The Pink Palace.

Originally built in 1912, the Beverly Hills Hotel has been turning heads for more than a century.

Earlier this week, I found myself on the wide red carpet that leads into this posh establishment. The famed banana-leaf wallpaper is still there, as is the distinctive green and pink color scheme.

The hotel oozes vintage celebrity glamour. Dotting the walls of the lobby are charcoal drawings and black and white photographs of some of this landmark's most well-known patrons; Marilyn Monroe, John Lennon, Frank Sinatra, Howard Hughes, and of course, Elizabeth Taylor, who is said to have spent six of her eight honeymoons on the property.

That said, to go to the Beverly Hills Hotel is not an experience of grandeur. The sprawling grounds are carefully landscaped to offer the eye a smaller scale. The twisting paths that usher patrons to the bungalows are lush but petite. The pool, where Faye Dunaway once posed with her Academy Award, is tastefully constrained. Despite being lined with velvet, the elevators hail from the early 20th-century. Somehow the hotel's shimmering luxury remains demure, understated even.

If you're looking for vistas and marble and chandeliers, this venue is not the one. But if private nooks, polished bar tops, and a penchant for the 1940's, 50's, and 60's are what you seek, welcome to the Beverly Hills Hotel. It does not disappoint....

"I took my daily swim at the Beverly Hills Hotel pool despite the presence of onlookers." - Esther Williams, actress known for her "aquamusicals"

When I was a tween, my mother decided she would volunteer to be the leader of my Girl Scout troop. Ugh.

It had become increasing difficult to find mothers who wanted to chaperone the more outdoorsy events. When the topic of sleeping bags, campfires, and mosquito-laden adventures was raised during our monthly meetings, the silence of the adults in the room was deafening.

My mother was a rough-and-tumble kind of girl back in the day. She wore overalls. She braved the frigid New England ocean. She could identify most trees at just a glance and kept a copy of the "Peterson Field Guide to Birds" by her favorite chair. I still have her dog-eared copy.

She taught me to love and respect the created world, as she did. Taking on my Girl Scout troop was no big deal.

This past week we marked "Earth Day 2024," some 54 years after its inception. The current theme is "Planet v. Plastics." It's hard to imagine a solution to the overwhelming heap of polymers with which we have poisoned our earth. But as my mother's example has shown me, the first step is to throw yourself into the fray.

"Into the forest I go, to lose my mind and my soul." - John Muir, naturalist and conservationist

42

Inside the hearts and historicity of baseball, the number 42 is imbued with a kind of sacredness. Worn by Jackie Robinson, the first African-American man to play in the Major Leagues, this was the number sewn across his chest as he rambled out to first base on April 15, 1947, officially breaking the color line as a member of the Brooklyn Dodgers.

Robinson's number is on display at every baseball stadium across MLB, retired from use in perpetuity. And while he is among the most-lauded heroes of our national pastime, he is also a local boy. Raised in Pasadena, a statue of he and his brother Mack, an athlete in his own right, stand just across from City Hall.

The eyes of Mack are focused on Pasadena's central governmental office. Besides a trip to the Berlin Olympics in 1936, Mack spent his entire life in the "City of Roses." But Jackie's eyes gaze directly east, toward New York City, the site of his greatest professional and personal triumph.

"To do what he did has got to be the most tremendous thing I've ever seen in sports." - Pee Wee Reese, HOF Dodger shortstop and teammate of Jackie Robinson

A few weeks ago, when Easter was still on the horizon, a friend shared with me a quote her mother would spout in anticipation of the holiday:

"The definition of eternity is a ham and two people."

Truer words have not been spoken.

In celebration of the resurrection, I too had a few slices of ham. Later in the week I slapped together a ham sandwich and shared another plateful with a sick friend. But by week's end, after languishing in the refrigerator, the remainder made its predictable exit into the trash.

At the center of so many holidays are preparations that take hours to complete. Favorite recipes. Table decorations. All sorts of things that make those special occasions more meaningful.

If my Easter ham was a bit underutilized, I don't regret it. Holidays are meant to be celebrated, even if only for a few salty and delicious moments...

"It is up to you and me to take solace in nostalgia's arms and create the everlasting from a few fleeting moments." - Sanober Khan

April 8th. The day a narrow sliver of the contiguous United States will next experience a total solar eclipse.

Thirteen states fall directly in the path of the upcoming eclipse, the phenomenon of the moon passing directly in front of the sun, thrusting those in its wake into an eerie midday darkness.

The pricing of Airbnb rentals located in these areas have skyrocketed. Schools have been given the day off. And me? I'm busy constructing my cereal box viewfinder so I can safely watch this astronomical sensation.

Given the next eclipse isn't expected until August 23, 2044, it's time to grab that old Cheerios’ box out of the recycling bin. You don't want to miss this one!

"I was born during an eclipse. If you were born during an eclipse, it indicates your destiny is chaotic." - Gloria Vanderbilt

3.1415926535897932384626433832795028841971693993751

(at least the first 50 digits' worth)

Pi. A "mathematical constant," meaning a number whose value doesn't change no matter the circumstance. This kind of predictability isn't often the case in real life. Most things are in a constant state of flux, regularly affected by the context in which they exist.

Which makes Pi's infinite, non-repetitive pattern somewhat of a marvel. The perfect day, it would seem, to have Albert Einstein enter into our world. (b. March 14, 1879).

A theoretical physicist by trade, Einstein spent a lifetime trying to make sense of our surroundings. His accomplishments are many, so many in fact that he took home the Nobel Prize in Physics in 1921. But his work also provided the nascent seed of the atomic bomb. Einstein, an outspoken pacifist, later joined Oppenheimer in advocating against the development of the even more powerful hydrogen bomb. A plea that went unheeded.

Having unlocked so many of our universe's mysteries, we are now left to decide what to do with the repercussions of that which Einstein first discovered. A heavy burden indeed.

"Intellectuals solve problems, geniuses prevent them." - Albert Einstein

The whole fake eyelash craze? Yeah, I don't get it.

The other night I was watching American Idol (don't judge....) and one of the contestants had on eyelashes so long and so thick she could barely keep her eyes open. Her top lashes were particularly problematic. Curled and laden with mascara, they moved like an old-fashioned garage door, cantilevered and achingly slow to rise.

As someone who often dons glasses, extended lashes are out of the question for me. Even my own natural pair occasionally brush against my lenses, both annoying and painful.

I read the other day that Madonna purchased the most expensive set of eyelashes ever made. Designed by Shu Uemura, the diamond-encrusted pair cost over $10,000.

Like I said, crazy right?

"Honey, I am going to my grave with my eyelashes and my makeup on." - Tammy Faye Bakker

What do Steve Jobs and Diane Keaton have in common? Ah yes, the ubiquitous turtleneck.

This is traditionally not a flattering style for someone like me. I also find turtlenecks to be hot, claustrophobic tubes for my already too short neck.

Fashion druthers aside, the turtleneck originally performed a utilitarian function. Knights wore them to protect their necks from abrasions inflicted by their armor. Later on the turtleneck would be re-purposed as "workwear," a staple of many a blue-collar laborer. It is only recently that the "skivvy" has seduced chic trendsetters. And me.

As I have gotten older, I have come to appreciate this chameleon of garb. Everything from double chins, to wrinkles, to sun damage can easily be cloaked behind this trusty attire.

So whether it's classic, cowl, sleeveless, or mock, consider a new look for your nape. Sometimes modesty is the best policy....

"I bring a black turtleneck sweater everywhere - it's the great purchase of my life." - Nora Ephron

Waikīkī, meaning to spout fresh water.

The name of one of the world's most famous beaches, Waikīkī does not disappointed. The blue-green water is deliciously warm. Surfers dot the crest of curling waves, rumbling toward a shoreline of soft white sand. And every evening the sun sets over the water, just out of reach of the shadow of Diamond Head.

Lest you think it's all tiki bars and sunscreen, the history of Waikīkī is posted for all to see; on surfboards that line the walkway parallel to the beach. Every few yards a board brimming with text appears, telling the story of everything from Hawaii's royal lineage to the intrepid few who first took a board into the waves.

This past week I swam languidly through Waikiki's tidal pools, protected from torrents of crashing water by the sturdiest of seawalls. But my heart still skipped a beat every time a surfer streaked by - tanned and flush with the thrill of skimming across the sea.

"Nobody gets to the end of their life and wishes they surfed less." - Bradley Hook

If you look carefully you can see them glisten, wedged between the rocks and shells, a dash of color amidst the sand's tan palette.

Roiling salt water is responsible for their frosted veneer. After tumbling through endless tides, these shards are spat up on shore, left to wait for an observant eye, a collector, a beachcomber in search of the perfect find.

The treasure we seek? Sea Glass.

I have collected these pieces of "ocean jewelry" for decades now. I have countless bowls, filled to the brim with chromatic bits of glass. I found my favorite piece during a beach walk in Gloucester, a bottleneck, polished smooth by the New England ebb and flow.

The intersection of land and sea is both firm and fleeting. Perhaps that's its magic, a transformational line in the sand.

"I want to age like sea glass. I want to enjoy the journey and let my preciousness be, not in spite of the impacts of life, but because of them." - Bernadette Noll

Her voice had a distinctive rasp to it, the timbre only decades of smoking could cultivate.

Barbara. Or as I knew her, The Right Reverend Barbara C. Harris, the first woman to be consecrated bishop in the Anglican Communion.

In 1974, in Barbara's home church, eleven women were "irregularly ordained," disregarding a centuries-old ban. Known now as the "Philadelphia Eleven," this group forced the wider Episcopal Church to include women as members of the clericus. Barbara served as crucifer that day, leading a procession that would one day lead to her own.

Now, fifty years later, it's no surprise to any of us who knew her that she led the charge. Despite her diminutive size, Barbara was always the ring leader, the crusader, the voice for justice. She was unstoppable ... because she had to be.

As we mark Black History Month, I raise up the memory of Barbara Harris. A titan and a disciple.

"Middle children, especially left-handed middle children, tend to be fiercely independent. I think I fit that model. I was always the one who took risks and dared to do adventurous things." - The Right Reverend Barbara C. Harris

"Um, Robert Redford? Rev, I don't think I know who that is......"

At 87 years of age, it's been quite awhile since Redford was the focus of Hollywood's press corps. That said, is it really possible this latest generation has never heard of ROBERT REDFORD?

This past week my wife and I went to the Sundance Film Festival, an off-shoot of Redford's Sundance Institute. This ten-day showcase celebrates the art of storytelling. Now in its 40th year, Sundance is a place for emerging artists to shine. Named for his role in the 1969 smash, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Sundance is both Redford's creative legacy and his gift to the movie industry.

I simply can't bear to live in a world where Robert Redford is not a household name, so here is my own "top ten" list from his amazing body of work. Grab some popcorn, watch a movie or two, and then help me spread the word! #RedfordFanGirl

Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969)

All the President's Men (1976)

The Sting (1973)

The Way We Were (1973)

Jeremiah Johnson (1972)

The Natural (1984)

All is Lost (2013)

Ordinary People (director, 1980)

A River Runs Through It (director, 1992)

Quiz Show (director, 1994)

"Storytellers broaden our minds: engage, provoke, inspire, and ultimately, connect us." - Robert Redford

They call themselves the "Dow Janes."

I discovered the "Janes" in a recent article of The Washington Post. Launched by Harvard Business School graduate Britt Williams Baker, the group was designed as a financial literacy program for the growing legion of women in need of investment counsel. Tens of thousands are now enrolled in the available on-line courses, a recognition that women and money actually do belong in the same sentence.

I was still a young girl when my father first introduced me to the world of banking. One Saturday he took me, clutching my $30 in babysitting earnings, to our local Savings and Loan branch. The teller swapped my crumpled bills for a passbook savings log. Cracking the binding, I saw the purple-inked stamp she had made in the deposit column. The euphoria was instantaneous.

Discussions about compound interest, credit card debt, retirement accounts, and investment strategies soon followed. I was encouraged to take charge of my financial life as I would anything else.

Who knew that $30 would be the best investment I'd ever make?

"The number one problem in today's generation and economy is the lack of financial literacy." - Alan Greenspan (former chairman of the Federal Reserve)

"Turkey or cheese?"

I went to my local grocery store last week, turned the corner at the first aisle, and saw that NO ONE was in line at the deli counter. Yanking my cart to the left, I made a beeline to the cold cuts, thrilled at my good fortune.

The butcher ambled over, and then after slowly looking me up and down, said "turkey or cheese?"

Ok, I admit I'm not the hippest of dressers. I don't wear eye-catching jewelry. And sure, my footwear is pedestrian at best. But "TURKEY or CHEESE????"

Isn't there the slightest chance I could be a salami girl? Does nothing of me waft of cracked pepper or mesquite? Perhaps I can't pull off pastrami but how about bologna? Hell, I'd have settled for tuna salad.

And just as my hackles had risen to their apex I sheepishly whispered .... "um, cheese."

(a quote from HBO's mega hit The Sopranos....)

Tony: Revenge is like cold cuts.

Dr. Melfi: I think it's, 'revenge is a dish best served cold.'

Tony: What did I just say??

While idling at a traffic light, absentmindedly daydreaming, I almost missed her.

Then out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the statue perched on the opposing corner. The figure, striking a jaunty pose, held a propeller wing. It was famed aviatrix Amelia Earhart.

I later came to learn that Earhart had once called my neighborhood home. In recognition of her connection to the community, and her ardent love of books, the local library was renamed in her honor back in the 1980's. And this past week, aviation buffs once again spoke her name, recognizing the 89th anniversary of her solo flight across the Pacific (flown January 11-12, 1935), the first to ever do so.

The story of Amelia Earhart has pulsed in my veins since I was a young girl. My mother was the first to tell me of her daring exploits. I was instantly smitten.

So you can imagine how much joy it gave me to discover that scrawled over the fireplace in our town's tiny branch library is a message no doubt inspired by my childhood hero...

"I am a small-winged bird, but I can conquer the world." - Sidney Lanier

Ferrari. The story of how we are convinced it will never happen to us.

Just before I sat down to write my new year's resolutions, I ambled down the street to my local movie theater to see the featured matinee. Starring Adam Driver in the lead role, Ferrari tells the story of visionary car designer Enzo Ferrari.

Woven deftly between scenes shot at the race track, the audience is given glimpses of the inner workings of Ferrari's tumultuous marriage, his complicated relationship with his longtime paramour, and his ever-present grief over the death of his son. But it was his addiction to racing that provides the film's most ardent emotion. Behind the beautiful lines of his ferociously fast cars, Enzo Ferrari was a man possessed.

"Make no mistake, we are all racers," Ferrari opines. "We all know it's our deadly passion, our terrible joy."

This stark utterance has haunted me ever since. Our terrible joy.

As we launch another year, self-reflection is part and parcel of how many of us begin our next circle around the sun. This year I do that with a bit more trepidation as I consider Ferrari's warning of the dangerous temptations that may await…

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