I live in a part of the country where we talk a lot about weather a lot because it's both highly entertaining and can kill us. Like many places in the middle of the continent, we're famous for four seasons in one day. So often, I find myself wishing for the humidity to break, the rain to fall, the rain to stop, the cold snap to snap away, or whatever else that would bring me creature comforts. But we often just get a handful of days each year of pure pleasantness. Mostly it's too much, too...

As a kid in love with the beauty of horses (and cats and dogs and.....) I can't remember ever not being a beauty hound. My earliest memory, sitting on what was to my three-year-old self a giant cliff, fishing with my grandfather was a beauty immersion. I was in love with moving water, light breeze, my slim, very quiet grandfather chain-smoking Tareyton cigarettes in one hand, balancing his fishing pole in the other. It was a moment of great peace, calm, love, and belonging. In short, it was...

"I wish someone would ask me about my regrets," one of my friends recently said to me. "What are your regrets?" I asked. She told me, but those are hers to tell, not mine. No worries though because I have plenty of regrets to talk about, most in the flavor of "Love is never having to say you're sorry" = bullshit. Or another friend told me, William Burroughs used to joke/not joke that every day he lived was another day full of regrets. Here's some of mine: I don't regret adopting the late and...