Big Sky Country. That's what they called it.

Back in my salad days, I spent some time living in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. Gazing east, the flat plains of Montana spread out before me, an endless sweep of grass and rutted dirt roads. Squinting into the morning sun, it was difficult to see the horizon. The expanse was so vast it played tricks on the eyes of even the most ardent observer.

This past week I finished reading Dakota, the autobiography of novelist Kathleen Norris. In it she details the impact of countless summers spent on the flat and desolate landscape of South Dakota. The "spiritual geography" of her youth.

Like Norris, the flinty emptiness of the prairie has never left me, still calling to me in haunted whispers.....

"It's a dangerous place, this vast ocean of prairie. Something happens to us here." - Kathleen Norris

The news came via social media. A succinct yet emotional announcement that the greatest quarterback of all time was finally hanging up his cleats.

Love him or hate him, it's hard to argue with the stack of trophies Tom Brady has collected over the course of his fabled career. Sure his longevity played a role in acquiring such a glittering stash. And he didn't do it alone. Only one member of an eleven-player offense, Brady relied on the talents of countless linemen, receivers, running backs, and coaches to hold aloft the Lombardi trophy a record seven times.

Brady held "Father Time" at bay for more years than anyone thought possible. His dedication to fitness, nutrition, and restorative sleep bordered on the obsessive.

But it was his very single-mindedness that allowed me to enjoy watching twenty years of the best to ever play the game.

Thanks Tommy. It was fun while it lasted. #TB12

"I'm retiring....for good." - Tom Brady

In the wee hours of Wednesday morning, I was stirred awake by tremors of an earthquake.

Registering 4.2 on the Richter scale, the rumble's locus was roughly 10 miles off the coast of Malibu, causing much of Southern California to shimmy. It was as if a giant had suddenly shrugged his shoulders.

I was not particularly startled by this modest heaving, an earthen growing pain of sorts. But perhaps creation is sending us a more pointed message. In a week that saw three mass shootings here in "The Golden State," maybe we needed something to literally shake us awake, seemingly deaf to the pain and hatred that surrounds us.

If the sun-kissed beaches of our stunning shoreline are not immune to upheaval, perhaps we are all more fragile than we thought...

"It is the nature of the earth to shift. It is the nature of fragile things to break." - Susan Meissner

The Embrace.

Apparently, not so fast.

This past week a new creation joined the statuary collection of my former hometown. Placed prominently at the top of the Boston Common, "The Embrace" captures the moment when Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., having just learned he had won the Nobel Peace Prize, joyfully flung his arms around his wife Coretta.

The bronze sculpture is decidedly modern in flavor. Indeed the two sets of arms are both headless and without bodies. Their tangled limbs hover above the ground in a perpetual state of euphoria. Perhaps, not surprisingly, not everyone's reaction has been quite so exalted.

Prior to Monday's unveiling, the only official nod to Dr. King's time in Boston was a small plaque that marked his residence at 397 Massachusetts Avenue, a three-story row house deep in the heart of the South End.

Only time will tell if this latest homage will find its way into the hearts and history of the famed "City on a Hill." Only time will tell...

"Art is never finished, only abandoned." - Leonardo da Vinci

This past week I was involved, although admittedly tangentially, in a conversation that pitted the beloved toaster against its upstart and multi-tasking competitor --- the toaster oven.

My favored appliance, the pop-up toaster, was first patented in 1920 after its inventor, Charles Strite, grew frustrated with his cafeteria's penchant for burning the bread. His toast's now perfectly warmed and dually-crisped surface would provide the ideal tableaux for countless smears to follow, including jam, marmite, honey, avocado, lox, Nutella, cream cheese, olive oil, peanut butter, you name it.

But no matter how you slice it, every toaster and toaster oven owes its fame to the real hero of breakfast menus everywhere.

The bread.

"A slice of hot, buttered toast is the perfect meal. It's not too much and not too little, and it gives you just the right buzz." - Naveen Andrews

Earlier this week, I slid into my car's driver's seat for a particularly early departure. The sun had not yet risen. It was dark and surprisingly cold. As I turned the key in the ignition, a single icon began flashing on my dashboard. It was a ... snowflake.

This is a symbol with which I am quite familiar, the signal of a temperature so low that icy roads and snowy conditions are possible. Which is all well and good but --

I LIVE IN LOS ANGELES! Sheesh.

In the mid-1930's, the Hudson Motor Company was the first to include a warning light on its automobile dashboards. These days our car's cockpit is littered with electronic bells and whistles. But all of this gadgetry does little to solve the actual problem.

Paradise? Apparently not.

"Though it's cold and lonely in the deep dark night, I can see paradise by the dashboard light." - Meat Loaf

Holiday traditions? Here's one for you.

While others are hanging tinsel or wedging chocolate bars into oversized stockings, I am on the prowl for cloves.

For reasons I can't quite remember now, my mother's favorite Christmas preparation involved piercing oranges with cloves. It was all done very methodically of course. The cloves were arranged in tight-knit rows, leaving a small alley of space on the North/South and East/West axis. A strand of sturdy red ribbon was then tied around each piece of citrus, topped off with a loop, and then hung in every closet in the house.

All winter long, this pungent mixture of fragrances would waft out of the darkness holding our coats and gloves. I can still smell it, even now, if only by memory...

"Fair were they also, diffusing the odor of musk as they moved. Like the soft zephyr bringing with it the sent of clove." - Imru' al-Qais

A few days ago I was chatting with a student about a favorite song of hers. It was called "Hey Siri." I didn't recognize the title but she was so effusive I made a point of finding it on YouTube. The catchy melody and animated figures drew me in. But the words. Oh the words...

Hey Siri, what's the meaning of life?

I've been spending all my time

just trying to find

all the answers

to the questions

that you can't look up online.

Hey Siri, could you tell me how to

fix my broken heart?

No one made it stop

I just can't get it to start.

Hey Siri, are you happy?

Do you wish that you could cry?

Are you as lost as me?

Hey Siri, what's the meaning of life?

The ubiquitous presence of cell phones in our lives is touted as the answer to everything; our information portal, our social conduit, even our entertainment. But in the end, our flat screens do just that --- fall flat.

"Hey Siri, what's the meaning of life?" - Salem Ilene

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2OXgMj6NF08

Iconic partnerships. How about Sonny and Cher? Or peanut butter and jelly? But ice hockey and Los Angeles? Not so much.

Despite the assumed incongruence, I made my way to an LA Kings game last week, defying both traffic and the steamy Southern California temperatures. Not only did the home team get the win, but the contest became a vehicle for some pretty slick marketing. How, you ask, has ice hockey been glammed up for Hollywood consumption? Plastic surgery, that's how.

The story goes something like this. Bailey, the Kings mascot, had been placed on the team's "injured reserve list" earlier in the week. So when he appeared for his pre-game skate with bandages covering much of his head, it was announced he had undergone cosmetic surgery as part of a "makeover." Just when I thought it couldn't get any weirder, during the first intermission the celebrity doctors from the E! series "Botched" appeared at center ice to remove Bailey's dressings with perfunctory flair.

Step aside Wayne Gretzky. Bailey is coming for you...

"Plastic surgery is like a big elephant sitting in Hollywood's living room." - Patricia Heaton

After the death of my father, I stashed all of his military citations in the quiet darkness of my top dresser drawer. The WW II badge, the European Theater Commendation, the Purple Heart, even his vaulted Bronze Star.

But as the years went by, I felt like I needed a more visceral reminder of my Dad. So I dug through my closet, pulled out my Dad's old uniform, and then meticulously re-attached all of his badges and ribbons to the left-breast pocket. Mounted with full regalia, the jacket now hangs on a wall in my home, a drab olive shell revived by a gleaming metal sheen.

Today, on Veterans Day, we recognize those who have served our country as part of the armed services. Today is their day to shine. But perhaps, like my Dad's old uniform, the sacrifices of our veterans should hold a more prominent place in our hearts and minds. Today, tomorrow, always and forever.

"It's about how we treat our veterans every single day of the year. It's about serving all of you as well as you've served the United States of America." - Barack Obama

With holiday travel just around the corner, it felt like a good time to upgrade my luggage.

For the lion's share of trips, I rely only a backpack. Easier to navigate airport security. No waiting at crowded carousels. No muss. No fuss.

But every once in awhile, I need a smidge more space. For years I stuck to basic black when it came to luggage. Occasionally I would attach a colorful piece of fabric to differentiate my bag from its sea of compatriots. But most of the time, I was still left squinting.

This month marks a new era for me. Sure, my luggage is still a solid color. But it's bright, and more importantly, easily recognizable. That's right, orange is the new black!

"The world is waiting for you. Good luck. Travel safe. GO!" - Phil Keoghan, host of The Amazing Race

As a kid, I spent hours and hours on my very nerdy stamp collection.

I loved peering into the glass display case of our local collectible shop, looking for a rare match. I regularly queried the counter help at the town post office, hoping to secure some newly-issued stock. Occasionally I would even peel a postmarked stamp from one of those onionskin envelopes used for airmail, affixed by one of my mother's relatives writing to us from Galway.

Prior to 1900 the majority of stamps, not surprisingly, featured U.S. presidents. George Washington still holds the top spot for most appearances on a stamp. But in 2023, a new face will appear as part of our nation's "Forever" stamp series. Soon enough your stamp collection and mine can include a rendering of former Supreme Court justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg.

Featured in her traditional robe and collar, Ginsburg peers out from behind her glasses with her trademark steely blue eyes. Spending 60 cents never felt so good...

"The most interesting thing about a postage stamp is the persistence with which it sticks to its job." - Napoleon Hill

I have never been much of a fashion maven. I don't keep up with the latest changes in style. Truthfully, I hardly even notice them.

That said, it's hard to remain oblivious to the rampant return of the 1980's that current bathes the streets of Los Angeles. Neon. Fanny packs. Mom jeans. Even the immutable scrunchie.

Patented in 1987, the scrunchie was, in part, inspired by drawstring pajama pants. And if you're looking for some trivia for your next cocktail party, how about this factoid. The original scrunchie prototype, and the sewing machine it was created on, can be found in the Smithsonian. Crazy, right?

While plenty of A-listers have found their way back to this once verboten hair accessory, I don't see any scrunchies in my future. A characteristic I share with famed chef Gordon Ramsey perhaps?

"Chefs don't do ponytails. I guarantee whenever there is a discovery of hair in the food, the chef's ponytail is to blame!" - Gordon Ramsey

It's October, which means back in my hometown of Boston, the hot topic of conversation has to do with smoots.

As in Oliver Smoot, an MIT fraternity pledge who in October of 1958 lay down repeatedly so as to measure the length of one of the bridges that spans the Charles River. Yup, that's how they roll at MIT.

Every October the story of the famed prank is retold. For those of you who are trivia gurus the answer is 364.4 smoots (Oliver was 5' 7", you do the math).

In 2011, the term smoot made its appearance in the American Heritage Dictionary, the same year Google Earth allowed users to measure distances in smoots.

So next time you're in Boston, be sure to include a stroll over this famous landmark. The measurements are still there, blazing their way into infamy.

"The hardest thing in life to learn is which bridge to cross and which bridge to burn." - David Russell

I am a big fan, somewhat surprisingly, of all things HGTV. I just can't seem to help myself.

During my countless hours of viewing, I have seen more than my fair share of custom barn doors, farmhouse sinks, white subway tile, and rain-shower bathroom fixtures. Most of the renovations follow the same predictable pattern. Sunken living rooms, wood paneling, and shag carpeting -- out. Open layout, double ovens, and bronze hardware -- in.

Usually I don't mind seeing the same makeovers duplicated in every neighborhood across America. But in the name of all that is holy, who decided wallpaper needed to make a comeback? Particularly when placed ... ON THE CEILING.

It's bad enough that wallpaper exists at all. Even now, I am haunted by the thousands of small yellow flowers that dotted the wallpaper of my childhood bedroom. But to paste endless strips of whatever pattern above one's head seems like an extra strong dose of ridiculous.

I'm with Mr. Wilde. Stop the wallpaper madness before someone gets hurt......

Oscar Wilde (of the wallpaper in his bedroom): "Either it goes, or I do."

Yesterday was the September equinox, or in plainer speak, the beginning of autumn for those of us residing in the Northern Hemisphere.

The day passed here in Los Angeles without much fanfare. But for a native New Englander like me, I felt the change in my blood.

The switch of seasons triggers a slew of projects for cold weather folk. Fans are cleaned and put away. Window screens are swapped out for glass. Somehow the shovel has disappeared from the garage again and a run to the local hardware store is now in order.

But no one thinks much about the chores or the frigid temperatures to come. Because we are suddenly surrounded by a sea of yellow, red, and orange. Autumn leaves. Everywhere.....

"Autumn leaves don't fall, they fly. They take their time and wander on this their only chance to soar." - Delia Owens, author of Where the Crawdads Sing

In honor of Ted Walch (1942-2022)

We had one television in my childhood home. It was a big bulky console and functioned more like a piece of furniture than an entertainment hub. Simply adorned it featured two knobs; one to change the channel, one to adjust the volume. Resting precariously atop the faux walnut finish were a set of "rabbit ears," jauntily extended in hopes of capturing the faint signal of some faraway tower.

Every once in awhile, I would ramble down to our downtown movie theater. It had one screen, stale popcorn, and a sticky floor as I remember it. None of that mattered of course. Rows and rows of peering eyes, all glued to the screen, provided a magical camaraderie. In the darkness, our collective imaginations grew.

It wouldn't be until I was an adult that I would attend my first full-blown theater performance. I went to see Les Miz on a bone-chilling January night in NYC. I was gobsmacked.

Today I lift my glass to all the artists in my life. And, most importantly, to those who taught them their craft...

"Movies will make you famous. Television will make you rich. But theater will make you good." - Terrence Mann

Late Monday afternoon I turned the channel to ESPN. It was 7:00 p.m. in New York. And I, like millions of other viewers, watched as Serena Williams entered center court of Arthur Ashe Stadium, perhaps for the final time as a professional tennis player.

Chrissie Evert and Martina Navratilova, the titans of my youth, were both in attendance. Chrissie in the booth. Martina in the stands. Both had long ago passed the torch to Serena. But somehow, inexplicably, the years tumbled by and now she too was on the cusp of calling it a career. Much to my chagrin.

There is no debate. Serena leaves the game as the greatest of all time. But her legacy is far larger than her pile of trophies. She changed the face, the fashion, and the fortune of the game I love.

All hail the queen.

"Since I don't look like every other girl, it takes a while to be okay with that. To be different. But different is good." - Serena Williams