The Thanksgiving air seems filled with angels taking uninvited seats upon shoulders, angels whispering "remember, only one scoop of mashed potatoes," "you probably don't need all that gravy," "don't forget, just a tiny sliver of pumpkin pie, skip the whipped cream." And right after those angels, having done their worst, flutter off, another set flutters in and begins a whispering campaign to convince you that Christmas isn't about presents. You should rebel against buy, buy, buy. Your relatives - even your children - will be so much happier with gifts given to the poor in their name. Read more about Temperance

A looooong time ago, I knew this guy. Maybe you knew him too. He was kinda like a one-man drug store. You know, the kind of drugs you may have seen on police procedurals - how else could you possibly know about these things? The kind of drugs for which, apparently, a number of people have been arrested.

And he got away with it. He's still around, but no longer in business. He's not a millionaire, not even a thousandaire. He's got a real job and lives a quiet life and never spent a single day in jail. Read more about Private Parts

I have been working on the virtue of patience my entire life and I have to say, I haven't gotten very far. Anyone who thinks I have, who thinks I'm very patient, who thinks I am the very essence of delayed gratification, doesn't see the subtle machinations I have put in place to make that illusion possible.

For one thing, there are the books. Waiting for a cab? I have a book. Doctor's office? Book. A friend is running late? Am I ever mad? No. I had a book. Read more about Patience

Last night, before heading up to our District's election party, my friend Sarajane and I stopped by the medical cannabis party where another friend of mine, Margo Polley, gave a talk about our mutual friend Caroline Welch. Caroline's life was not all about medical cannabis - it was about a great many other things - but in the last months of that life medical cannabis was added to her list of causes. For good cause. Here is my friend Margo, talking about our friend Caroline: Read more about Caroline

Following is a letter from an ex-fiancee' and ruminations on past and present states of mind. The present herein referred to is actually 2007, when I first wrote about this, and the sciatica is long gone. Cured, I do truly believe, by a mule-back ride halfway down the Grand Canyon and back. But that belief may, in itself, corroborate my daughter's summation: Read more about Still the Same

Somewhere in my archives there is a promo pic for a stripper who called herself Champaine Biege, signed "Love, Champaine." It is a beautiful picture, and she is a beautiful woman. Unfortunately, this picture is not worth a thousand words.

I met Champaine when "Grampa" got out of prison. I don't even know Grampa's story - or if I ever did, I've forgotten it now. There was a "Grandma" - an older woman who hung out at the local biker bar, and when Grampa got out of prison, there was a huge party. Grandma was right there at the center of it, the good 'ol lady standing by her ol' man. Read more about Champaine Beige

Last Monday was 1978. Moving ahead a couple of years, I believe I am in Seattle for the first time, receiving a card from my friend Vicki - a beautiful card, dated 2.26.80 - with a wonderful picture of a woman in a clown suite, wearing a green hat, and a face composed of the night sky, also reflected around her, but with a rainbow in the center. She holds a mask of a beautiful woman's face. The card reads, "If you're afraid of the dark...remember the night rainbow." Read more about For Vicki, Wherever You Are

The year is 1978. I'm still married. To my second husband. But not for long. My daughter is 2. My son is 11. I am the central figure in a very large painting by Charles Munch entitled 6 Women. Read more about Together Forever

Another Monday, another old letter. Readers of will recognize bits and pieces of this: Read more about More Material

This from the archives. And now that I read it over, I'm thinking that the quote below could only have been written by HST. So why did some guy named Ed Meece write it down on a scrap of paper, and why do I still have it 30 years on?

"I have no idea who wrote the following. 'Twasn't me. Could be a fella name of Ed Meece, whose name sounds vaguely familar and which actually appears at the bottom of the second little tiny sheet of note paper on which was written the following: Read more about Mystery Quotes