It’s another beautifully unpredictable day in the city by the Bay and I’m ready for it. 

My Uncle David, who was a children’s author, was born on a leap year: February 29, 1940.

It’s a brisk evening. I’m standing at the front desk of the Hampton Inn in Selinsgrove Pennsylvania, my first job after graduating college..

I didn’t expect to inaugurate the new year with a week in the hospital for my heart. Until January 2024 my heart was just a literary trope,

My journal entry for January 25, 2014, reads: One of the great things happening this month is the timber work we’re having done...

Ten years ago, I was thirty-five years old, the age of Dante in The Inferno, an age which he called “midway through the journey of life.”

Yes, it’s my birthday, my 49th birthday, and I’m a birthday person, a self-indulgent and just plain selfish birthday person, and...

Once my husband and I lock the door of the seaside cottage where we’ve stayed for the past week, we start off on our hour drive.

You propose marriage for the second time and she says yes.

On December 7, 2013, there are no entries in my diary. I think of myself, incorrectly as this assignment bluntly showed me...