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Weekend Wanderer: My Family Can’t Get Their Holidays Straight
You might remember Thanksgiving, when my aunt had designs on attending dinner at my brother’s house. A dinner my brother wasn’t hosting as he planned on having dinner with our parents. They just didn’t know he planned on having dinner with them. It was like a Thanksgiving surprise party. I was the only one who…
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Weekend Wanderer: Becoming an Expert in Selling Real Estate
In the 1950s, Indy bought a property in Maryland. Indy never built anything on the property. While the rest of the neighborhood is dotted with homes, Indy’s land is dotted with feral cats and listing trees. Two years ago, Indy and Willie tasked me with selling the property, which we’ll call Westeros. Because selling it…
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Weekend Wanderer: What Does It Take to Raise a Kid?
If you read this column with any regularity, you may ask yourself how, exactly, one raises an adult fearful of reptiles and swimming over sunken ships. Well, you surround her, as a child, with a few good men. I don’t mean Marines, although 50 percent of the men I’m about to discuss are Marines. What…
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Weekend Wanderer: When Your Teen Leaves the Nest
Spring break has come and gone, and so has my daughter’s childhood. Wow. That’s melodramatic. True, but melodramatic. Let’s start with the driver’s license. She got it two weeks ago. And my nerves are fizzing like a Fourth of July sparkler. Any parent with a licensed teen has felt this way — that visceral fear…
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Weekend Wanderer: Panic at the Campground
A few years ago, my husband joined an organization whose mission is public land protection. In short order, he joined the Pennsylvania chapter’s board. He asked for my blessing before doing so. Joining the board meant I would shoulder more of the workload at home. How could I say no? It’s a great cause, for…
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Weekend Wanderer: The Ocean’s Depth to the Mountain’s Peak
Now that I’m two-thirds of the way through the horror of scuba certification, it is time for me to tackle another challenge. Munro bagging. I promise I’m not making up words. Munro bagging is a real thing. Munros are what Scots call their mountains. Munro bagging is the endeavor to summit all 200-plus Munros in…
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Weekend Wanderer: Colliding Fears and Yogic Breathing
There is something worse than using a portable toilet because you’re camping. It’s using a portable toilet in a scuba suit because you’re at an outdoor pool in March. Preventing a scuba suit from dangling in the mystery moisture of a portable toilet’s floor is a scuba skill I failed to anticipate. It was snowing…
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Weekend Wanderer: Don’t Make Me Scuba Dive, Part Two
You may remember I’m certifying in open-water scuba diving. You may also remember I’m afraid of swimming over large objects, like whales or a shipwreck. I’m afraid of a lot of things. But this is my most absurd fear. Good news on that front, though. It turns out wreck diving is an entirely different scuba…
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Weekend Wanderer: A Million Dollars, Egg Containers, and Wall Street
I had to take Willie to The Container Store in King of Prussia. Now, my family — both immediate and extended — has banned me from The Container Store. Unless I’m taking Willie. If I’m taking Willie, I am permitted to visit The Container Store. Don’t tell them The Container Store is on Instacart. They’ll…
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Weekend Wanderer: A Romantic Weekend … in Harrisburg?
Last week, I hinted at my romantic weekend in Harrisburg. As resident Pennsylvanians, I think we can all agree Harrisburg in February is like Paris in spring. Now, I’ve only ever been to Paris in summer, so I can tell you Harrisburg in February is nothing like Paris in summer. Harrisburg in February doesn’t have…
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Weekend Wanderer: Let Burt Bacharach Be Your Guide
I missed my exit on the turnpike last week because Burt Bacharach went to Marion’s bar in Nepal. I’m not saying my missed exit was Burt Bacharach’s fault. It was definitely a group effort. Burt Bacharach. Me. The Carpenters. And this is where I part with a deep secret. Something few people know about me. …
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Weekend Wanderer: Finding the Perfect Rug
I have been stymied by the rug at my front door, which has gone to Marion’s bar in Nepal. Just to talk about Marion for a minute, because obviously I’ve been thinking about her a lot – that bar is a discrepancy in the movie. Aren’t we meant to infer Marion’s father died abruptly, marooning…
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Weekend Wanderer: When Mom Stands You Up for Dinner
My editors ask that I submit this column by Thursday each week. They say Thursday. What I hear is Tuesday because Thursday is just preposterous. I mean, come on, guys. What if something catastrophic happens to my submission? A Thursday deadline leaves only Friday for corrections. Friday. Twenty-four hours before publication. Who, exactly, are we…
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Weekend Wanderer: When Your Muse Quits
I have always said that as long as Willie and Indy are alive, I’ll have stories. But half of that equation has gone to Marion’s bar in Nepal and the other half has just … stopped. Don’t get me wrong. Willie isn’t huddled under a blanket somewhere, immobile now that Indy is slinging shots in…
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Weekend Wanderer: All You Need Is Family. Sort of
I’m wondering if you guys remember Thanksgiving. Specifically, the Thanksgiving that almost was — the one in which my aunt planned to go to my brother’s house, my brother planned to go to my parents’ house, and my parents planned exactly nothing. And the only one who knew all of that was me. I can’t…
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Weekend Wanderer: Do I Really Need to Be Alone?
Well. Now that Indy is — Wait. How do I characterize Indy now that Indy is gone? Because I really can’t write, over and over, that Indy has died. I’m not ready for it to be that real yet. So … where has Indy gone? Well, where did Indiana Jones go? He went to the…
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Weekend Wanderer: Laugh … Even if You’re Sad
“Let’s see if it’s ready yet.” That was Indy, on Veterans Day. Veteran Temple of Doom residents had been invited to display mementos of their military service. Indy wanted to display his uniform. He asked me to bring it to the ballroom. Willie was waiting for us. It wasn’t time to display the mementos yet,…
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Weekend Wanderer: Spending Christmas with Rick Steves
I accidentally spent $177 on a beef tenderloin. One hundred and seventy-seven dollars. It all started with Rick Steves’ European Christmas. I watched it on PBS during last year’s Christmas season. Many times. Many, many times. Rick Steves’ European Christmas combines three of the best things ever — Christmas, Europe, and Rick Steves. Rick Steves…
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