I’ve found a show I love. No. I adore  it. I have watched every season, and I fantasize about being on the show. Now granted, I will never, ever be on the show, or even qualified to send in an audition tape, because it’s for wilderness survivalists, and I am not one of those. I have shot a gun (with my son at a range, very fun, and I was a surprisingly good shot for someone who had never, until that day, held a gun). I have drunk from a stream and caught a few fish in my life

This year, we’re doing something different for the holidays. We’re passing the Christmas Eve torch to the Princess. This is a big deal. Long ago, when McIrish and I were newlyweds and lived in a tiny apartment with a view of the Manhattan skyline (and a family of cockroaches living under the fridge), we invited my mom and sister to come for Christmas Eve dinner. We had been married all of ten days, and we were eager to showcase our teeny home (and Joe, our cat, who drooled wi

For the past few days, I’ve been admiring kangaroos. This is because I’ve been alone in my house, on crutches after surgery on my left foot, where three bones were cut and spliced and plated and screwed. The OR looked like McIrish’s workshop, I swear. I can sort of weight-bear on my heel, but I’m really good at crutches, thanks to a lifetime of clumsiness. This is my fifth or sixth time needing crutches. So on the second day, I told McIrish he could go to the Cape, where he’s

Or "Kveðjur frá Íslandi," as they say (and as I can't pronounce). The Princess and I went to Iceland for six days recently, and I thought...