Wrangler Dani

Today, my college besties Julie, Val and I have hijacked our dear friend Annie Parsons’ blog! She’s about to embark on the Colorado Trail and we intend to send her

At Thanksgiving, I always think of the Holmes family. I was 18 and feeling lonely – here I had boldly taken off for parts unknown, but once I found myself

I’m a cynic. I’m the one who asks the Devil Advocate questions, who snorts at simple answers, who absolutely rejects chain-letters and sappy news stories and nearly every hard-luck tale.

The Barefoot Contessa always says, “be sure to use really good vanilla” in her recipes, as though any buyer of her cookbooks would ever think of some imitation flavor as

He’s the king of understatement, the kind of guy you’d want in your corner in a brawl, the sort who would call a near-death experience “kinda unpleasant, when y’think about

I was a freshman (no, I’m not going to say first-year, how insecure do modern educators think young women are, anyway?) in college, taking a speech class. I hated the

(The following is what I wrote for the online obituary. Thanks to everyone for the love and prayers!) I was digging through my Grandma’s closet, looking for something or other.

The idea has been percolating in my head for most of today, that I have to write about my family. I have to document some of what I’m feeling and

I’ve officially fallen for fall, y’all. I love cozy sweaters, I love the Pumpkin Spice lattes, I love the drizzly gray mornings and the tall boots and the feeling of

“The pleasure of doing a thing in the same way at the same time every day, and savoring it, should be noted.” — Arnold Bennett “You can never get a