I usually don’t expect travel to result in regret. Nostalgia, sure. A marrow-deep slurry of wistfulness that the Portuguese call saudade, absolutely. But regret? Not so much. Travel always somehow…
Tag: <span>travel</span>
My eight-year-old daughter C asks the most annoying question: “Wait, what?” She asks it in that way that only a frustrated eight-year-old, youngest of the family, can as she navigates…
My children are learning about straight lines. About the concentration that goes into a straight line. Not the continuous path laid by a pencil’s sacrifice, but the intermittent punches of…
Extrovert-me takes longer to wake up than introvert-me. I’m fairly balanced, personality wise, between the extrovert and introvert, and while introvert-me looks at the dividing line between the two zones with…
“The days are long, but the years are short.” This is the kind of anonymous quotery that gets stuck in my maternal craw, and no matter how I hack at…
The day after Thanksgiving, those Parisians leaned tee-pees of wrapped Christmas trees against street corner newspaper stands, grocery market entrances, charcuterie doors, patisserie awnings. Christmas had arrived in Paris. Christmas…