Ainslie Jones Uhl Ainslie Jones Uhl is a writer and former editor who recently relocated to Southern California from North Carolina and chronicled her first West Coast year for WVFC in her series "The Compass Rose."
Lifestyle · News

The Compass Rose: Kindred Spirits


An attractive blonde, wine glass in hand, sidled up to my husband. I could tell she was smart. She subtly moved her gaze from one end of the room to the other, checking for eavesdroppers in the crowd, as though she and he were co-conspirators in a clandestine operation. I moved in and assumed a protective stance, prepared to prove…
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Books · Technology

The Compass Rose: Saving Father Christmas From Kris Kindle


My office, right now, is a shameless jumble of multiple typed drafts of works in progress, random but important thoughts penned on index cards, carefully considered newspaper clippings, half-filled Moleskines and yellow legal pads, and dozens of books piled not so neatly on the floor. It is a writer’s room. Additional works of fiction, non-fiction and poetry fill two huge…
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Family & Friends · Lifestyle

The Compass Rose: Thicker Than Water


“Let’s have a family Thanksgiving,” I said to my friend Mary, “without any blood relatives.” It was a time a few years ago when I had had my fill of filial histrionics and was fed up with the my-way-or-the-highway holiday hosts. I wanted a tradition without the traditional baggage, a happy feast prepared and shared by all — and lots…
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Emotional Health

The Compass Rose: Freedom, Sunshine and West Coast Casual


My husband invited me to dinner last week. He made reservations at the finest restaurant in our neck of the woods: a white tablecloth sort of place, with a dining terrace positioned for viewing unobscured sunsets over the Pacific Ocean and designed for lovers anticipating the night. At last! Having the older kids in college and our youngest occupied with…
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Lifestyle · Music

The Compass Rose: Echoes of Divine Harmony


Henry’s extraordinary musical gift is filling the house again. It keeps stopping me in my tracks. His fingers move so easily — from the achingly beautiful deep sobbing of his cello composer to our ebony baby grand where he pounds the ivories with the bright indie rock sounds of Coldplay. Back and forth, cello to piano to cello. He hears…
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