Feral DNA

Once again reminded about Chuck’s lineage and which among the thousands of breeds he’s related to has such a gene so dominantly crotchety.

Alarm clocks

One of the very many photos to show my girls of a land I hope they get to see one day.

Their turf

Shortly after encountering these guys Marlo whispered to me, “Those are the ugliest birds I’ve ever seen.” As if she didn’t want to hurt their feelings.

Sweet little towheads

Long distance friends who share a bit of the same flare.

In Newport Bay

A pleasantly drama-free wildlife encounter. Thanks for the wink and head nod, Universe.


Chuck remembers Southern California, and he could definitely roll.

The Downing Tote

Not nearly as big or unwieldy as my Granny’s purse, but she’d slow clap for me and tell me I’m moving in the right direction. And then she’d see how hard she could hit one of her kids over the head with this thing.

Photobombed by a palm tree

Greetings from the Inland Empire where oddly I got very in touch with my Southern roots.

Because of Kelly

In honor of the man who broke the baseball color line.

On becoming the coolest person my daughter ever knew for ten whole minutes

Peter Frampton was for Marlo. This… this was for Leta.