Every time I start to feel grouchy about daylight savings time, I think of the cadre of timekeepers who perform the Herculean task of adjusting clock hands bigger than my kitchen.

Spring forward? Ok. Fall back. Absolutely. But rappel off a sheer face by a single rope, just to wrestle the hands back into position so folks like me can glance skyward to double-check the time? Above and beyond.

So whether sunrise comes earlier or sunset falls later, Daylight Savings Time is officially okay by me.

"I don't mind going back to daylight savings time. With inflation, the hour will be the only thing I've saved all year." - Victor Borge

I think I might be the only person in the state of California who doesn't like avocado.

Give me lemons until my mouth puckers. Shower me with grapefruit, oranges plucked straight from the tree, and of course the ubiquitous grape. But avocado? I think I'll pass.

Something about the texture is a bit too mushy for my palate. The verdant exterior looks a bit prehistoric somehow. I know it has antioxidants. I know it sports more potassium than bananas. And it's a hometown favorite for sure. California is responsible for 90% of the avocado crop grown here in the United States.

And yet, meh. More guacamole for everyone else?

"You can't judge an avocado until you guac-a-mile in its shoes."– Anonymous (for obvious reasons....)

With the recent turn of the calendar's page, we have officially entered Women's History Month.

The roots of this observance harken back to March of 1857, when groups of women came together to protest poor working conditions within NYC factories. Codified by Congress in 1987, Women's History Month has now been part of our cultural landscape and lexicon for decades.

Of the many challenges women face, living authentically and transparently rank high on the list. What's even more difficult? The opposite ...

"Owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it." – Brene Brown

As I opened my eyes to a new day, my heart remains mired in the sorrow and anguish of the past 48 hours. Thousands of miles away, the landscape of the Ukraine is awash in death and destruction. The seemingly endless cycle of violence continues.

The Ukraine is the latest but not the only ground on which a war is being waged. Indeed the harm we are capable of inflicting on one another can feel both unfathomable and unstoppable.

Despite the improbable odds, strive for peace. Our very existence depends on it.

"You cannot shake hands with a clenched fist." - Indira Gandhi

A few weeks ago, I watched CNN's four-part series on Marilyn Monroe. I already knew many of the story lines; the blonde bombshell, the movie star, the affairs, marriages and divorces, and of course, the tragic and solitary death inside her Brentwood bungalow.

I also learned of nuances and complexities I had not known previously; her business savvy, her unrelenting determination, and her unusual career path both inside and outside the Hollywood studio system.

Marilyn was a fascinating composite. Both fragile and steely, vulnerable and fearless. On the cusp of Valentine's Day, her life is a reminder of just how powerful the craving for love can be.

"I am trying to find myself. Sometimes, that's not easy." – Marilyn Monroe

On June 11, 1965 Pauley Pavilion opened its doors, just in time to host that year's graduation ceremonies.

UCLA's storied venue has seen its fair share of history, acting as the backdrop for visits by presidents, celebrities, and Nobel laureates, as well as providing space for concerts, dances, and the more than 100 national championships won by the Bruins men's and women's basketball, gymnastics, and volleyball teams.

Perhaps its most famous resident is John Wooden, aka "the Wizard of Westwood," who during his 27 seasons of coaching the UCLA men's basketball team produced 10 national titles. Now tucked inside the main entrance of the Pavillon is an exhibit that heralds Wooden's achievements, including a list of many of his inspirational quotes, words applicable to both athletes and non-athletes alike.

"Never lie. Never cheat. Never steal. Don't whine. Don't complain, Don't make excuses." – John Wooden

Yesterday was International Holocaust Remembrance Day, the anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz-Birkenau.

Many years ago, I was able to visit the haunted emptiness of a former concentration camp just outside of Munich. Although many of the structures and apparatus of the camp had been removed, there remained a stark and biting terror in the air. The pain absorbed by that land felt like it had altered it somehow. It chilled me to the bone.

Perhaps most frightening is my lingering suspicion that we are not so very far removed from this atrocity. Our capacity, as a species, for hatred and cruelty is not to be underestimated.

Never forget. Never again.

"In the long run, the sharpest weapon of all is a kind and gentle spirit." – Anne Frank

My friends living in the northern reaches of the country are currently enduring a torrent of wild and wintry weather. Snow. Sleet. Wind. You name it. If it's unpleasant, they've got it.

Here in Los Angeles, I carve out 15 minutes every afternoon to sit in the sun. During this sliver of time, I feel the heat warm my chest and tinge my cheeks with color. It is a decadent indulgence, one I am sheepish to admit but secretly relieved to have. After decades of shoveling snow, cutting grass, and trimming bushes, I have become an ardent fan of the desert landscape.

For this girl, cactus is the new black...

"Gardening requires lots of water, most of it in the form of perspiration." – Lou Erickson

Tomorrow I'm heading to Pasadena to give out bib numbers to runners competing in the upcoming Rose Bowl Half Marathon. Although not a runner myself, I have long had a love affair with this grueling endeavor. Having been raised in the shadow of Boston's famed "Heartbreak Hill," marathons are in my blood.

26.2 miles. Two sneakers. And a whole lot of heart. That's what marathons require. While the elite competitors race for time, most race against the distance itself. Running, walking, even crawling if that will bring that elusive finish line one inch closer.

"Marathoning. The triumph of desire over reason." – New Balance

Many years ago, Archbishop Desmond Tutu made an appearance at the Episcopal Divinity School in Cambridge. He was on a book tour, promoting his latest manuscript titled No Future Without Forgiveness. I went as much for the book as for the chance to meet its extraordinary author.

Archbishop Tutu was a mere imp of a man, standing just over five foot tall. By the time I made my way to the front of the reception line, his eyes still gleamed with mischief. In a lilting voice he spoke with me for a few moments before signing a copy of his book. It remains one of my favorite treasures.

There was a lightness to him, a hopefulness, a holiness that was undeniable. He is now heaven-bound no doubt.

"We may be surprised at the people we find in heaven. God has a soft spot for sinners. His standards are actually quite low." – Desmond Tutu

Her given name was Gloria Jean Watkins, born in Hopkinsville KY, just north of Nashville. After a substantive and transformational career she returned to Kentucky, ending her career at Berea College. By that time, everyone knew her by another name, the moniker she chose as an homage to her grandmother.

bell hooks.

The loss, as Roxanne Gay wrote on Wednesday after hearing of hooks' death, is "incalculable." hooks was an insistent and powerful literary voice. A truth teller. Unafraid to pull back the curtain and reveal some of the most distasteful aspects of our contemporary culture.

She looked at her pain, at our collective pain, and refused to flinch. She dared us to do better, to be better. She dared us to fight.

"When we face pain in relationships our first response is often to sever bonds rather than to maintain commitment." – bell hooks

It occurred to me this week that it was December and I had yet to put on my coat.

I have only lived, until now, in cold places, each one more bitter and raw than the next. At least half of my closet space is taken up with coats, along with their traditional accoutrements; scarfs, hats, mittens, and gloves. My closet is a moth's dream, stuffed with enough wool to keep their voracious hunger pangs at bay.

Despite this treasure trove, around February I grow cranky with my coats. I'm tired of all the buttoning and swaddling. The weight of those additional folds of fabric make my shoulders slope and my spirit wither. The cold drains me from the outside in and the inside out.

When you need a warm coat, there is nothing better than having one. Except for not needing it in the first place.

"You have to feel the bite of the wind to appreciate the warmth of a winter coat." – Fennel Hudson

The sun sets early in the beginning of December, even here in southern California. The first day of this darkened month also marks World AIDS Day, established in 1988 to raise awareness of the HIV/AIDS pandemic.

Just one year earlier, the National Mall in Washington, DC played host to the first display of the AIDS Memorial Quilt. A patchwork of names, sewn with care, grief, and outrage, it was a clarion call to a nation that, for far too long, had averted its eyes to the worst public health crisis of its time.

I was one of the estimated 1.2 million people who were fortunate enough to see the quilt in 1996, the last time it was shown in its entirety.

Panels of names for as far as the eye could see, lost, in part, through complicit silence.

"No person is your friend who demands your silence, or denies your right to grow." – Alice Walker

Of the countless holidays littering the American calendar, there is none I love more than Thanksgiving.

As a kid, my mother used to roast our turkey in a contraption she would plug into an outlet on our screened porch. The smell of the turkey would drive the neighborhood cats crazy. But what are you going to do? The kitchen oven was already reserved for baking the pies.

Here's to napping, and football, and breaking out the linen napkins. But most of all, here's to the holiday that places the mashed potato front and center. Now that's something to be thankful for!

"Shakespeare is like mashed potatoes, you can never get enough of him." – Frank McCourt

Still in the nascent days of my new Los Angeles life, I'm looking forward to the upcoming SoCal winter, finally free of slippery sidewalks, antifreeze, and staggering heating bills.

But this week I realized I had underestimated my lifelong love affair with the most surprising of objects. The snow shovel.

Sitting in the crowd at the Staples Center this past Wednesday, I took in my first LA Kings game. When the contest came to an occasional stop, a fleet of skaters descended upon the ice, each armed with a wide-mouthed shovel. As they glided in formation, up and down the rink, they scraped the ice clean with military precision.

Much to my surprise, I realized how much I wanted to join them.

So much for palm trees and Coppertone.......

"Do you shovel to survive, or survive to shovel?" - Kobo Abe

Stop the presses! It has FINALLY happened!

Just this month, the word "fluffernutter" has been officially added to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, joining such legendary turns of phrase as "Dad Bod," "Vaccine Passport," and "Doorbell Camera."

Invented in 1917, this sugary staple was a hallmark of my childhood lunches. Indeed I am such a fan I count myself among the many who have volunteered for the annual "What the Fluff" festival, a cacophony of marshmallow concoctions and carnival rides, held each year in Somerville (MA), where Fluff was originally invented.

Sure there are healthier options. But is there anything more fun?

"No one ever pretended that shopping is a rational experience. If it were, would there be Fluffernutter? Laceless sneakers? Porkpie hats? Would the Chia Pet even exist?" – Jeffrey Kluger

This weekend is the Head of the Charles.

An annual tradition for Cantabrigians, this event brings thousands of people to the banks of Boston's Charles River to glimpse ridiculously lithe rowers propel boats the width of a hanger toward a finish line located three miles from the start line.

This experience is not for the faint of heart. Rowing requires endurance, stamina, coordination, timing, rhythm, strength, power, and BOTH aerobic and anaerobic fitness. Oh and blisters. Did I mention the blisters?

But if you've ever watched a boat cut through water like a hot knife through butter, a tango of synchronized oars pulling to and fro, you know the seduction all too well.

“All were merged into one smoothly working machine; they were in fact, a poem of motion, a symphony of swinging blades.” – Boys in the Boat

It rained this week.

Actually, it poured. It was as if a giant bucket in the sky had tipped, sending cascades of water down to the parched lips of Southern California.

Every nearby zip code got drenched. Every dog in my apartment building howled, goaded on by both lightening and thunder. It was raining. IN LOS ANGELES.

Back in my hometown, pounding rain wouldn't have even registered on my storm-weary geiger counter. But after a mere few months in the San Fernando Valley, I leapt to the window at the slightest hint of a brewing squall.

Can wearing a jacket when the temps drop to 60 be far behind?

"Rain, rain, go away. Come again another day." – English Nursery Rhyme

I love television. Full stop.

Last night's return of Grey's Anatomy was a particular highlight in a month awash in new programming. This latest episode kicked off the 18th season of Meredith, Bailey, Avery, and Dr. Webber prowling the hallways of Grey-Sloan Memorial. While I still miss the old days when McDreamy and Christina dominated the story lines, somehow Shonda Rhimes always keeps me coming back for more.

So whatever show is your guilty pleasure, I am right there with you. Pull out your favorite blanket. Fish the remote out from underneath the couch cushions. The fall season is BACK!

"If it weren't for electricity, we'd all be watching television by candlelight." – George Gobel