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New York in winter

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Dear tourists: Save a grand flying roundtrip from Omaha in June and come enjoy the splendours of a New York winter. From ice skating in Bryant or Central Park or Rockefeller Center to enjoying a hot cocoa with friends in the Village, the city is oozing warmth this time of year. True, you must pack that winter coat, a good hat and gloves, and another layer for every body part (I wore jeans and sweats yesterday). You must also check your vanity at the door, ladies -- caught my reflection and realized my face looked like a very white raisin. Remember to moisturize! I recommend dining indoors, not out, even when restaurants offer heaters oitside. It is impossible to heat the entire space and you will freeze running inside to the bathroom. Book ahead if you really want a decent table. My favorite restautants include Butter (butterrestaurant.com) in Midtown and Balthazar (balthazarny.com) in lower Manhattan. But for simple good eating either buy a hot dog from a street vendor or pop into
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Stockholm syndrome, but in a good way

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August 21, 2018: I needed to get out of town. I know that sounds rich coming from someone living in London this year, but it's how I felt. I'd bought the ticket months ago for just one night in Stockholm, a birthday celebration designed to punctuate a thesis already written. Unfortunately, that didn't happen; nor did plans to make my student loan stretch til October. I'm not even done with chapter one, and I'm so broke I'm 'borrowing' a bit of honey from cafes in order to add zest to a piece of bread. This is real. And yet, yes, I was in Sweden just yesterday. 🇸🇪🇸🇪🇸🇪 January 16, 2024: I just found the above paragraph in draft form. I had forgotten I had written it because the next day, my mother died. While in Sweden, she had told me to be sure and look at the bright, beautiful flowers in "Europe", telling me "I remember how beautiful they were." She had said this August 19th, my birthday. And so the next day, I just wandere
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Greener pastures: how New England is reimagining death

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After Lawn Love came out with a list of the most popular states for a "green" burial , it gave me pause: just what is a green burial, do I want one, and why hadn't I (Miss Green) ever heard of one? I had always figured cremation to be the greenest - or arguably, GREENER - alternative. I had seen death as bifurcated - I will be burnt or I will be buried. Scratch that, my body. I will be somewhere else, I hope, sipping a Mai Tai with Elvis, my mom and Uncle John. Connecticut is 24th in the nation for green burials, but Massachusetts is an impressive fifth. (Analyses of these figures is on Lawn Love's site.) A green burial, turns out, can take several forms - from choosing a Redwood we like (while alive!) and buying the little plot of earth around it (then buying a plaque to mark our spot) to, more popularly I think, being buried in a green fashion by forgoing embalming fluids or a toxic burial containers in favor of one that is biodegradable. Connecticut has Better Plac
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Blue skies? Not so much

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Awakening to another smoky sky is horrifying. We in Connecticut need to do more than pray for our Canadian neighbors or Google "when will smoke clear?" We must recycle, reuse and be conservative with energy, water and all precious resources. I can't tell you how many SUV-driving climate destroyers look down on ME for walking or riding the bus. (Shout out to that guy packing his bicycle basket at Big Y in Branford the other day.) We remain under an Air Quality Alert issued Monday by the Connecticut Department of Energy and Environmental protection until midnight. Climate change has already decimated or impaired many regions of the world, from Australia to California, depending on the season. Last time I checked, Canada was in the northernmost part of the continent, where warm weather has been a punchline. The New York Times has published an interactive map that shows frightening dark clouds intermittently shrouding the Tri State. They report data from the Canadian Interag
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Bye, Bye Trevor, Trevor Goodbye

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As I exited the Hell's Kitchen studio to the Bay City Rollers song , I crumpled. "I'd wanted to tell Trevor ... My brother is in Hawaii, I haven't seen him in four years (sniff sniff), and he said he'll (sniff sniff) just miss having Trevor make sense of the news every night." "Oh, I know," the blonde female staffer consoled. Why was I choking back tears? Somehow, missing my brother dovetailed with the stark realization that the moment was precious, that I had twice witnessed a rare star here in Trump's and now Let's-Hope-Not-Again-Trump's-America. His last show will be December 8. How to sum up lightning in a bottle? The obvious: He is humble, funny, dimpled, penetrating and engaging. The not-so-obvious: he needs time off to rest, connect with himself and family, to revisit or return to his roots ... and this is why he is so loved. Thirty-eight-year-old Trevor Noah was born when I was completing my undergraduate coursework at San Fran
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If You Knew South Texas

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A drive from San Antonio into the tiny towns of South Texas means passing miles and miles of stark, stuck-in-time landscape, replete with tumbleweeds and cacti. Dead armadillos are a given. Ditto deer heads at your local rest stop. My late mother was a fifth-grade teacher from Alice, Texas, about 45 minutes west of Corpus, two and a half hours southwest of San Antonio. Although I know the names Violet, Three Rivers, Robstown and Kingsville intimately, I had not heard the name Uvalde until the tragedy the other day. But that didn’t stop me from living the experience as I would have in Alice, when as an eight year-old I was ruminating in a summer school math class, miserable, missing my dad; or when I was a four year-old running from bats on Northwood Street or being pulled in the red wagon by next-door neighbor Mickey Hans. I had also lived with my grandparents Mama Sue and Pop, and "Unkie" Norman for the summer I turned one, while my parents visited my paternal relativ
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2021: The Wacky Wiegler Year in Review

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I hesitated before sitting down to write my annual 'Wacky' - seeing that last year I opted to write about the new year instead - for obvious reasons: Covid cases are soaring statewide, nationwide and globally. But, I realized soon after my mother died in August, 2018, that humor - specifically "Two and a Half Men" and Graham Norton - would help pull me through. We are wading through communal grief, such that most of us cannot even begin to articulate its depths. However, in grief grows a greater understanding of life's precious gifts. For me, that has meant long walks here in Branford, Connecticut, revelling in the change of seasons. From the spring spurts of life in the guise of the crocus to summer's sweltering gasp, the autumnal song of the crimson and amber leaves scattered about to winter's frightening white march. Here were some of the WW highlights of 2021: By January 28, Connecticut had rolled out at least one dose of a Covid vaccine to 8.8 perc
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