I love the state where I live. I hope you love yours, or at least its little flashes of perfect.

For example, I love a summer day of 81 degrees Fahrenheit and a sky so blue clouds don’t dare. I love the smell of sage underfoot and eucalyptus that should never have been planted overhead.

Most of all I love the first rain.

The SF Bay Area goes dry ’round about May 10th, and yes, the date is a guess but I’ve lived here a long time. And by dry I mean through our skin and flesh to the last cell of our marrow. We think before running water to rinse dishes and we compromise our values for flowers. We love the dust of our hills but not in our back yard; we are only human. We build swimming pools in the back yard, then we stretch out on concrete pavers at 2:10pm on a summer afternoon and all traces of fear and sorrow fly out of our bodies. Then we roll once more into the water. We understand the difficulty of this strategy.

The return of our rains is less certain. Might see a random shower in July. Everyone squawks. Might get another in September, maybe even a drenching. But we still doubt the rain is real. Come October, if it begins to fall in earnest we exhale in relief and wipe cobwebs out of our waterproof boots. If, on the other hand, the rains of November hiss into the dry dirt and evaporate, or threaten but never arrive, we grieve. Grieve and prepare for drought.

It’s the end of October now, so we shall see. Weather services predict inches and inches and inches this winter. We shall see.

But I love my state because that first rain in autumn arrives as a miracle. Every single time some part of me thinks, “I had forgotten this was possible.” Sure, our roads get slick, and people panic on the freeways, but petrichor in the air, and reflecting drops on the last leaves on a rose bush –  irresistible hope.

Happy weekend, everyone. See you next Saturday.

The post If I Went Back To Kindergarten Right Now And Had To Tell The Teacher Why I Love My State, Or, Saturday Morning at 10:14am appeared first on Privilege.

• highly cushioned for strength training class
• grayish suede for a feeble attempt at style when we walk to dinner
• inexpensive white mesh wide toe box with zero drop soles for everything else.

No, she meant Shoes. Let’s enter the fantasy world where our feet serve as statement more than transportation. Here, I’d say many, many of the well-known companies have focused more on marketing and prestige than quality. When they design, my hypothesis is that they do so either for brand maximization,

or in hopes of The Next Big thing that the girlies – self-identified – will wear. Remember these? Valentino Rockstuds, all the rage in the 2010s.

So were I in the market for Shoes, I’d look at brands I’d never heard of. 

First stop on the research trail, Net-a-Porter. I own a pair of black fabric Neous pumps for fancy times, along with my Jimmy Choo wedding shoes, but if I were going for something new in the category, I’d be sorely tempted by these – what color, puce? grungy lavender?- satin jewels. Pretty much perfect kitten heels, pointy toes but not weapons-grade. With a navy dress. A red dress. OOOOOOH a gold one. If one lived a fancy life, one might have fun with unexpected color – rebellious decorum.

Herbert Levine, completely new to me. Which is not of course to say avant-garde.

Were I shopping now for businesslike pumps, those which repurpose well for solemn personal events, I might well choose almond-toed brown leather, in place of my navy blue Paul Greens.

Moving on to the follow-you-around-the-internet part of the world? Dear Frances appeals. Instead of sneakers? Very cushy, one imagines.

So, discussion launched, are any of you buying Shoes these days? I confess, I’m on in the hunt for something in soft, soft brown leather or suede. Could be sneakers, could be Oxfords, as long as they are or can expand to be wide enough for my metatarsals, and are held to my feet with laces. I do not care to slip and slide. But girls and boys can dream, can we not?

Speaking of girls and boys, I believe the cool kids source from Ssense, on sale. Could give them a try.

Have a wonderful weekend.

No links generate commissions

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They have been taken, over the past couple of years, by a group doing Human Banners on Ocean Beach, San Francisco. The next time you see one, if all goes according to plan, I’ll be in it. They’re still looking for participants, here’s the link if anyone fancies a little art and activism of a Saturday morning, i.e. in 2.5 hours today. 11:00am. See you there!

And if not, think corduroy. That’s right, I said corduroy. Finally a trend I can endorse.

Have a wonderful weekend!

For those following along, here are a few of the photos I took, along with one taken by the helicopter pilot the organizers hired for the day.

People streaming onto the beach, in an organized manner.

Lining up, with hats, sunscreen, rage and hope.

From above. A couple thousand of us. My sister and I are on the outer edge of the left-hand wing of the “V,” waving at the “O”s, because we are above everything inclusive.

I, for one, would love to be sleeping better.

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Now open your eyes. I know we’re reading about the federal attempt to prevent us from voting in the midterms, to discard our votes once cast, to refuse to acknowledge the outcome when counted. But all is not lost. Organizations across America are deeply involved in plans and programs to protect our rights. Here are four things you can do in the next month to increase our chance of success, from exceedingly simple to more difficult.

1. 1. Check to make sure you are registered to vote. As we’ve all read, people are being taken off voter rolls in various places. This takes, as the site says, 30 seconds. Go here, to Vote.org.
   2. Donate to the campaigns of several Senators. I did this only last week, because before now I thought the Senate was out of reach. Turns out, still a reach, but worth a try. As usual, I am sending you to Charles Gaba’s ActBlue site, as I find selecting candidates myself highly anxiety-producing and I prefer to outsource to someone I trust and respect. This takes a minute, maybe two.
   3. Sign up to be a poll worker, or poll observer, in your state. Poll workers are the people who check you in and actually work at polling sites. They are paid. This non-partisan site, National Association Secretaries of State, has a dropdown menu to find the requirements and process for your state. Poll observers (watches) are unpaid, and often organized by political parties. Here is a list of the requirements for poll observers in each state. They vary pretty widely. In California, I signed up via California Democrats. The ACLU and Indivisible are also running programs for election support, so in your state you might try reaching out to either of them if the party process is obscure.
   4. Finally, when talking, or texting, or Facebooking for that matter with your friends and family, turn up the encouragement and persuasion a notch. From 4 to 5, or 7 to 8, maybe. I find this hard. As I don’t have anyone in my orbit who is a Trump supporter, this has meant exhorting my younger extended family members to be sure to get to the polls. Suggesting they might also bring their friends along. I’m embarrassed to be so “cringe” in front of cool youth, and I did ask their parents if it was OK so as not to step on toes, but right now it’s all about personal contact. As TV ads flood the airways (I cannot imagine living in a swing state right now) people tune media out. They just might listen to you.

Thank you in advance for any strength you can muster. I hate losing, but I hate losing most of all if I haven’t tried my best. If you’d told me, “Lisa, your post today can be only one sentence,” it would be this. Don’t lose hope; your effort matters.

Note I used the semi-colon to string two sentences together. We all have life hacks. I hope you have a wonderful and productive weekend.

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First, a day at the Rosewood Sand Hill pool, via ResortPass. The walk down from the lobby is already beautiful.

Olive trees, sigh.

A set up for someone’s wedding, I think. I am not prone to find things cute but that is cute.

And the pool itself. The California sky doing a lot of heavy lifting here.

I am a sucker for the fruit bowl and pool combo.

Am also a sucker for my daughter, my son and his boyfriend.

Later, cocktails, canapés, crudités and canapés on a private patio at the Rosewood’s restaurant, Madera. A view out over the hills.

Birthday girl,

with hair and dress courtesy of “guerrilla birthday” strategy, meaning we went straight from the pool to the outdoor shower, pulled on our clothes, and let the strands and folds fall as they would.

Followed by dinner in a private dining room.

With flowers,

my children,

and cake. That thing must have weighed six pounds.

What I do not show you is my niece and son vamping it up for selfies, my daughter lying with me on a lounge chair, my sister swimming laps, my brother-in-law joking, my son-in-law talking with a Brasilian staff member in Portuguese, my son, his boyfriend and my sister in deep conversation, my nephew chatting away at dinner as though it were no big thing, my brother and his girlfriend arriving with the beautiful flowers, my stepmother taking time with each grandchild, and my beloved husband, working in the shade of a cabaña, and then by my side at dinner.

Wildly extravagant. But to bring family together, remembering other afternoons at a pool and all the other dinners with laughter and candles, I couldn’t have asked for more. I did not need a new dress.

Have a good weekend all. How did October arrive so quickly?

(Images courtesy of my stepmother, my son-in-law and my niece who’s got quite the eye. You can find her on Instagram.)

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First, as we stand steadfast in 2026’s video torrent, reading words, I need to let you know I finally surrendered to Daniel Mason’s “North Woods.” It’s one of those books I’ve seen recommended dozens of times. Read the blurb tens of times, decided for some vibe or another not to buy, over and over, but finally, late one night in the throes of despair brought on by one too many pieces of commercial fiction that I just don’t get (Remarkably Bright Creatures, anyone?), embraced. Oh my goodness! I’m not finished but it’s keeping me up at night in the best of ways. I love stories in which much of the meaning happens in a non-verbal space of our consciousness, even as we marvel at the beautiful words in and of themselves. No spoilers, but those who’ve read it, I die for the ghosts.

Second and third, let me send you to Reddit. Do not be afraid of the perhaps alien space. You don’t have to log in to read, and if you do, you can remain anonymous. Consider weddings. Way back in the early days I used to write, in the voice of my semi-imagined ancestors, about High WASP nuptial types. Then when planning my daughter’s day, having found myself on Reddit, I discovered these two subreddits (as the separate forums dedicated to one topic or another are called). We learn, thusly, perspectives can broaden.

• r/Big Budget Brides. Of this I will say only, there are many ways to spend a lot of money. I watch myself, as I read, and I can hear the voices of my culture having opinions about draping (must we?), gold chargers (in the right place, I suppose), and a mix of high-low style (always and forever). Writing this blog has shown me how much of what I thought was “taste,” universal and Platonic, is in fact a signifier for Culture and its evil cousin Class. Doesn’t mean I now like “full glam” makeup; does mean the chatter of judgment bows to an understanding of differences. Extra benefit: many photos of beautiful celebrations.
• r/Weddingattireapproval. If we wondered who had taken up the “Is this appropriate, dear?” mantle, I can tell you. Reddit. Absent the “dear.” Did you know that if you ask people to arrive in black tie you absolutely cannot serve them family style? You must force Table 2 to watch their chicken congeal until Table 14 have their plates. Did you know that with a formal dress code it’s better to wear a long tube of stretch satin slit to your mid-thigh than a calf length dupioni silk number with a twirly skirt? Here I allow my ancestral voices freer rein, since I sense brigades of Mean Girls seatings themselves with “Harrumphs!” in the chairs of departed Grandes Dames and I don’t think we need that today. Extra benefit: some people have style I deeply enjoy.

There you go. Entertainment, of the sort that inspires thought – of one kind or another. Have a brilliant September. See you in a bit.

The post Off For September Leaving Recommendations In My Wake, Or, Saturday Morning at 9:13am appeared first on Privilege.

Blame it on the Tilley. (Yes I am letting her pretend to be in a tropical jungle, she’s earned the daydream.)

A longer exegesis. I wear that hat when I walk. I try to walk as often as I can, even to do errands, briskly. It’s very sunny in California, much of the time. I live at least a mile from any shopping. I don’t like sunscreen and in any case I can’t put it on my scalp. So, walking.

My father died of congestive heart failure, my mother of Alzheimer’s, both conditions suggest that walking is good. I am not trying not to die, because I am reasonably sensible, but I would like to feel when the time comes I have done the best job possible to support my wild gift of consciousness. How did this particular windowpane of awareness come to inhabit these eyes, this bone structure, this flesh? A miracle. I walk.

Now, here’s the thing. I dare anyone to look even remotely stylish under that hat, unless you’re making a movie about African safaris. Impossible, at least for my type of slightly subversive but WASPy preferences. Could I wear a different topper? It wouldn’t help. Because these are my walking shoes. For weight training, walking to dinner, and “barefoot shoes” for walking everywhere else. You already know why.

Add a jaunty straw fedora, glamorous broad-brimmed number, or even a cute bucket, ridiculous.

Therefore, if you happen to see an older person pitter-patting down a suburban street, looking like a total dork, feel no sorrow. Feel no compassion, do not say “Aw.” They quite likely know they look absurd. It’s not because they can’t tell Dries from Dior or can’t pull a Liberty shirt from their close; they are seizing life like a velociraptor.

And do not worry. When we drive somewhere, especially at night when the sun is down, out come mules and organza dresses, lug-soled loafers with floral scarves. Dressing like a dork isn’t surrender, it’s a savage love of existence. We are so joyful about the sky.

Embrace your intentional dork, if that’s your inclination. Fiercely.

Finally, as part of the I Hate Sunscreen project, I recommend these as overshirts. I have one in muted mauve, one in muddy taupe, one in white. They run small, and I choose which to wear with which color pants or yoga tights. Mauve with ochre pants, particularly adventurous. No need to throw aesthetics out with the bathwater, altogether. In fact, I could persuaded to up level a tad with these or the like.

Have a wonderful weekend.

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The hotel sits right under the word, “Post,” to the left of this map; you can see today’s Timber Fire status on the right; we were due to drive down Tuesday. The fire started Saturday afternoon. By Sunday morning I was saying, “Hmm,” by Sunday night at 11pm the hotel had been evacuated, by Monday morning we had, needless to say, cancelled our reservation.

Clearly; my missed vacation is nothing compared to the burning of the world. Although I’m sad not to have spent that time 1200 feet above the Pacific, attempting to understand the horizon, we made good use of the week. As often happens in large chunks of unexpected free time, we accomplished a lot of tasks that had been lingering. And for at least one spot of ocean, we drove over the hill to the small town of Pescadero.

Duarte’s, the well-known haunt and its artichoke soup, was closed. We ate at a gas station taqueria and the food was fantastic.

We sat at outside tables, inside being devoted to gas station foodstuffs. Papel picado flapped overhead.

Then we scooted out to beautiful Bean Hollow Beach. I saw no beans, or hollows, the ocean was too big and the water just wouldn’t sit still.

I’ve had a nice week. I have to say that the midterms are coming. Unless you actually want the countryside of our American West – Washington, Oregon, Idaho, Utah, Montana, Wyoming, Nevada, Colorado, California, and New Mexico – to turn bit by bit to ash, it would be great if you found a way to help us flip the House and Senate. I hear we need poll watchers. But every little act helps.

Have a wonderful weekend.

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You see that red Sarouk? Bought 1979,  from a Brooklyn rug dealer familiar to a colleague of mine who knew the trade. But when 21st century hot California summers felled our big backyard Chinese elm, and sunlight hit our windows full on, protection time. Put the rug somewhere else, safe. I also kind of wanted a green floor. Desire.

Did nothing for a long time. Then one day I came across this, online at Quince, on sale. I did something immediately, impulsively.

Not antique, not blindingly expensive, calm. I’m very pleased.

However, in the way of design, now I now need new pillows. I dug through my pillow closet, which of course shares space with wrapping paper, and found these.

Tolerable, but match my Lily Stockman painting too directly. I’m thinking maybe (these are all from Etsy) pick up the brick red you see on my throw blanket? Or a terracotta? Something like this?

Might be too orange, although I like the aqua trim.

Burgundy with pale blue, then. But maybe I want a pattern.

But maybe that’s too similar to the rug?

How about broken stripes, dark brick and slate blue. Rug the color of a garden with water, pillows the color of, um, hardscaping?

And on we go. Colors are my favorite thing these days.

Now, if you are so inclined. I would love to hear your thoughts. One caveat: please don’t say mine are bad. If you don’t like my vision, just pretend you didn’t hear it as per the special trick of Grande Dames and British society in period dramas. This way, I can benefit from your thinking without an iota of distress over criticism of mine. Conserving my capacity for societal distress, where it is with any luck more useful.

In older age, we understand our internal mechanisms better, despite the mystery of pillows. Have a highly-cushioned weekend everyone.

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Not to sound preposterous, but I find myself wanting a new conceptual model of self in addition to new shoes. Who am I really, now that my knuckles are wider than my fingers? Gray hair, wrinkles, jowls, various tendon issues, somehow all of that felt like it was happening to the self in the mirror, not the one here, on the sofa. I think now the little spark of consciousness behind my eyes is having to adjust. Feels a bit fidgety, TBH.

I don’t feel sad, at least not yet. Were I to give voice to my reaction, which, obviously, yes, it’s a great big, “Huh.” I’m reading Honest Aging, by Rosemary Leipzig, as Kristin recommended, and thinking. Thanks, Kristin.

So much thinking.

But before we launch into a full post, or several, I wanted to hear from you. As many have pointed out, readers’ thoughtful (funny, iconoclastic) comments are one of this old blog’s best features, and it would make no sense to write at any length without your input. So.

• Did/does 70 feel significant? Or just another decade passing by?
• Did/will you take stock? If so, of what?
• Have you made any proactive changes as a result of thinking about it all? Or only in response to events and changes as they occurred – health, life, and so on?

I imagine you can think of questions of your own. Feel free to ask them. Or answer those unasked, for that matter.

Have an excellent weekend. Happy birthday to anyone who needs it.

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One thing I did suspect, women in the professions need professional wardrobes. When my daughter told me she was ready for a new one, I thought, “Hooray!” immediately followed by, “What to wear, these days?” As a surgeon, in the OR, scrubs and clogs clearly. At other times, dresses and suits, dresses and suits. Same as it ever was, but the 2026 version, and not corporate. There’s more room for personal style, to a point.

What about this,

with Repettos? She was a dancer through school and college, after all.

Add simple – but not tiny – gold earrings and not a speck of other ornamentation except wedding and engagement rings.

I do love navy pointelle. I’m not sure about the Tory Burch T everywhere, though. As we know, controversially, I’m good with logos generally but at work not so much. Unless your work is fashion or design, where you want your clothing to say something about where you stand in that universe.

The only heels I wear comfortably enough these days are my Jimmy Choo wedding shoes and a pair of Paul Green pumps. So maybe these from PG? I like the way the nubbly bit would relate to TB’s pointelle. Surely, surely we all know navy and black are just fine?

For a conference, perhaps. So helpful of Me + Em to style this with a white coat. More pointelle. Am liking this trend.

That dress insists on pointy toes, I don’t know why, so with legendary Choos.

Now, suits, can we go lady? This color would be gorgeous if one happened to be a fair-skinned, pink-cheeked, blue-eyed redhead. Might want dark navy pumps or the afore-mentioned brown Repettos, black here being too high contrast for our doctor.

And if not lady, who makes our suits these days? Maybe Paul Smith, sized for a grownup and not a girl in her big brother’s clothes?

With a pair of suede loafers? Or Darbys, as the British call oxfords?

With that, I turn it over to you eminent knowers of the world. Any and all resources welcome. I have been retired for going on 15 years, and can no longer provide answers. I may not even have guidance, ideas will have to do. Have a wonderful weekend.

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I just returned from camping, with my sister, for three nights in the High Sierra. We are both in our later 60s.

It was just car camping, tents, cooking over a fire, a little propane stove, and so on. No real backpacking. But the High Sierra is high; at 7500 feet oxygen is a tiniest bit harder to come by, the sun, intense. Never mind the possibility of bears. Gotta put all the food and any scented toiletries in the special bear locker any time you leave the campsite or go to sleep. That’s a lot of carrying bins from here to there.

The High Sierra is also extraordinarily, or maybe ordinarily if we weren’t so civilized, beautiful. And thus, inspiring? Is that the right word?

Specifics include silver tip firs, fallen and standing, wildflowers, granite, and clear, clear water.

There are teeny white and pink flowers hidden in this greenery, and often small orange butterflies flit about. I think Western Meadow Fritillaries but they rarely stayed still enough to identify.

We thought better of hiking to the very top of Inspiration Point. I was testing my limits, and the risks of over-extending here seemed high.

Lake Alpine, in the Stanislaus National Forest. We swam directly from the granite. Pretty (read: wildly) awesome.

Don’t forget your chairs. To rest, to gaze out across trees and mountains, and talk about how this time we are going to remember to buy a tablecloth that isn’t too small for the park picnic tables.

The trip was hard work. And also fantastic. It’s good to bump up against your limits, and then maybe find a way to push them just a little further out. Have a wonderful weekend everyone.

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