When Chef Dakota Weiss celebrates with her family, she brings her wealth of food knowledge together with her savvy know-how to bring […]
Like the headwaters of a river, we are born into this world destined to float downhill where we will finally meet our […]
This astounding assembly of talented, caring, fun-loving, thought-provoking and brave group of friends are inspirational beings with whom I am honored to share their moments in life. A few of you are famous, many are infamous, some are intellectuals, and others could give a crap. And that’s just how I like it. Some of you walk in spirit, some of you dance around the edges of risk. And that’s just how I like it. Most of you give and care. And that’s just how I like it.
Will history determine that 2016 was a year of balancing a scale or tipping it dangerously close to the fire?
And so it is with me and the rest of humanity.
Perhaps this is why the desert drew me in over and over this year. I know the desert well. I grew up in the desert — both in life and metaphorically. The seemingly endless light that heated the soil beneath my feet and cast mirages before me was both a gift and a trick. Sorting candor from myth consumed much of my time.
It was a circular life moment filled with many spokes in life’s wheel. It was the magic that I wish we could each return to understanding our commonality as opposed to fighting over our differences.
…a few days before this Christmas when I spent a night in my daughter and her husband’s Taos Ski Valley condo. It’s near the first chairlift. Looking out the patio door I recalled taking both my daughters, who were about 11 and 13 at the time, for a day skiing there.
This Nepali photographer told the story in one photo. He did his job. His photo impacted and haunted me. How could it be fair that my grandchildren could be so beautifully clothed while the young girl in the mountains of Nepal wears rags?
But something went terribly wrong. On Tuesday morning, September 11, 2001, horror stuck America. I asked, “Should I cancel the fundraiser?” The resounding reply was, “No! If ever we needed to do something good, and enjoy our country’s harvest, we need a day in your orchard. Keep the event!”
When I watched my fellow citizens torment the three stalled buses on a two-lane road, my maternal instincts questioned, “Don’t they know that there are children in those buses?”
The free market, however, is, now, just another quaint and misused phrase funded by uber-billionaires that care-less for you, me, or the woman struggling to feed her family by making and selling popsicles after they took her job and sent it to Pakistan. She’s inconsequential, as are the men, women and children in Pakistan’s sweat factories earning poverty wages making stuff to sell in America and elsewhere.