I’m in the pool of California’s first Holiday Inn, now the Parker Palm Springs, gripping a yellow float with a proud smile on my face. Dinners were always at dimly lit Rat Pack-style restaurants where my mother drank Manhattans (my mother never drank Manhattans except in Palm Springs) and, much to my embarrassment, my wingtip-wearing father dined in his slippers. Decades later, not much has changed in Palm Springs, except that the sun-soaked city feels livelier these days. On a recent visit, for instance, the shops running along Palm Canyon Drive were bustling with tourists, snowbirds and Southern Californians like myself. From one-of-a-kind handcrafted ceramic lamps at the Shops at 1345 to hand-knit mohair sweaters at Market Market, it’s not hard to find something truly special inside one of these desert shops.