Given the national despair over election ugliness and the ever-worsening pandemic, I’ve tried to steer clear of both topics recently.
A few months ago, I wrote two columns regaling my readers with stories about how my older son, Rory, managed to terrorize me repeatedly by re-enacting scenes from horror movies he’d been allowed to watch at his father’s.
What is it with men, anyway? No, don’t even try to answer that.
If it’s fall in La Jolla, there are spider webs everywhere.
It’s been my observation over 11 years and nearly 400 columns that I always get the most response when I write about dogs or my husband, Olof.