known

“What’s up, Chicken Butt?”

I don’t know the origin of this greeting – probably from some childhood game.  But for me, it was how I began every phone conversation with my Mom.  We spoke nearly every day. Sometimes I’d call on my morning hike and sometimes when I was making dinner.  The conversations weren’t necessarily long or deep, but I loved the ritual — knowing what she ate, what she was watching on tv, how many card games of 500 she had won, what the weather was like.  

There are also specific phone conversations I recall — whenever I

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Baby, Oh Baby: Life as a Dog Lady

Baby, Oh Baby:  Life as a Dog Lady

Growing up in a family of five kids, Catholic no less, having children of my own was something that was sort of assumed.  Heck, my Mom and her seven sisters had 45 children between them.  (Doing the math, yep, that means 45 first cousins on my Mom’s side – and 45 of the kindest and friendliest people you will ever meet.)

So while I assumed I would have kids, I never spent days imagining kids.  For that matter, I never really imagined getting married, no dreams of walking down the aisle in an over-priced wedding gown.  Those thoughts didn’t surface

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Fear: How To Turn On The Light

Fear:  How To Turn On The Light

It was the worst thing to be asked.  We dreaded it.  We argued over it.  But more than anything, my siblings and I feared it.  The basement.  Specifically, being asked to go into the furnace room to get anything out of the freezer after dinner.  In the dark.  

If you didn’t grow up in the midwest, you might need some perspective here.  First, basements are the norm in my native state of Minnesota.  Ours was almost completely finished off with knotty pine paneling and a linoleum floor. At one point, we even had a ping pong table (bought by

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Ode To A Dog

Ode To A Dog

There are two magnets placed on the front of our stainless steel refrigerator.  One reads, “Do one thing every day that scares you.” and the other reads “My dog — a heartbeat at my feet.”

The former is attributed to Eleanor Roosevelt; the latter to Edith Wharton — two women whose legacies should most certainly be celebrated as we conclude Women’s History Month.  But it’s Ms. Wharton’s quote that has been stuck in my head for just over two weeks ago.  

We had to say goodbye to our sweet doggy, Sally, on March 16.

We aren’t quite sure how

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“And the Oscar goes to …”

“And the Oscar goes to …”

8th grade.  Pink hot pants.  A paisley tie-front top with bell sleeves. And a wad of gum.  The character was “Weather Girl” in a Catholic Grade School sketch.  Talk about dichotomy.  

As a big-haired, gum chewing meteorologist, I shared the temperature highs and lows while I painted my nails.  And when I ultimately pointed to the cold front coming from the northwest, my nails stuck to the map.  Comic genius.  And probably a total rip-off from Carol Burnett whose show was appointment television on Saturday nights.

“Weather Girl” stands out in my memory because I received an audible reaction

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Stay Standing

Stay Standing

The setting is the Greek Theatre on a warm summer night in Hollywood.   Every seat in the amphitheater is full and the last bit of sun slips behind the surrounding hills.  There is a palpable excitement in the air.  Women in cotton dresses and men in cargo shorts hold glasses of Chardonnay and plastic cups of beer waiting in anticipation for the concert to begin. 

Ok, so it’s Garrison Keillor. Not Bradley Cooper and Lady Gaga singing Shallow. But still. The Greek in the summer is a special place. On this particular evening, everyone in the audience is

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The Triple Threat

The Triple Threat

It’s that time of year.  As the holidays wind down and the New Year is almost upon us, the triple threat of merry, melancholy and malaise have struck once again. And although the sun is mostly shining here in California, I wake in the morning sensing a seasonal weightiness in the air.

I recall December mornings in Minnesota.  Nowhere else will you experience pitch black in combination with bracing cold and deafening quiet. One morning, more than a couple of decades ago, I woke early, my flannel nightgown sewn by my Mom twisted around my legs.  Throwing back the covers

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Lee Schnebly: A Blonde In Yellow

Lee Schnebly: A Blonde In Yellow

Since practically the beginning of time, bad jokes and disparaging adages have been applied to mothers-in-law. Every one from Joan Rivers to Hubert Humphrey has taken a shot.  There’s even a song, popular in the early ’60s, entitled appropriately enough Mother-in-law by Ernie K-Doe with lyrics that claim, “Satan should be her name.”  Ouch. 

Leona (Lee) Marie Schnebly, whom I called “Momlee,” was my Mother-in-law for almost 20 years. And she was the antithesis of these silly descriptives. 

I described my first meeting with Lee in my last post when my now husband, Lindsay, took me to meet his family

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Listening To My Elders

Listening To My Elders

One of my best friends is Julia Louis-Dreyfus.

Well, I guess I should clarify. I’m pretty sure that we SHOULD be best friends. Or at least that we WOULD be best friends, if we ever met.

Who didn’t love her on Seinfeld or The New Adventures of Old Christine?  She’s brilliant on Veep. I can’t wait to see her latest feature film, You Hurt My Feelings.   And if you haven’t seen her Mark Twain Prize acceptance speech, you have to check it out here.

But her wonderful gifts as an actor aren’t what convinced

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