My Fairy-Tale Life, by Steven Boone

Stop signs have frustrated me in life. I get up to speed making real progress going to a destination, when suddenly the sign looms ahead; or...

Most dogs in America do not have a “dog’s life”. If they came down to Mexico, they would go running back home with tails wagging. Dogs’ in M...

  Lluvia is the Spanish word for rain. Now that the wet season has come to Oaxaca, the rain falls most days—and it is sweet. The dry, brown...

Book making is a wondrous and beautiful process. The best efforts are preserved for eternity, but most fall into oblivion. The book Amy and ...

The great jazz player Louis Armstrong said, “Musicians don't retire; they stop when there's no more music in them.” I have always th...

I was surprised to see Amy crying, because it is rare. She broke down while reciting the poem, Cultivo una Rosa Blanca, by José Martí, (Cub...

A party is in order. An artist has completed his masterpiece—an ornate railing for our stairs—and for that there must be an unveiling and ce...

I followed the bird in flight. It came from where the sun had risen along craggy cliffs at Mazunte, Mexico on the Pacific coast. Breakfast ...

  The shop is set back from the main street of Atzompa, a village on the outskirts of Oaxaca, famous for its pottery. A broad parking lot in...

  It is like surfing a big wave, moving to Mexico. I have been swept along, thrilled to be in each moment, feeling I could fall dangerously,...