The Feed

There was a time when my entire summer revolved around high school volleyball practice and the school calendar. My life was basically: Wake up Take my daughter to practice Work Pick up my daughter from practice Sleep Repeat Now? My summers have taken a decidedly more… unstructured turn. And by unstructured, I mean: retirement parties, concerts, slumber parties, and pickle festivals....anything goes. Because apparently this is who I am now. A Retirement Party to Kick Things Of

Summer is here, the heat is heating, and the sun is out here acting like it has a personal vendetta. And listen… I love a good golden glow as much as the next woman, but sun damage, skin care, and skin cancer prevention are not things we play with anymore. There was a time—oh yes—when we’d mix iodine with baby oil, lay out on a towel, and rotate like little pigs on a spit. We thought we were bronzing. We were actually slow‑roasting. But now? Now we know the sun can do real ha

It’s the first of the month, and since our theme for the year is keep, June feels like the perfect time to keep wandering. June is when people start daydreaming about vacations, long weekends, or simply a break from the everyday. But wandering doesn’t have to mean boarding a plane or packing a suitcase. Sometimes wandering is as simple as following your curiosity. Maybe it’s wandering through that antique store you’ve driven past a hundred times but never stepped inside. Mayb

(Because adulthood is basically one long scavenger hunt where the prize is… more tasks.) Some days it feels like everyone is busy doing something. Some are working on themselves — journaling, meditating, drinking water like it’s their job. Some are working on school — writing papers at 2 a.m. and pretending that’s “part of the process.” Some are working on their jobs, their families, their retirements, their hobbies, their sanity, their skincare routines, their sourdough star

I went into my deep‑clean purge with the enthusiasm of someone headed to a dental appointment. I knew it needed to be done — less clutter, fewer piles, and the comforting knowledge that my child wouldn’t one day be stuck sorting through every last bit of my accumulated “treasures.” There’s also the satisfaction of donating things that still have life left in them, or maybe even making a little garage‑sale money if you’re feeling ambitious. Those are the obvious perks. But wha

Somewhere along the way, I started learning a skill I wish someone had taught me years ago: the art of staying in a good mood even when life hands you a handful of reasons not to be. It’s not about pretending everything is fine. It’s about refusing to hand over the keys to your whole day because of one lousy moment. I’ve been guilty — more times than I’d like to admit — of having a perfectly good day and then letting one rude comment, one inconvenience, one unexpected hiccup

Some of us were raised on “treat people the way you want to be treated.” Lovely. Wholesome. Very PBS Kids. But adulthood has taught us a few things: Some people don’t deserve front-row seats to your kindness. Some people don’t even deserve the cheap seats. And some people need to be escorted out of the theater entirely because they keep talking during the show. Kindness is powerful — but it’s not a group project. You don’t have to carry the whole emotional load while someone

Please be patient with me — I’m from the 1900s. Not 1900, but the 1900s. And not to brag, but I was alive when you could slam a phone down to make a point. A real receiver. A real cord. A real “thunk” when I slammed it down. It was glorious. As women in our 50s, 60s and on, we’ve lived through a lot. We’ve earned every laugh line, every story, and yes… every moment of “now what was I saying?” So here are a few things our generation would love to share with the next. 1. Memor

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about legacy — not the big, dramatic, “name on a building” kind, but the quiet kind. The kind that sneaks up on you in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon when you’re folding laundry and suddenly remember a joke your dad used to tell. The kind that shows up in the way you comfort your child, or the way you instinctively reach for kindness before anything else. Losing my dad cracked something open in me. Not in a tragic way — in a clarifying way.