It was a sea of pink pussyhats - 500,000 marched in Washington, DC (and nearly 3,000,000 worldwide!). The vast crowd all marching together was certainly a hopeful sign that we have an enormous, energetic, movement starting the important work of taking this country back. Together we marched for women's rights, AND in outrage against everything else we know we're going to be fighting this racist, misogynist, insatiable narcissist hellbent on destroying our country for. And by everything I mean…

With the universe collapsing into the singularity that is Trump, we have 2 choices - run (!!!) or stay and fight. On the morning of November 9th, I wanted to run like hell and leave this godforsaken country to fend for itself. For better or worse, I'm stuck here for the time being, which gives me no other choice but to stay and fight. But hey - my needles are sharp and I've got a huge mess of pink yarn to pick from soooo... pussyhat project here I come!

I like to think I know a good thing when I see it. Which might mean I'll see it again. And again. I've been a regular at the annual Costume Institute exhibit at the Met for several years, but this year's show was far and away the best of the best of the best. Or maybe just my favorite. Which is why I've been 3 times this summer!

Remember when you were little and everyone asked what your favorite color was? Actually, I don't remember anyone asking me that question - ever. But I ask everyone and many people can readily proclaim their favorite color because each of us is drawn to certain colors - consistently. I love almost every shade of blue. In fact, my son has several middle names - one of which is Blue. It's the color of the morning sky. It's the color of the night sky. It's the color of the ocean. Blue is the color of forever.

When the architect Dame Zaha Hadid died, I was only vaguely aware of her name and her work. But when my phone buzzed with the New York Times news alert of her untimely death at 65, it prompted an obsessive and deep dive into her life, her trajectory, and the work of a lioness of modern design.

My sweet mother was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer at the beginning of September. It was quite a shock to everyone since she was a perfectly healthy, vibrant, and feisty lady. Her decline was unimaginably swift.  By January, my mother was in hospice, thankfully at home, where my brother and I spent a lot of time going through pictures with her.