When I was a girl, my dad always tried to teach me about cars.  He pointed to what this thing was and he explained how it worked.   And I remember none of what he tried to teach me.  I remember looking at his tan, scarred hands, that grime under the nails that would never come out.  I can close my eyes and smell the mix of diesel fuel and cigarette smoke. That was the smell of my dad after a long honest day's work in the shop.  The literal blue collar with his name stitched across his chest.

The perfect place to begin traveling again is Carson Valley, Nevada. I'm tired of making "bucket lists", after the year we have all been through, it's time to start thinking about really matters. What will feed my soul, renew and refresh me? Where can I once again feel a connection with people, and validate a sense of resilience and purpose? Go beyond things to check off on your travel goals list.

On Thursday, my community of Santa Clarita suffered a trauma of the Saugus...

New Orleans is more than what to see and do. It's more than beads hanging off of street signs. New Orleans is tasting powdered sugar on the fingers, cobblestones that rise and fall with every step; big porches with small details. It's big music, marching through the streets and gentle hospitality.

Convincing my teenage daughter to hike Pinnacle Peak Mountain turned out to be more than family travel, it was a mother-daughter moment that brought us together.

After Denmark and Paris, the next destination on M's European adventure was Germany.  Here...