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By LISA SMITH MOLINARI | Special to Stars and Stripes | Published: January 29, 2021 I couldn’t wait for 2020 to be over. I sprinted out of that abysmal year like I was escaping a burning building … only to find that 2021 was smoldering, too. COVID-19 was still raging, people were still rioting, businesses and schools were still closed, and we were all still stuck at home with Netflix and TikTok. A new year is supposed to feel like a fresh start, but other than a new spider vein I found on my thigh last week, all I saw was same ol', same ol'. Rejuvenation seemed impossible, because 2021...

By LISA SMITH MOLINARI | Special to Stars and Stripes | Published: January 22, 2021 This month, we all bore witness to the horrific extremes that some people will go to in order to avoid losing. Although no one wants to fail, the vast majority of us won’t turn to insurrection, violent assault or malicious destruction of property to win. Besides, for most of us, personal success or failure is not gauged by national elections, the stock market report or the Super Bowl. Winning and losing happens in small moments throughout our daily lives. We all experience failure when we burn the toast, a...

By LISA SMITH MOLINARI | Special to Stars and Stripes | Published: January 8, 2021 Like many Americans, I resolve to lose weight every New Year. The semantics of my annual pledges may vary — “get fit,”  “eat healthy,”  “fit into my jeans and still be able to breathe” — and my success rate has been highly unstable. But my motivation is always the same: Rid myself of that stubborn 10 pounds of flab that has haunted me since my mid-20s. Over the past three decades, I’ve tried almost every diet in one form or another, which, arguably, renders me an expert on the subject.

I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: I love my ShopVac. Typically, my love affair with this handy appliance is most intimate during the post-holiday cleanup.

By LISA SMITH MOLINARI | Special to Stars and Stripes | Published: December 14, 2020 “Lilly, wake up!” I whisper-yelled to my sleeping daughter, who looked as if she’d slipped into a coma overnight, “It’s seven-thirty! We’re leaving for the Christmas Fair in thirty minutes!” Lilly emitted a deep groan, clearly indicating that she’d forgotten the plan that we’d forged the night before: Get up early and be first in line for St. Matthew’s thrift shop Christmas Fair. I’d been frequenting thrift stores and yard sales my whole adult life. In college, I’d buy lambswool swea...