I guess the reason I don’t think about making my house look bigger (with colors or mirrors or working on a diagonal) is that I like it small.  I embrace the smallness.

In the dreariest, gloomiest, darkest days of winter, it’s nice to spread a bit of good cheer and have a socially acceptable excuse to give my home a thoroughly merry makeover.

Every day all kinds of people, mostly of the female variety, have babies. But when a royal family member picks up a copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting suddenly all thoughts focus on one thing; the royal baby’s room.

There was a time when I was keenly aware of how much electricity I used: None. For nine months, I lived so far off the grid in Nepal the very idea that an invisible power could travel through skinny lengths of flexible metal to make a flame-free fire that could light up the night seemed nothing short of magical.

I like to tell tales about my dad because he’s nuts. He also really likes the abuse. Any attention is good attention when it comes to my dad.

Life lessons occasionally come in neatly tied packages. Once, a group of mostly sweet 7-year-old girls gathered for a holiday gift party. They set all their prettily wrapped-and-ribboned presents under a tree while they exchanged pleasantries and sipped juice from china teacups.