Good Monday to you.
My family is refurbishing our beach house, albeit a bit late in the season. I don’t consider myself especially good at decorating — I don’t have the patience or vision to pick out knick-knacks and accessories, all those little items that make a room look finished. But I learned one important thing about myself: I’m much better at it when it’s someone else’s money. When I’m not grimacing at the $80 pillow or the $200 difference in a panel vs. sleigh bed, I can bring fabrics and colors and textures together like nobody’s business. My house though? Still an embarrassing “work in progress,” after five years.
I joined Instagram this week. As if I needed another social media site to monitor. I’m way over Facebook, am sporadic on Twitter but can Pinterest like a champ. Apparently Instagram is the wave of the future, though. All I know is that I have no idea what I’m doing. But, come. Be my friend. I can promise you way too many dog-shaming pictures of Ollie, like this one. Continue reading



About 97% of my job on any given day is to edit other people’s writing, to catch typos, correct spelling and make the written word sound as smooth, intelligent and consistent as possible. I see a lot of carnage. At those times, I bless my librarian mother, my English-teaching grandmother and my mean-old journalism professors who gave no mercy when I violated the King’s English. It was brutal, yet effective, training.