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

When it comes to stained-glass windows, I've seen my fair share.

For my money, France holds the winning hand given the religious trifecta that is Chartres, Sainte-Chapelle, and the iconic rose windows of Notre Dame. For those with a more secular eye, I'd argue the linear designs of Frank Lloyd Wright are hard to beat. And if your taste runs a bit more eclectic, how about the Washington National Cathedral? It boasts a window that houses a rock sample collected by the astronauts of the Apollo 11 mission.

There are as many styles of stained-glass as there are artists it appears.

Which may explain my experience last Sunday. While standing in the rear of a church waiting for the procession to begin, I saw what looked like a military figure embedded in one of the stained-glass windows. It turned out to be a depiction of General George S. Patton.

Patton, famed for leading allied forces at the Battle of the Bulge, was raised in the very church in which I stood. A hometown boy, captured forever in his favorite color ... olive green.

"Storytelling has driven faith and religious practice, keeping them alive for millennia. Every hymn, icon, and stained-glass window in a church links to a story." - Martin Linstrom

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.)

This past June I took my first ride in a hot air balloon.

In the wee hours that morning, my oldest friend and I made our way to a random New Hampshire parking lot. A small group had already gathered by the time we arrived, nervously scuffing at the ground. All of us signed a stack of release forms and headed toward a large field where the balloon was to be unrolled, inflated, and then launched.

What I didn't realize, until moments before lift off, was that the pilot had precious little control over what we were about to experience. The fiery plume that warmed the interior of the balloon increased its elevation. But the wind currents did the rest. North, South, East, West? That was all up to Mother Nature.

The pilot arranging the nine of us in the balloon's basket by weight, careful to distribute our girth evenly. And then as the sun began to peek out over the horizon, up we went.

Of all of the miles I have traveled, these were among the most unencumbered. No maps. No timetables. No destination. Just floating high above the trees, waiting to see what the world had to offer.

"Not all those who wander are lost." - J.R.R. Tolkien

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

And you thought Beverly Hills was all swimming pools and movie stars.....

Tucked onto the corner of Carmelita Avenue and Walden Drive in "The Flats" is the famous Spadena House, also known as the Witch House. It was designed in the "storybook style," showcasing a dilapidated but whimsical patina.

This particular residence was originally imagined by Harry Oliver, a Hollywood art designer during the 1920's and 30's. But as often happens in real estate, appetites change. And when the property returned to the market in 1997, eager prospectors, hoping to re-develop the land with a modern sensibility, emerged in force.

The home's unlikely savior? A buyer named Michael Libow, a real estate agent by trade who just couldn't bear the idea of this fanciful creation being lost. It stands intact today because of Michael's loyalty to the property's quirky architectural style, blessedly so.

As the spring season emerges in earnest, look around as you wander the streets of your own neighborhood. A hidden gem like the Spadena House might be just around the corner.

"An idea is salvation by imagination." - Frank Lloyd Wright

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

Birds are now using FaceTime. Yes, birds.

While listening to talk radio on my drive to work on Thursday, I heard about a research project developed by Northeastern University designed to alleviate the boredom, loneliness, and lack of something called "species identity," of pet birds.

Isolated from their flock, tame birds are particularly susceptible to such emotional crises. And thus, this unusual experiment was hatched.

Parrots were first trained to ring a bell, summoning a handler carrying an iPad. On the screen, images of various birds appeared. With the tap of a beak, a video call to the chosen fowl was triggered. In an interesting twist, the bird on the other end was given the choice as to whether or not to "answer." With a reciprocal tap, the two birds were connected, free to chat, pose, and preen.

I also learned parrots are neophobic, meaning they are often reluctant to try new things. So while some birds took easily to their new social landscape, others did not.

Sound familiar? Proving, once again, we are all birds of a feather.

"Loneliness is my least favorite thing. I worry about being alone, without anyone to care for or anyone who will care for me." - Anne Hathaway

In 1970, thanks to the vision of a Wisconsin senator, a nationwide demonstration was held calling for more stringent environmental protections. The first ever Earth Day.

Not a day goes by when our newspapers and televisions don't sound the alert regarding the countless ways climate change is wreaking havoc on our globe. If we're not at the tipping point yet, we are frighteningly close.

As a kid, I spent the majority of my time outside. One summer, after pleading endlessly with my Dad, he finally agreed to drive me to the trail made famous by Paul Revere. This 45-mile loop between Concord and Boston's Old North Church has remained largely unchanged since Revere's ride on April 18, 1775.

I walked alone on the shaded dirt path, buoyed by tunafish sandwiches and a small Polaroid camera. It took a number of Saturdays to cover the path in its entirety. But for the first time in my life, I experienced nature through the lens of time. A landscape still unspoiled, I was able to feel our nation's history through the soles of my sneakers.

Prior generations, thankfully, paying it forward.

"The greatest threat to our planet is the belief that someone else will save it." - Robert Swan

I grew up in a house that both revered and weaponized silence.

Half of us were quiet by nature, comfortable without the constant buzz of conversation and unnerved when the pitch of another's voice reached an agitated apex. The others drew energy from boisterous revelry. And when hurt or challenged, responded with more never less.

In 1996, a group of students at the University of Virginia organized a protest now known as the "Day of Silence." Hoping to draw attention to the harassment and bullying experienced by many in the LGBTQ+ community, participants spend the day without voice. This wordless effort "speaks" to the silence so many encounter when targeted. It is a clarion call designed to be deafening.

Today, so many decades later, the "Day of Silence" continues. What will it take, I wonder, for the silence to finally be heard?

"Does not everything depend on our interpretation of the silence around us?" - Lawrence Durrell

True confessions. I’m a bit of a recycling maniac.

I'm not above swiping things out of the kitchen trash that have mistakenly been discarded. I'm perfectly content to wash out even the stickiest of plastic containers in an effort to lessen the landfill. And don't even get me started on drink bottles. My recycling bin runneth over.

As we near the end of Women's History Month, it feels like the right moment to tip my hat to fellow recycling maven Liz Pinfield-Wells. Featured this week in The Washington Post, Pinfield-Wells placed recycling bins at the end of her driveway to collect items refused by her township's curbside pick-up. Over the course of the last four years, two additional tons of material were diverted for reuse. And as if that weren't enough, all of the money she was paid by various recycling centers has been donated to charity.

Here's to you Liz. You've taken the phrase "Mother Earth" to an entirely new level.

"The greatest threat to our planet is the belief that someone else will save it." - Robert Swan