Looking back with Lot's Wife

My daughter-in-law called to tell me she was eating alone for the first time in five years. She was over the moon, "I'm eating pancakes! By myself!" Ahh, the cherished moments of respite when your expectations have sunk so low that eating breakfast by yourself is a treat. "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." The grandkids and I had such a great week together in Monterey, California, while their dad was at a convention and their mom took some time to herself. With the exception of an occasional drop-in visit from the responsible adults, I had them to myself. We decided we'd see if we could make a flock of seagulls follow us down the path next to the lake. We'd bought the $12.99 bucket of Kentucky Fried and a pack of tortillas. I ripped the skin off my chicken as fast as I could and swallowed it whole; it seems like I'm always starving when I'm with them, diving for scraps that fall from the table. There's nothing but le

Ohmigosh!! I have seen the end of the world and it was in Los Angeles last weekend! I came to California to take my 16-year-old grandson Kyle on a weekend date. Kyle and I are experienced travelers--he's heard my worst snoring and I know he stays up all night watching the Food Channel if he can't sleep. We're buds and I'm willing to do just about anything with him because he's not pushy or scarey like other nastier teenagers. He's kind to the old and infirm. He's a nice, clean cut kid, and you have to remember that no matter what I tell you about our experience over the next few paragraphs. Here was my plan: we would drive up the coast to this darling little motel in this darling little town called Cambria. There were near-by tide pools and complimentary shuffle board and croquet. I can't believe I thought he would do that!!! It's like sometimes when you haven't seen someone in a while you make up this imaginary person that's partly w

Well, I’m almost packed. I’ve got two big long foam-rubber floaties because I really hate to be stuck in a swimming pool without them. And I’ve got two little inner tubes and some of those arm things that keep kids from drowning. I better take my air pump because I’ll need it to blow everything up. Then I’ve got some kites, four in case it takes four to get two that work. And one of those rocket blaster things they’ve got out in front of Funfinity, the Springville toy store. And two plastic croquet sets from Walmart so we can all play. And a plastic bag full of Duplo blocks. And a puzzle of the United States. And my jacks. And my Prilosec and my Wellbutrin. I’ve got seven t-shirts for when people wipe their snotty noses on my shoulder or my ice cream cone dribbles; my knit roll-up peasant skirt so I can show up at Primary and be a good example, and two pairs of jeans plus the ones I’m wearing on the plane. I’ve got a pair of those stretch jeans that are supposed to hold in you

I’ve been traveling lots lately and I want to share with you a few of my favorite things—la, laaaa. Just like the kids in the Sound of Music, only grown up. Probably the best new development in the history of travel is the toilet seat covers that automatically reel out a new layer of clean fresh plastic for your pleasure with just a wave of your hand. Or sometimes, without even the wave. They’re fabulous, and not just for the obvious reason, which I’m assuming is some sort of elitist, bourgeois need to avoid contact with the hoi-polloi. Which is so ridiculous because the minute you leave that bathroom seat, you are surrounded by the germs of the masses, creeping up your legs and onto your shirt and into your belly button. Gees, have you ever sat (if you’re a girl, I mean) in a restroom and actually counted the number of people who wash their hands? Gag. In fact, the whole bug thing is a total trip if you think about it: for example, you’re in an airplane seat, starving, because y