Tradition. It's the very fabric of the holiday season.

This week I learned of a new tradition, courtesy of the U.S. Naval Academy. Army brat that I am, even I had to tip my hat to the efforts made by our country's midshipmen. Here's why.

For the past 40+ years, undergraduates at the Naval Academy have run a football from Annapolis, MD to the site of the annual Army-Navy game. Nearly all of the previous contests were played in Philadelphia, but this year the game was slated for Gillette Stadium, some 458 miles from the shores of the Chesapeake Bay. That's one long run.

The logistics of this year's relay were dizzying. Coordinating with both local and state law enforcement agencies, a route was mapped and supplied for the 194 runners assigned to the task.

As promised, the football arrived at 5:00 a.m. on game day, just in time to sneak through the stadium gates before the swarm of tailgaters descended.

As they say in the Navy...

"Damn the torpedos. Full speed ahead."

When I was about 8 years old, one of my older cousins gave me my first skiing lesson.

He took me to a place called the Blue Hills Ski Resort. With just over 300 feet in vertical drop, it was more like one big bunny slope. Still, that was plenty for this beginner.

After renting my gear, we both clomped out to the snowy flat at the base of the chair lift. But instead of instructing me on the vagrancies of snowplow turns or how best to plant my poles, he simply pushed me over. Surprised, I glanced up at him and struggled back to my feet. At which point, he pushed me over. AGAIN.

He then explained the real challenge of this particular sport was knowing how to avoid obstacles, how to stop, and how to recover once you fell. Skiing was the easy part he assured me. Once I knew how to get knocked down AND get up, I would be ready to ski.

Older cousins, as it turns out, can be surprisingly wise.

"Perseverance. The secret to all triumphs." - Victor Hugo

Final score. Needham 14, Wellesley 13.

During my senior year of high school, our football team won just one game. But it was the only one that mattered. Our annual rumble against our crosstown rivals. On Thanksgiving.

First held in 1882, this gridiron clash is the oldest public high school rivalry in the country. We weren't expected to win that year. In fact, it was the only win the team had all season. No matter. The glory of a Turkey Day victory lives on forever. Despite the expanding waistlines and wrinkles that inevitably mark middle age, the memory of that sweetest of wins remains.

On the cusp of this year's feast, I am grateful for all the traditions this time of year brings. A tart cranberry sauce. The smell of pies baking. Even 5K runs and the requisite polishing of silver.

And those two numbers. 14-13.

"When you win, nothing hurts." - Joe Namath (NFL Hall of Fame Quarterback)

Nos·tal·gia, /nəˈstaljə/, (noun) - a sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past.

Dubbed "the last Beatles song," John Lennon's AI-enhanced single "Now and Then" was released this past week. Fragments of the song were harvested from an old cassette tape Lennon had recorded in 1977. With assists from former bandmates Starr and McCartney, along with a healthy dollop of computer wizardry, the song was seemingly created from the musical ether of our collective memories.

I listened to it just once, while driving down Ventura Boulevard. It was strange to hear those familiar voices sing something I didn't recognize. I had anticipated this new riff would fill my heart with nostalgia, but it did not. Instead, I felt only sadness.

When the song was over, I quickly snapped the radio knob to off. The song was a door to my past I no longer wished to open.

I can still remember hearing the news of John Lennon's death, first announced by sports commentator Howard Cosell during a Monday Night Football broadcast. I lived less than a hour from the famed Dakota at the time, a proximity that only intensified my distress. Killed on December 8, 1980, Lennon was just 40 years old.

Now and then. The loss is still incalculable.

"Think about me now and then, old friend." - purported to be the last words spoken by John Lennon to Paul McCartney

With the price of Halloween candy up an average of 9.2% this year, perhaps its time to think more broadly about your favorite sweets.

According to the data-crunching folks at Real Simple, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups continued their nationwide dominance this year as the most popular choice in 18 states, including here in California. I love chocolate and I love peanut butter. But not in combination. Clearly millions of people disagree with my finicky palette.

Kit Kat, a favorite among folks in the Northeast and South, came in a distant second. Only nine states threw their support behind the crispy chocolaty concoction. Still, an 18% market share is notable.

A handful of other treats - Skittles, Snickers, and M&M's, round out the top five. But it is the enigmatic curveballs that always catch my eye. Like the snow-ladened Vermonters warming up with a favored box of Hot Tamales. The Kentuckians who chose Butterfingers as their candy bar du jour. Or the independently-minded Texans who insist that Starburst should reign supreme.

No matter what your pleasure, the neighborhood bowl of Halloween candy has got you covered.

"I can't help myself around candy; it calls to me like sirens to a sailor." - Jasmine Guinness

How do you spell October? B*A*S*E*B*A*L*L.

Yes, it's that time again, time for the "boys of summer" to play for a place in history. The protagonists of this year's signature event are an unlikely pair - the Arizona Diamondbacks and the Texas Rangers. But that's baseball, as unpredictable as it is endearing.

The "Snakes" finished the regular season with a pedestrian record of 84-78, well behind the glittery Los Angeles Dodgers. Their highest-paid player, lefty Madison Bumgarner, is not even on the team anymore. He and his 85 million dollar contract exited this past April after a series of disappointing performances. Not to worry, presumptive NL Rookie of the Year Corbin Carroll filled the void, bringing hope to a club often languishing at the bottom of the standings.

The Texas Rangers were given a 1 in 170 chance of making the World Series this season, sporting a 90-72 record heading into the playoffs. Their last appearances in 2010 and 2011 both ended in defeat. Indeed they have never won the coveted Commissioner's Trophy, something All-Stars Marcus Semien, Corey Seager, Josh Jung, John Heim, Nathan Eovaldi and Adolis Garcia hope to change.

Tune in tonight at 8:03 p.m. ET for the first pitch. Time to play ball!

"Baseball is an American Icon. It's the Statue of Liberty, the bald eagle, 'In God We Trust,' Mount Rushmore, ice cream, apple pie, and hot dogs. Baseball is America." - Victor Baltov, Jr.

I am not a mother or grandmother, at least not in the traditional sense, which is why I am filled with gratitude for the countless others who have chosen to share their children with me. There are few reminders more powerful of the preciousness of life.

And yet our headlines scream of death, the result of such carnage I am left without words. And so I rely on the admonitions of Aurora Levins Morales on the power of the maternal bond in the face of violence...

Last night I dreamed ten thousand grandmothers

from the twelve hundred corners of the earth

walked out into the gap

one breath deep

between the bullet and the flesh

between the bomb and the family.

They told me we cannot wait for governments.

There are no peacekeepers boarding planes.

There are no leaders who dare to say

every life is precious, so it will have to be us.

They said we will cup our hands around each heart.

We will sing the earth's song, the song of water,

a song so beautiful that vengeance will turn to weeping,

the mourners will embrace, and grief replace

every impulse toward harm.

Ten thousand is not enough, they said,

so, we have sent this dream, like a flock of doves

into the sleep of the world.

Wake up. Put on your shoes.

You who are reading this, I am bringing bandages

and a bag of scented guavas from my trees.

I think I remember the tune. Meet me at the corner.

Let's go.

Things heard during my latest Uber ride ... "Will you marry me?"

This past Wednesday, two friends and I called for a car to take us to the airport. Our driver arrived at the appointed hour in a Ford F-150. After tossing our luggage into the flat bed, two of us got into the backseat and one in the front.

Our driver, loquacious despite the early hour, immediately struck up a conversation with the latest passenger to ride shotgun. And before I knew it, they were excitedly swapping recipes for shanklish and kibbeh, prepared by grandmothers both well-versed in Middle Eastern fare.

As we sped down the Mass Turnpike, the conversation grew more and more animated, eventually leading to his tongue-in-cheek proposal.

He hugged all of us when we eventually hopped out at Terminal C, breaching both Uber protocol and New England sensibilities. So...

See you at the wedding?

"I realized very early the power of food to evoke memory, to bring people together, and to transport us to other places." - Jose Andres Puerta, chef

This past Sunday, as I exited the P.F. Chang's in Sherman Oaks, I brushed past actor Hal Linden.

At 92, Linden remains instantly recognizable. His fame, due largely to his portrayal of Barney Miller, the title character of a sitcom of the same name, is enduring. Linden won seven Emmy awards for his work on the series, a juggernaut for ABC during its run from 1975-82.

Unlike most cop shows, nearly every scene was set in the detectives' squad room. No car chases. No gunfire. No garish crime scenes to distract the viewer. Instead the audience was drawn in by a gaggle of likable actors with impeccable comedic timing. Linden, the star of this talented ensemble cast, relentlessly honed his craft. Which is why, even all these years later, it was a thrill for me just to share a doorway.

"The best part of acting is the rehearsal, because that's where the real discovery comes." - Hal Linden

I remember it like it was yesterday.

Just a few weeks into the fall term, my 8th-grade English teacher returned my first attempt at a proper essay. I grabbed my handwritten soliloquy as I exited class, eager to read the feedback. Across the top of the first page she had scrawled just three words.

"Queen of Gobbledegook."

There was more of course. Along with her rebuke of my overly flowery prose were comments about punctuation, vocabulary choice, and the occasional dangling participle. But it was the trinitarian declaration that stuck with me, splashed across the page in bold red ink.

This past weekend I discovered the American Writers Museum. Tucked inside a nondescript skyscraper on Chicago's Michigan Avenue, this jewel box is a love letter to both the craft of writing and to those who have spent their lives in its pursuit. Surrounded by the words of so many of my muses, I was reminded of the teacher who first inspired me to take my writing seriously.

Tough love. But love nonetheless.

"Write. Rewrite. When not writing or rewriting, read. I know of no shortcuts." - Larry L. King

Let's chat LA landmarks, shall we?

Serving southern California's sweet tooth since 1920, Hansen's Cakes has been creating sugary concoctions under the family moniker for the past seven generations.

A recent stop at their Fairfax location brought me face-to-face with a wall of celebrity photographs. The owner, known for personally delivering his creations to the Playboy Mansion, now courts celebrity clients like Tori Spelling and the Kardashian clan. And, apparently, me.

As I waited for my order, I strolled underneath a panoply of yellowing tributes penned by Johnny Carson, Bob Hope, John Wayne, and more. Star power not withstanding, I was already a convert. They had me at buttercream frosting...

"Let them eat cake." - attributed, however unlikely, to Marie Antoinette (Qu'ils magnent de la brioche.)

Am I the last to get on the Daisy Jones & the Six train? Yep, I thought so.

Released in March of 2023, this limited series follows the turbulent rise and fall of a fictional 1970's rock and roll band, based loosely on the legendary group, Fleetwood Mac.

As someone who spent their teenage years in the 1970's, this show provides a visual and auditory walk down memory lane. The hair styles, the fashion, along with an inside peek at the boozy, drug-riddled life of rock stars living in Laurel Canyon during the swell of its creative genius.

The show's concert footage pulses with energy. And at its center, actress/musician Riley Keough, the real-life daughter of Lisa Marie Presley.

Not surprisingly, as the granddaughter of the "King of Rock 'n Roll," Keough's performance is both believable and heart wrenching. The soundtrack of my youth clearly came at a price....

"Rock and roll is a contact sport." - Richie Sambora (lead guitarist, Bon Jovi)

This past summer I spent many a night on my brother-in-law's porch in North Carolina.

As day turned into dusk, the soft humid air grew still. And then on cue, the creatures of the night began to stir. Cicadas vibrated. Tree frogs croaked. And fireflies danced.

Every night I would squint into the black, searching for the next burst of light. I later learned each firefly has its own unique pattern of flashing. Through this staccato Morse code they mark territory, ward off challengers, and attract mates. Light is their "love language" it appears.

But this trademark bioluminescence is fleeting, disappearing almost as quickly as it appears. As do the fireflies. A reminder to all of us to cherish every breath, twinkling with promise.

"All the moments that might add up to God." - Rick Commons

My Mom was a chemist by trade.

Over the course of her career she designed hundreds of experiments, some of which were quite elaborate, to provoke the smallest of molecular changes. Then one day, in a fit of suburban housewife frustration, she decided it was time to make her children the object of her research. As you might imagine, the results were less than stellar.

Early one Monday morning, she left a pencil on the edge of the dining room carpet. How long, she wondered, before someone noticed the stray Ticonderoga, bent over, and picked it up. She was careful not to place it in an area of heavy foot traffic. After all, the pencil wasn't meant to be a hazard. Just a bellwether of our observational skills and/or indolence.

On Friday afternoon, the pencil was still there.

For years and years, my mother would reference the "pencil experiment" as a reminder to her brood of just how little effort it takes to be helpful. Oh the irony that it took an implement known for its eraser to get us to see something so very obvious.

"Three things in human life are important. The first is to be kind. The second is to be kind. The third is to be kind." - Henry James

The day I turned 16, I got my driver's license.

The person who administered my road test that day had a terrible hangover. Ashen and covered in a sheen of sweat, he slid into the passenger seat and instructed me to make three right turns. My "once around the block" exam seemed paltry given what was at stake. But I didn't care.

I was officially a licensed driver.

Where I come from, this upcoming holiday stretch is referred to as "Cape Weekend, " as in Cape Cod. Considered the opening salvo of summer, teenagers flock to the Cape on Memorial Day weekend. So much so that the road leading to the Sagamore Bridge is filled with newly-minted drivers, many of whom are making their very first long-distance trip behind the wheel.

Oh to be 16 again, doused in suntan lotion and racing toward the future.

"Patience is something you admire in the driver behind you and scorn in the one ahead." - Mac McCleary

Slán leat or Slán agat. For the Irish, two different ways to say goodbye.

The first (leat) is used when someone departs, leaving you behind. The second, for when you yourself are leaving (agat). Two different actions. Provoking two different emotions. Expressed in two different ways.

This week I discovered a third variation, something nicknamed the "Irish exit." I was introduced to this term while watching the latest episode of Blue Bloods (yes, I still watch network television. It's Tom Selleck after all!).

A quick Google search revealed this term signified someone who slipped away without telling anyone. Like ducking out the side entrance at church or disappearing from a party without alerting the host.

With graduation on the horizon, the topic of goodbyes has been on my mind of late. So whether you are leaving or being left behind, try and stand firm in the moment. In sidestepping the messiness of goodbyes, you risk losing their powerful grace.

"Sadly enough, the most painful goodbyes are the ones left unsaid." - Jonathan Harnisch

The lanyard. There is nothing that says "conference attendee" quite like a lanyard.

This past week, as I wandered the hotel hosting our annual clergy conference, I kept an eye out for my fellow lanyards. We moved like schools of fish through the maze of hallways, intermittently veering left or right as our schedules dictated. But all the while, silently attached by our lanyards.

I crafted my very first lanyard while still in the Girl Scouts, weaving long, flat pieces of plastic together until the box-stitch pattern grew long enough to wear. As a teenager, I wore that lanyard while working as a life guard, a silver whistle dangling from its metal claw fastener. So many summer days spent twirling, twirling, twirling....

I have since graduated to my adult lanyard phase, when plastic badges and meal tickets replaced my beloved whistle. But every time I slip a lanyard over my head, I can still smell a hint of zinc oxide.

"A life guard doesn't wait for her ship to come in. She swims to it." - Anonymous