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Flair
Lisa Lindo, iron lady
A POWDERY mist settles lightly in the valley as a hazy sun forces its way slowly over the hills. The air is damp, with a chill, sharp wind and heavy with the smell of rotting leaves and the bitter pungency of cedar. She stares dazedly over...
The stink and
sweet of fatherhood
Dear Diary: I have found that those pictures of ever smiling, ruddy-cheeked, 'antiseptically-clean' babies are a lie - a public relations gimmick to sucker men into blissful fantasies of fatherhood before reality hits you at the 4:00 a.m. feeding time.
Facing up to blotches, bags, sags and wrinkles
THE OTHER day I happened to glance absently into a mirror and - Yow! - there, looking right back at me, were my mother's eyebags. OK, I'd heard this happens. One older woman I know tells me she gets up every day now, looks into her mirror...
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