As I walk down Sunset Boulevard toward Chateau Marmont, I notice a proliferation of the color pink. Raspberry lips on billboards, fuchsia bougainvillea spilling over cement walls. Pepto-Bismol and magenta façades. Bubble gum and carnation and cotton candy. Pink, pink, pink. Once I notice it, I can't not see it. Even the name has me thinking pink. It's a wild revelry, a carnival of color, that says more, more, more.

Cinque Terre

As I walked the worn trail toward the village of Vernazza in Cinque Terre, I looked toward rugged mountains on the one side, some painstakingly cultivated by traditional farmers, and a steep, rocky drop to mermaid green water on the other. You feel half-tempted to respond to that deep-sea Siren call with one wide-armed jump, but are pulled back to reality by dusty earth, terraced vineyards, and a well-trodden path to a colorful, welcoming village.

Ornaments from Around the World

A fat, brown angel with paper-light wings and a crown of stars appears in the branches of a Christmas tree, bringing grandma-kisses all the way from Hawaii.

Breckenridge, Colorado

On a clear winter day, we went snowshoeing outside Breckenridge, and as the sun began to set, we wound up a narrow road to a little motel at the top of a nearby mountain. We settled in for the night, our legs aching and our skin salty-smelling, with the snow falling lightly outside. The next morning, pure white covered the ground, shrubs and trees, and ski trails across the valley and contrasted with the evergreens—eye-straining brightness reflecting the sun's rays.

Yosemite National Park

When we drove into Yosemite, everything more than fifteen feet away from us was obscured by a thick layer of mist. It was like entering another world. On a narrow, winding road, we headed further into the park, where the tops of steep cliffs were completely hidden behind fog. The next day, I woke up prepared for more cold weather, but the sun was unobstructed. As beautiful as the scenery had been the day before, I was eager to see Yosemite on a clear day.

Gore Creek, Vail

It was early October, and I didn't expect to have to fight my way through a snowstorm to reach Vail. I also didn't expect to wake up to 26 degrees. But this view, framed by a rickety wooden bridge, almost made it worthwhile. As the cold air bit at my cheeks and nose, I leaned over the bridge and stared at the blazing aspens, the snow covering the riverbank and weighing down the evergreen trees, and the early morning sunlight on the water. Only later did I notice the spider web interlacing the beams—the little flaw that turns pretty things into beautiful things.

The Queen Mary

We walked through the habor toward the Queen Mary on a foggy day. Later, on the tour, we wound deeper and deeper into the ship, past gauges and steering wheels, restaurants and cabins—always expecting to see the ghosts of gloved and hatted passengers around the next bend. Then we resurfaced, like divers coming out of the dark sea, and took a walk on the planked deck before closing out the afternoon with a cocktail at the Observation Bar.