I was 12 when I bought my first beauty book, Cheryl Tiegs’ "The Way to Natural Beauty." It was 1980 and its glossy cover photo sold me — a close-up of Cheryl with her wavy, perfectly feathered blonde hair. That’s exactly what I needed my hair to do. I was going to study this book like a bible.


My thick, wavy hair presented a daily styling challenge, and my mom was no help in this department. She kept a perfectly coiffed, immovable hairdo with weekly appointments at the beauty shop. She’d told

One December when my kids were small, I decided we would have a blow-out Christmas like you see in a Hallmark movie. I made sure each of my two sons had a dozen or more beautifully wrapped gifts under the tree.

I was sure they would be thrilled by this abundance, which had not only stretched my budget but required multiple trips to crowded stores, standing in long lines.

To my amazement, on the big day they both lost

Recently, I ran into an old girlfriend I hadn’t seen in a while at a wedding. Her youngest son had just left for college, and she tearfully told me how quiet her house was.

And all I could think was: Oh, you dear sweet flaxen-haired newb. You have no idea the glory that awaits you.

I’ll be honest. Obviously, I love my kids. But I’d been waiting for my moment of peace and quiet and rest since I realized two decades ago that I’d be responsible for three meals a day for two disinterested people f

I have a recurring fantasy that, should I find myself older and alone, possibly needing to stretch my savings, I could downsize to a small cabin filled with only the things I love: a cheerful quilt, my favorite books, stained glass in the windows, a bit of trailing ivy, and some wind chimes outside. A modern-day embellished Thoreau with scented candles.

When my youn