A new study shows that people who wash their hands with soap and water - literally - after making a decision, have fewer regrets than those who don’t wash up. Researchers theorize the act of “washing your hands of the decision” sends a subconscious message to the brain.
I’m struck, not so much by the study or the results, but by how powerful our brains are, how susceptible to superstition, thoughts, affirmations and actions we are. “As a man thinketh, so he is.” Wise men from Job and Solomon to …

I’m usually 5 to 15 minutes early for appointments, for lunch, dinner - whatever it is. If I’ve never been there, or my appointment is more than an hour away - I leave early. I factor in parking and walking and traffic and mechanical breakdowns. As a result I spend a lot of time in waiting rooms reading magazines, or twiddling my thumbs, but that’s okay. I respect people’s time. But many people don’t. I’ve tried unsuccessfully to explain this to friends and acquaintences, but finally - I have an …

Today is my birthday!! I’m 55 and proud of it. Considering my parents repeatedly told me they wished I’d never been born, it’s a miracle I made it this far.
Apparently I saw something in myself they didn’t.
So since 55 is a special number to me, I celebrated. I ordered my favorite food in the whole world - Salmon Pinwheels from Allen Brothers. They’re stuffed with spinach and crab and brie - and not many calories (less than a steak). Divine. They are simply divine. If you ever want my undying …

If you think donating money to the Red Cross, dumping off your old, unwanted clothes at the Goodwill, or spooning out turkey and mashed potatoes at the local homeless shelter at Thanksgiving and Christmas is “doing good things” and makes you a “good person,” think again. You’re one of the MILLIONS of people who are just “phoning in” their charity. You have an excess and so you give, thinking you’ve really done something. You haven’t. You’re a fake if you think you’re really a “charitable” person.
The thing is, in a …

It was a high pitched scream that ripped the night. It wasn’t an owl, or a fox or a coyote. It wasn’t anything I’d ever heard in 10 years of back-packing. And it was close. I got out of my sleeping bag, reassured the six teen-aged girl scouts I had taken on their first backpacking trip that it was on a nearby mountain, not ours, and prayed I was right.
Then I checked the locked chain on the gate of the shelter. We were inside a three-sided, log cabin with a …