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Last year, we took some wild garlic plants from a friend's land and planted them in our garden. They emerged, thrived and grew tall this season, producing those elegant, winding scapes that are the flower stalks of hardneck garlic plants. Instead of actually producing flowers, they eventually form small bulblets that can be planted to grow more garlic—or eaten as is, or used to infuse vinegar. That's what I did today, tossing a generous handful into a jar of organic white vinegar. I'll let it cool its heels in the pantry for a few weeks, then strain out and discard the garlic and use the vinegar for salad dressing. No vampires in this house.
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Today is the summer solstice and I can almost feel the earth tilting toward the sun. It is a time to be outside, to lift our faces to the sky, to bask in the longest light of the year. And, while we're at it, to always, always wear protection—melanoma is on the rise and the FDA has recently released new guidelines for wearing sunscreen. Most important is to choose "broad spectrum" coverage that protects against both UVA and UVB rays; to apply it every day, even if you're not going outside (UVA rays penetrate glass); and to reapply it every 80 minutes. Not so poetic perhaps, but then neither is cancer.

This month has whizzed by in a blur of work, but I have a renewed focus on dedicating time to my well-being. This has meant doing more yoga, riding my bike, hiking and even playing around with my hula hoop (highly recommended). I've also spent time in the garden, where weeding and picking pests off the plants give me a strangely wonderful satisfaction. Everything has exploded because of the rain and I love all the birds that come to visit this time of year.
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Forgive me, friends, for I have sinned. It's been longer than I care to think about since my last confession. You probably imagine me leading a carefree life of bucolic bliss: wandering through the woods foraging for pristine delicacies; plucking tender vegetables from my garden; traveling to exotic places; whipping up epic feasts...and there are certainly times when all this is true. But, oh, there are other times. And those I tend to keep to myself, tamped down in a dark and moldy spot.

Why would you want to know about my fears and foibles and failings? That all smacks of dirty laundry and this is meant to be a place of inspiration. But deep down I know that what we often find most uplifting has nothing to do with perfection and everything to do with the full spectrum of our shared humanity.


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You can't knock water, especially if you're drinking it fresh from your own artesian well, as I am. If I weren't lucky enough to have this, I would probably be using a filter on my tap. Bottled water? I try to avoid it. I object to all that plastic from an environmental standpoint, not to mention whatever it's off-gassing into my system. But drinking water seems so virtuous, doesn't it? The hydration, the lack of calories... On a hot day or after a workout, it's just the ticket. Other times, it can be a trifle dull. Come on, I know I'm not alone here. Yes, I add fresh lemon or a few slices of cucumber or sprigs of mint, but stil. Unsweetened tea works but I prefer it with a bit of sugar or honey, and then it starts to feel like something I shouldn't be drinking lots of on a regular basis. I've already ruled out fruit juice (unless significantly watered down) and soda was never in the picture so, until recently, the options for quenching my thirst had been rather limited. Until, that is, I discovered kombucha.
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My husband has a green thumb. It turns out that, in addition to gorgeous, generous and good (and George, of course), G stands for gardener. Not only has he built three new enclosed raised bed areas to add to the two we already had, but he has planted them with a chef's dream of choice vegetables and herbs. Last night I picked succulent fresh mustard greens and tender young garlic, sauteed them up with little chunks of chorizo and tossed it all with some brown rice pasta. Dinner happens in an instant when it comes from your backyard. At first I was a little cranky that I have been working too hard to be involved in the planting this year, but now I just feel spoiled. But enough about me. How are you spending this first holiday weekend of the season? If you've got any free time, check out some of these interesting ideas and resources I have been collecting for you this month.
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There's a game I play sometimes: I look at my life as it is in this moment, think of everything I possess right now, and ask myself if I would be happy if nothing ever changed. I won't deny that sometimes this leads to sadness bordering on desperation. What if I don't finish my novel? Never build that house on the lake? Fail to see Burma? Is this it?  Time and money often factor into this mental equation. Self-doubt can creep in. On those days, I question if I have fulfilled my potential, tried hard enough, risked enough. But I am not what I own, nor even what I do, and if I start to define myself by those measures, there is no satisfaction guaranteed.

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A bit more about our little homestead. We've put in a lot of work over the last 7 years, transforming a place that was decidedly ramshackle, with questionable bones, into our own private paradise. I found this cottage just at the time I met G, so a major undertaking I had thought would be a solo project turned out to be a challenge built for two. (Still thanking my lucky stars!) Why not buy something new and pristine, you ask? Well, money, for one thing. Plus I was looking for something in this area in order to be close to a good friend (who wound up selling his place, but that's another story) and this was well-situated and truly the best of the bunch I saw. And I just envisioned the possibilities, I guess. Remember, at the time I was single and it was intended to be a weekend place, so I didn't think I needed lots of space. But when Prince Charming entered, he immediately financed the construction of our pride and joy: the screened-in porch.
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It occurred to me that you never get to see inside our little cottage, aside from a quick peek at the bathroom we renovated. We had the white brick fireplace built to replace the wood-burning stove that was here originally. Inspiration came from a Swedish book on fireplaces that I found in the mid-90s in a vintage book store in Illinois and carried around optimistically for a decade. We also stained the floors and ceiling beams a deep espresso brown and gave the walls a coat of white paint. My aesthetic is defnitely inspired by my Northern California upbringing, with lots of earthy colors and organic textures. (I recently received this book as a gift and was instantly nostalgic.) Mixed in are assorted works of art, ceramics, elements from nature and pieces collected on our travels, including several Berber rugs from Morocco.
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Today I am 50. It seems somehow inconceivable and yet it is merely the inevitable outcome of staying alive. (Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive.) I’ve done more than that though—I’ve lived. And, as the inimitable Édith Piaf sang, Je ne regrette rien. I learned to play the oboe. I lived in Spain. I graduated from Harvard. I made my way in New York City. I moved to Los Angeles and back. I married 3 times, divorced twice and was widowed. I traveled the world. I found true love and married again. I bought a house in the woods and 5 acres on a lake. I started this blog. There have been some admirable achievements. There have been some spectacular flameouts. Much has been lost, but even more gained.

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With the advent of cable and increasingly sophisticated content, television is no longer just for "boobs." In fact, new shows featuring great female characters mean that boobs are now making headway in front of the camera. In general, these boobs are clothed, though on HBO's Girls, writer/director/star Lena Dunham frequently strips down, both figuratively and literally. You've probably heard plenty of rants and raves about this show already (including from me at the tail end of this post) but let me just reiterate that you don't have to be 25 years old or even female to enjoy it. It's illuminating, poignant, disturbing and hilarious. Whether or not Dunham is the voice of her generation, she's an original and one to watch.
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