A Blast in Burbank

I came. I saw. I was conquered by the Burbank Local Authors' Showcase!

The event hosted 50 authors and sat me between Dina Gachman (author of Brokenomics, a funny looked at living frugally in L.A.) and Barbara Sheppard (author of a book on meditations helping one live peacefully, which basically means: Move out of L.A.).

I enjoyed talking to book readers. book lovers and other authors. The Sisters in Crime mystery authors of Nancy Cole Silverman and D.J. Adamson were delightful. I can't wait to read their books. People who engage with books are such an intelligent, interesting bunch of folks. And I'm not biased... too much.

Some highlights of the day included: 1) Talking to Publicity guru Liz Donatelli again; 2) Connecting with sweet friends who came to support little moi; and 3) Meet some New House Girl blog readers. After communicating with some blog readers via this blog, I (finally!) got to meet them in the flesh, shake their hands and laugh together.

It was pretty great.

Thanks to everyone who came out to make this local author so happy to be showcased in Burbank!

Have a great day reading!

Going to Burbank!

A home to families, a boring (yawn) place, the butt of late-night jokes, "beautiful downtown Burbank" has had its share of disparaging comments. But say what you will, this Saturday I'm thrilled to be going to Burbank, California to partake in the Burbank Local Authors' Showcase!

Comedy me will be joining, among other writers: Dee J. Adams who writes Romantic Suspense, Diane Haithman who wrote Dark Lady of Hollywood and Felice Fox who writes Lust and Love Stories. Lust and love aren't the same thing? Darn. I'm going to have to break the news to Mr. Wonderful.

All this writerly action is taking place Saturday, Oct. 17th 1-4 PM at the Burbank Public Library's Buena Vista Branch. There won't be yawns, it won't be boring and there will definitely be families and book lovers there in beautiful downtown Burbank.

I'm so excited about being in Burbank for this event, it makes me want to sing about Burbank, courtesy of Burbank High School grad (1924), Cole Morgan.

In Burbank, In Burbank,

Way out in Burbank, California,

I want to warn you,

Don’t let your footsteps stray,

When you start to come this way,

For you will surely stay,

Until the Judgment Day!

Now this event is just four hours long, so you need to be there between 1- 4 PM on Saturday  But if you would like to linger in Burbank, I won't stop you. I'll join you.

In Burbank, In Burbank,

There’s no place on earth that could be fairer,

That’s no error.

There’s a happy throng,

Just ten thousands strong,

And in Burbank Town you can’t go wrong.

You can't go wrong by coming to the Local Authors' Showcase! I hope to see you in Burbank this Saturday to hob nob with writers and talk books, Books, BOOKS!

CHEERS!

Yelp Help

“The House exterior doesn’t look good,” Mr. Wonderful said pulling at a flaking paint chip with his fingernail.
“I know,” I said grabbing 14 bags of groceries from the car and slinging them over my shoulders.
“It needs to be painted,” Mr. Wonderful said gazing at the trim.
“I know,” I said staggering under the weight of the bags.
“We should do it ourselves.”
“I kno— What?!”

Fixing up a fixer-upper House is a lot of work, You research, you sweat, you go to the home improvement store six times—In. One. Day. You drop everything to make The House look good. Look better. Look the best it can be. All by ourselves we’d fixed up the inside, the garden side and the poolside. But did we really have to do the outside?

I wasn’t being lazy, just practical, after all it was summer in Southern California: that glorious time of year when ice cream melts while still in the freezer. I could not imagine washing, sanding and painting The House’s exterior under a gray wintery sky not to mention under SoCal’s blazing summer sun. 

“I respect your DIY enthusiasm,” I said plopping the grocery bags on the kitchen floor “but shouldn’t we hire a specialist to paint the exterior?” 

“And trust someone else to do it?” Mr. Wonderful said examining the paint chip in his hand. “No way.”

“Many companies paint house exteriors. So they must be trustworthy to base their entire business model on it.”

“But they won’t do as good a job as me.”

“It’s 116 degrees outside. Do you want to paint The House?” 

He shook his head. “But where will we find a painter?” 

Mr. Wonderful may be the pro at deciding when to use a Phillips screwdriver or using… the other type of screwdriver, but I am the expert on getting information. With groceries stowed away, I bounded outside.

“Hi, Harold!” I hollered to our 86 year-old neighbor. “You had your house painted last year.”

“That’s right,” Harold said sweeping the dust from his car with a large, soft brush.

“Who did it?”

“I’m not telling you.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You heard me.”

“But we want our House to look as good as yours.”

“There’s already paint flaking off. See?” he said jabbing a finger at his garage door trim. It was minuscule but if Harold didn’t trust this painter there wasn’t an ice cube’s chance in summery L.A. that Mr. Wonderful would.

“So you won’t tell me who did it?”

“Nope.”

“Thanks for nothing.”

“You’re welcome for nothing.”

But Harold was not the end-all be-all of neighborhood news and Angie’s List-like recommendations. I had other sources like this little thing called… The Internet. BAM! Take that, Harold!

I googled “exterior painters” and got several listings on Yelp.com. What an odd name for a review site since yelp means “to give a quick, sharp, shrill cry, as a dog or a fox.” On second thought it’s not any worse than Yahoo.com’s name, where yahoo means “a coarse or brutish person”.

Choosing a painting company with a local address I read a review of it on Yelp. A customer said: This was the best painting job ever! I’m so happy I chose this company!

The very next reviewer said: This was the worst painting job ever! Choosing them was a bad life decision! Even worse than when I dated that serial killer. 

How could the same company get such glowing reviews and such horrible reviews? Did it do spotty work—excellent sometimes and poor other times? Or did it have less to do with the painting company and more to do with… the reviewer? Having been around my share of blocks, I had noticed that Yelp’s mixed-bag reviews phenomenon didn’t just happen with painters, it happened with restaurants, hotels and nail bars. People either love-love-loved something! Or hated it with a passion normally reserved for Nazi war criminals. I’ve seen Yelp “reviewers” give a restaurant a horrible review not because the food was bad (it wasn’t, it was actually quite good and affordable) but because the waiter didn’t serenade them with Happy Birthday Cha-Cha-Cha, give them a free dessert and tuck them in bed at night. 

It’s outrageous, really. I have actually chosen to go to restaurants with 

both great and terrible Yelp reviews and my finding was that the restaurants were very good. Proving my point that the disgruntled Yelp reviewer will complain about anything, even if it’s unfounded. Okay, especially if it’s unfounded. Actually it’s moniker fits: the reviewers are all giving quick, shrill cries… for attention. 

Nevertheless dropping some cash on a restaurant with mixed-bag reviews is not the same thing as rolling the dice on a large expense like painting a whole house. While Harold gave me too little information, Yelp gave me too much. Yelp couldn’t help me find a painter. 

Disheartened after spending hours online with nothing to show for it, I went outside to wrack my brain for a good painter and get the mail. Then BAM! Swinging from our front door was a door hanger advertisement for an exterior house paint specialist. The ad said the company painted historic homes in Pasadena and throughout Los Angeles, which intrigued me. But what really impressed me was that someone from that company was walking door-to-door drumming up business. In. This. Heat. 

Since they could tolerate this heat, they had earned my attention. I made an appointment for a free estimate. The owner visited The House himself to give me the estimate. I found him to be nice, fair and professional. Finally I had found our painter!

Afterwards I looked the company up online. A Yelp reviewer said: This was the best painting job ever! I’m so happy I chose this company! While the very next Yelper said: “This company hung a door hanger ad on my door! That’s the worst thing anyone’s ever done to me. Including that Nazi war criminal—”

All those Yelp reviewers: what a bunch of Yahoos.

NEXT: What Color to Paint The House?

Want to read more? Get Alicia Bien's Award-Winning Book EVOLUTION OF A WINE DRINKER.

The Great Flood

California + August = heatstroke.

It was the summer of  '15--hot and dry as a cow bone. We were in the fourth year of a drought when something amazing happened. The flood hit! A flood of "water", you say? Heck no. Tomatoes!

Back in May I'd bought four scrawny plants of the "Early Girl" variety. In my garden patch I dug four holes, plunked a tomato plant in each one, added some water and chicken poop then waited. One plant died. But soon the other three plants shot up and sprouted petite yellow flowers. Each bloom became a green fruit, which ripened into a red orb or lusciousness.

Then less than the prescribed 90 days after planting, the three plants--over five feet tall!--were weighted down with their bounty. The only thing I could do was pick the fruit and and eat it.

Wow! These tomatoes were delicious! Correction: Are delicious because we are still eating them. I've put these tomatoes to work in salads with feta cheese and cucumbers, on BLTs, in omelets, in pasta dishes, on toast, in grill cheese sandwiches, in ratatouille, beside steak, next to potatoes, on top of noodles, rice, bulgar and quinoa. Yet no matter how many tomatoes I use the three jumbo plants kept flooding us with fruit!

I've given bags of tomatoes to neighbors, friends, a random lawyer, my dentist and all 16 of his dental hygienists. The latter loved them because tomatoes don't cause tooth decay, which is very important to dental workers.

The Great Tomato Flood is still happening and I'm enjoying being awash in summer's finest fruity-vegetable. I'm riding this wave as long as it lasts.

California + August = Culinary Happiness!

Summer Trips: Highlights

A picture is worth a thousand words. Or at least 250 of 'em. To share how great my trips were this summer, here are some of my favorite photographs. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did!

One of the highlights of going to San Francisco this time was having lunch at the the famed Cliff House restaurant. The atmosphere was classy, the crab sandwich was delicious and the view of the Pacific Ocean from the dining room was awe-inspiring.

With its grape vines and sunshine, Sonoma County is one of my happy places and this return trip did not disappoint!

We also attended the Sonoma-Marin Counties Fair where I saw plenty of fowl at the Poultry Palace, the porkers run in the Pig Races and the Beach Boys perform (minus Brian Wilson) "Help Me Rhonda". All for $15--it was money well spent! After seeing the Pig Races I wondered how had I reached this point in my life without ever having seen a Pig Race?! I highly recommend this fair and Pig Races!

We spent some time on San Francisco Bay in a boat. I appreciated the simplicity of boat living. Fewer rooms to care for and fix up, quiet neighbors. But I sure would miss my garden and I bet Harold would miss me. Okay, maybe he wouldn't but that's still okay.

Sequoia National Park is so majestic with its massive Sequoia trees. Walking among the giants put things into perspective for me. Basically: The trees are huge and I am small but I still need to protect them.

We also visited Moro Rock which has a trail going up its spine for a splendid view of the valley far, far, FAR below. In the photo below, the "bumps" on the rock behind us are people (!). It is simultaneously the most exhilarating and scariest hike in a National Park. Hands down.

I even became a tourist in my home city of Los Angeles when I visited the La Brea Tar Pits again. The museum has added an excellent CG movie illustrating life 11,000 years ago in Hollywood for Saber Tooth Tigers, Dire Wolves and Woolly Mammoths. This site remains an active archaeological site and is the world's largest archeological dig site in a large metropolitan area. Who knew?

I also met the skull of a Saber Tooth Tiger up close and personal.

Mr. Wonderful and I had great trips this summer and feel refreshed to start work again on the house. Although... maybe we'll stretch summer out and start the DIY work AFTER Labor Day.

Happy summer to you! What did you do? Where did you go? Tell me where in the comments!

What Happened To You?

“What a great trip,” I said tossing the dirty laundry into the hamper with a bandage on my finger.
“Yes,” Mr. Wonderful said stowing the empty suitcases in the closet.
“I loved seeing the sights.”
“Yes.”
“Eating great meals.”
“Yes.”
“And laughing with my awesome family and friends.”
“Yes,” he nodded. “…So, let’s get working on the house again.”

When we bought our fixer-upper House I was thrilled. Finally we had a place to call our own; a place to live in; a place to love in; a place to lounge around in our pajamas ’til noon in. I was so happy with The House that I didn’t want to travel overseas, go away for the weekend, even go out for coffee. I just wanted to encase myself in The House forever like a caterpillar in its sticky, sweet cocoon.

That was until the DIY work dragged on and the DIY monster within Mr. Wonderful awakened. For months he had led the attack as we redid the living room, the bedrooms, the hallways, the kitchen (twice), the pool, the front garden and the back garden. We would have redone the roof garden but (thankfully) we didn’t have one. A “roof garden” that is, we did have a “roof”. Although Mr. Wonderful keeps repeating: “We’ll have to redo the roof sometime,” while shaking his head, which makes me shake in my boots.

So finally after working nonstop on The House, Mr. Wonderful and I broke out of its cocoon coziness like two young butterflies off to explore the wider world. I felt refreshed and recharged because like my spouse, the travel was wonderful.

But now we were back home.

“Mail,” the postal carrier said walking up the driveway.
“Thanks,” I said receiving a bundle of advertisements with my bandaged finger.
“You still live here?”
“Ha-ha! We were just gone for a while taking a fabulous vacation to Wine Country, San Francisco and the National Park—”
“What happened to your finger?”
I raised the bandaged digit and shrugged. “I sliced into it while cooking.”
“Wow,” he said with eyes growing large. “Did you cut it off?” 
Here I was visibly blooming with beautiful vacation stories and all he wanted to do was talk about my bloody finger. 
“I still have it,” I said waving him off with my unbandaged hand.

But as I wandered my front garden I wondered about his question in particular and people in general. When confronted with good news and bad, do people prefer discussing the bad? I shook my head. To be fair, I didn’t know this postal carrier well. I rarely saw him so maybe it's just strangers who focus on the bad as a form of chit-chat. I mean, how many times have I been in an elevator when a complete stranger revealed dark family secrets that never should have seen the light of day? Too. Many. Times. 
No, I thought, not all people wanted to hear bad news, just the strangers in our life.

“Where have you been?” said our neighbor with the bright blue eyes. 
“Thanks for asking, Norma,” I said with a wave. “Actually, where haven’t we been? We went to delicious Napa and Sonoma Counties, beautiful Sequoia National Park and fun San Francisco where we saw my—

“What happened to you?” she said shielding her baby blues from the bright sun.

“This?” I raised my hand revealing the bandage on my ring finger. She nodded. “I cut myself while cooking.”
“It looks serious.”
“Well—”
“Did you hit the bone? Did you lose the tip?” she said peering at my digit with a laser-like gaze as if her vision alone could heal it—or cut it off. “Was there a lot of blood?” 
Why did this 85 year-old woman get excited by bloody, chopped body parts? I’m friendly with Norma, so why didn’t she want to know about my very happy trip rather that the shock value of did I decapitate my finger? 

Answer: She was just like the postal carrier who didn’t know me at all. Didn’t anybody I knew want to know how my trip was?

“So you're not dead,” my 86 year-old neighbor said exiting the garage with a broom. 
“I’m alive and kicking, Harold!” I beamed at the neighbor I saw the most. If anyone cared about my trip, it would be him. How many hours of conversation had we shared from our respective driveways, over the fence and in his wood-paneled family room? You could count them in weeks. No, months! Years, I say! “So Harold, we drove up to San Francisco and went on a boat docked in the bay—”
“Did you sail around?”
Harold was asking me questions about the content of my trip! How thrilling! He cared more about me than my chopped finger! Hooray!
“No, we had drinks and then slept on the boat. The next morning we woke up to the sound of lapping water and barking sea lions. It was magnificent!”
“You didn’t sail the bay?”
“No but—”
“I guess you couldn’t sail anything with a chopped-off finger.” He peered at me through his eyeglasses, which magnified his eyes ten fold. “So how did you cut it off? Was there a lot of blood? Did you hit the bone? Go to the hospital? Call 911—”

When I entered The House I still heard him asking questions. For the record: I had a great time in Wine Country, San Francisco and Sequoia National Park. It was FABULOUS, I say! 

P.S. And my finger is healing well, too.

Independence from Wooden Teeth Day

Virginia has George Washington’s home.

New Jersey has George Washington crossing the Delaware.

And Washington D.C. has... George Washington’s fake teeth.

Most of the year I’m thrilled that I live on the Pacific coast. In California we have beautiful weather, good food, great wine and a happy people. But there is one day—July 4th—when I miss the history found seemingly everywhere back East. While California embraces all that is new, the Mid-Atlantic states respect and protect the history of our country’s founding. Not the least of which are George Washington’s dentures, which for the record were not made of wood but ivory, metal and human teeth.

Nice.

While California may seem far away from the battle sites of Trenton, Saratoga and Yorktown; a world away from the Boston Massacre and Boston Tea Party; and on another planet from snowy Valley Forge, we have something that the East coast has, as well as the Midwest, the West and the South. This thing that all our states have is more moving than seeing a revolutionary battleground, another bed where Washington slept or the table where George rested his dentures. No matter where we find ourselves on July 4th, what we all have are the words that started the American Revolution and explained our rationale for wanting our independence. 

Continuing one of my favorite traditions, I’m off to read the Declaration of Independence, which you can read here, too. 

After which I’m going to eat some barbecue with my own real teeth. Happy Birthday to us! The United States of America! 

Grape Harvest

"Have you seen the grape vines?" I said standing in the backyard. 

"Nope," Mr. Wonderful said heading toward the pool with a beach towel slung over his shoulder.

"Look here."

"They have grapes?"

"Grape vines are known to grow grapes."

"But it's so hot."

Gardening is hard but gardening in a drought is near impossible. Luckily I got the drought tolerant and sun-loving plants in the ground a couple years ago so that now they have well established roots that go down deep, all the way to China.

In my garden the Apricot tree, the Manzanita tree and of course the Grape vines are doing exceedingly well. The Pansies not so well. They're such... pansies. Grape vines thrive in the heat and the ones in our backyard are starting to look red and luscious. They're not as large as the grapes you buy at the grocery store, but if last year is any test, I personally think the flavor of our grapes trumps store-bought anyway. I'm by no means biased.

I sampled a bunch of grapes today. They tasted sweet and delicious. The other bunches of grapes on our vines are still ripening but if they turn out to be like the bunch I nibbled on for lunch, things are looking good for a good grape harvest in a week or two.

And if I time it just right I can harvest all of them while Mr. Wonderful is in the pool.

To be Continued...

His Day

Wishing all the fathers, dads, papas and da-das a very happy day today!

Because if you're anything like my dad was, you deserve it!

Something New

“I bought something new,” I said setting a wrapped package on the coffee table. 

“Is it for me?” Mr. Wonderful said shaking the package.

“Nope.”

“For Jackson?”

“Nope.”

“For The House?”

“Nope.”

“Who’s it for who then?”

“Me.”

When you do everything for everyone else all the time, people and felines tend to forget that you need anything like a break; want anything like a new treasure; or dream of anything like a mani-pedi with a foot massage happy ending.

So after buying Mr. Wonderful everything that his chicken heart desired, purchasing for Jackson the coolest catnip toys and shopping for The House at the home improvement store for months, I finally took matters into my own hands. I went shopping for me. 

And it was glorious! Now I’m not one of those big spenders throwing money around like dirty tissues during flu season. If I’m feeling blue I do not need to buy a huge-ticket item to feel better. Nor do I need to buy multiple items to improve my mood. All I actually need is to get one nice thing. In fact when I have been sad I’ve been known to accept things for free, which cheered me up just as much as buying something. And once at the beach I even found a perfectly round stone so I brought it home and that free stone—now paperweight—still makes me grin with pleasure. 

For me it’s not about the spending, it’s about the getting something beautiful to remind me that life is beautiful.

On this particular afternoon I was running errands, when through a shop window I saw a pretty yellow vase with a doughnut hole. It was tall with an appealing shape and color, the shade of which would match the dining room. But did I need another vase? Nope. I walked on. After running my errands and meeting a friend for a wine tasting, I passed the shop window again. The yellow vase was still there. I still liked it. But did I need another vase? Yes! Hooray for wine tasting.

I bought it, brought it home and filled it with water, a white Lily and a red Gerber Daisy. I didn’t need it. But it brightened my day reminding me on this May gray day that life is beautiful. 

“That looks good,” Mr. Wonderful said pointing to the flowers in the vase.

“Thanks,” I nodded gazing at it while a smile teased my lips.

“I like when you buy things for you.”

“Really?”

“Especially when I get to enjoy them, too.”

Everyone likes a little beauty to remind them that life is beautiful. Enjoy this beautiful day!

Want to read more? Get Alicia Bien's Award-Winning Book EVOLUTION OF A WINE DRINKER.

The Challenge

I wanted it.
I'd trained for it.
I had to win it.
But I didn't count on Jackson.

Memorial Day is about remembering those military men and women who have fought for our country.  To them I say, "Thank you, ladies and gentleman, for your service."

Across America, Memorial Day is also about boating, BBQ and beaucoup beer. In my California neighborhood it is also about putting out the American flag first. My neighbors and I could keep our flags up all day, every day and night, but we don't. That would be cheating. Last year I noticed how my 86 year-old neighbor had decorated his front yard in 76 mini flags before I could even get my one large flag displayed.

"Hey Harold, you're quick with the flag draw," I said pointing to his flag display.
"You have to get up pretty early to beat me to it," he said folding his arms across his chest.
"Are you challenging me?"
"I'm just saying: I'm always the first one in the neighborhood to put up the flag," he shrugged and shuffled off into his house. He was... gloating.

Challenge accepted, Harold. You. Are. Going. Down.

I prepped for our competition. For weeks I set my phone alarm for the crack of dawn. I practiced putting on my shoes while half asleep. I trained in lifting the flag like the soldiers of the Iwo Jima statue. Finally the big day arrived. The night before Memorial Day I pulled the flag out of the closet, propped it next to the kitchen door and dusted off its exterior flag mount on the front of the house. Fully prepared, I went to bed. On M-Day I rose at 5:45 AM, pulled on my clothes and shoes and peered outside. Harold's flag was not up. Ah-hah! I raced to the kitchen door sure of victory.

Unfortunately Jackson did not know that Harold and I had a serious competition going on at this hour of the day. Rather he thought I had arisen from a deep, snored-infused sleep to feed him his can of wet food. As I approached the kitchen door Jackson was threading his body in and out of my legs. How could I get outside with this cat tripping me up? I couldn't. Boom. I fell over the feline and landed in a downward-facing dog pose.

Walking my hands toward my feet I stood up, tore open the pantry and grabbed a can of salmon shreds cat food. Pulling off its seal proof top, I slid it in front of the cat like a deli's short order cook then resumed my flag competition.

Opening the door I rushed outside, grabbed the flag and sped to the front of the house. Unfurling the stars and stripes I stabbed the pole into its mount. A smile spread across my face. Success! I beat Harold! Then turning to my neighbor's yard, my stomach fell. Harold's flag was mounted and flapping in the gentle morning breeze. It looked beautiful. What didn't look beautiful was my second place finish.

But then I thought about it: flying the flag--whether you're first in the neighborhood or last--is about honoring our servicemen and women. Which means anyone who flies a flag is a winner. Or at least that's my consolation prize for this heart-breaking second place.

Wishing you a fun and thankful Memorial Day!



Want to read more? Get Alicia Bien's Award-Winning Book EVOLUTION OF A WINE DRINKER.

Her Day

I'm glad she gets one day out of 365.
I'm glad our culture pauses to say thanks to the woman who holds it together.
I'm glad Mr. Wonderful finally made me breakfast.

Happy Mother's Day to all the mamas out there! Thanks for all you do, for whenever you do it and for doing it even when you're bone tired. Your kids appreciate it. At least I do.

Also, thanks to Anna Jarvis and Hallmark for making this a day when women don't make breakfast. This morning Mr. Wonderful stepped up to the plate and served me homemade crepes. They were so tasty I think Mother's Day should happen more than once a year!

Any takers?

May!

"What's this?" Mr. Wonderful said closing the front door on the work day.
"A bouquet of flowers," I said fluffing the white hydrangeas.
"But--"
"I'm not allergic to hydrangeas."
"But--"
"I won't sneeze."
"But--"
"They were on sale."
"But why are they in the middle of the floor?"

May is a great month because it means spring, flowers and show tunes. Every year when May rolls around I morph into the Queen of Camelot à la Julie Andrews skipping around singing about how grand May is. 

"It's May, it's May, the lusty month of May!

That lovely month when everyone puts flowers in the way!" 

To be fair the large hydrangea bouquet was in the middle of the floor because it was in a huge vase that was too jinormous to be supported by a table--end, coffee or dining room models. While I'm a May hooray-er, my spouse is a bit more subdued about the fifth month of the year. He likes flowers--especially tulips--but only in small quantities--especially tulips. Also, he doesn't sing or dance. Although I do. 

"It's May, it's May that gorgeous holiday!

When every girl wishes her man would dance the can-can!"

Mr. Wonderful thinks I go overboard with the flowers but after a dry winter, why not celebrate life with bouquets of hydrangeas, dozens of daisies and truckloads of tulips? All while singing and dancing around The House like a medieval royal? After all it's so fleeting--just 31 days long--so we have to enjoy it while it's here. 

"It's May, it's May, that festive time of year

When everyone drinks white wine with their beer!" 

While May signals "fun" for me it represents "work" for Mr. Wonderful. Currently my spouse is busy planning another home improvement project--installing gutters, rain barrels and windows. Or maybe these are three big separate projects? All I know is it's a lot of work. 

"It's May, it's May, the working month of spring,

When he... re-turns to hammers, nails and drilling."

I know home improvement work needs to be done, which is exactly why I've decorated The House in flowers. If I can't be out enjoying nature, then I'll bring nature inside. Besides with the humongo vase of hydrangeas in the path to the front door, maybe Mr. Wonderful won't be able to leave The House and go to the home improvement store for supplies. Maybe he can stay here with me and we can drink white wine or a beer together. After all,

"It's May, it's May, the month of yes you may!

So just sit down and with me stay! 

The lusty month of Maaaaaay!"

Oh! What a Night!

I planned it for months.
I talked about it for weeks.
I had nightmares about it for one night. But oh what a night.

I love books so when I was invited to participate in an author reading at Book'd in Burbank, I jumped at the chance. I had attended this Book'd in Burbank event twice before and enjoyed the writers who showcased there, the audience who came to hear the readings and the whole feeling of being in a theater surrounded by people who love books. It rocked.

Months ago I put this event on my calendar. I knew exactly what I would read: an excerpt from my upcoming comedy book about Paris--Paris! Take Me Away! I knew what I would wear: boots because they're comfortable to stand in during said reading. And I knew exactly when I would get to the theater: early.

For weeks I talked about this event to book lovers--my family, my friends, complete strangers at the LA Times Festival of Books. All 6,000 of them. Needless to say, I was ready for my author reading.

The night before the event, however, I had a dream that I forgot the excerpt of my book that I would be reading. I believe this is called a "nightmare", a "disaster" or the "surest way to give yourself a heart attack".

The next morning I laid out everything for the event, including my excerpt to read in a clean manilla folder. That evening I grabbed my purse, book copies and promotional materials and marched to the car in my comfortable boots.

"Do you have everything?" Mr. Wonderful said as I loaded everything into my car.
"Of course," I said. "I'm ready for tonight."
"Are you... sure?"
It wasn't what he said but the tone with which he said it that made me think twice. I rushed back into The House and on my desk lay the clean manilla folder containing my excerpt to read. I had almost forgotten my reading. I had almost lived my nightmare. I had almost experienced a disaster. I had almost given myself a quadruple heart attack.

Arriving early to the theater I greeted people, settled in and enjoyed the five other books and authors that night: The Revealed by Jessica Hickam, The Sheik's Son by Nicola Italia, Dark Lashes by Felice Fox, Catchee Monkey by Sean Cameron and This Old Homicide by Kate Carlisle.

When my name was called I seized the clean manilla folder, walked on stage and took my place at the podium. Looking out, the audience seemed eager. Removing my excerpt from the manilla folder, I read. The audience listened, they smiled, laughed and applauded at all the right places. It was just what I had wanted. It was worth the months of planning, the weeks of publicizing and even that one night of the disaster nightmare because this night of Book'd in Burbank really rocked!

It was Oh! What a Night!

Shakespeare and Humor in Burbank

April 23, 2015 marks the 451st remembrance of William Shakespeare's birthday (and conveniently his death day, too). But do we need to celebrate the Elizabethan Bard's special day? Again? In other words, is eating cake without the guest of honor all Much Ado About Nothing?

I for one don't think it's superfluous to sing Bill "Happy Birthday" nor does Julius Caesar, Richard III, or Henry IV (Parts I and II), that is, if they were still alive. The question should be: Why not celebrate the playwright who gave us beautiful sonnets, dramatic works and comedic plays? Even if his jokes aren't as funny now as they used to be--Love's Labor's Lost, anyone?--you can forgive him because both have been around for a long time. They have staying power.

This year on the Bard's birthday I'll be celebrating with five other authors reading from our books. My fellow writers represent the categories of poetic, dramatic and mysterious-steam punk-romantic. As for me, I'll be bringing the humor--Paris style--in an even Measure for Measure.

So if you find yourself in Burbank, California on Thursday, April 23 at 8 PM, come to Book'd in Burbank and revel in an evening of literary fun that has nothing to do with Shakespeare, except of course, the date. Plus, there will be tasty snacks, which as we all know, is just As You Like It.  

Happy Birthday, Shakespeare! Hoping that All's Well That Ends Well!

Book Lover's Paradise

Thousands of readers, hundreds of writers and one moi. Yesterday was an amazing day at the LA Times Festival of Books!

I saw LA Times journalist Sandy Banks interview Maria Bello about the actress' book Whatever: Love is Love. I saw celebrity LA chef Ludo Lefebre give a cooking demonstration of a recipe from his Crave cookbook for vegetable broth-poached fish and radishes, which made me hungry. 

Also I listened to a talk about books, writing and reading online by panelists Mallory Ortberg from The Toast, Patrick Brown from Goodreads and Carol Edgarian of Narrative Magazine. Then I went to my booth, hung out with fellow writers, like Kimberly Robeson,

talked to a bunch of people and sold plenty of copies of my book Evolution of a Wine Drinker! 

It was a great day on the University of Southern California campus! Go Trojans, Go book lovers! Go wine drinkers!

As for today, I'm putting my feet up and reading the books I bought at the Festival, which is more delicious than Ludo Lefrebre's broth-poached fish recipe.

But next April I'll be back at the LA Times Festival of Books. Will you?

Going to University of Southern California

"This is going to be fun," I said sitting on the office floor packing my books.
"Where is it?" Mr. Wonderful said loitering in the doorway.
"At the University of Southern California. Imagine: I'll be back on a college campus again!"
"Your happy days--"
"Are he-re a-gain. The skies above are clear again!"

After college graduation, how many chances do you get to spend a whole day hanging out on a university campus? And one as beautiful as USC's? With book lovers? For me the answer is simple: one weekend. Which just so happens to be next weekend at the LA Times Festival of Books!

If you are a reader, writer, child, parent or book lover this event is for you. The LA Times Festival of Books is an annual book party with author readings, writer panels, celebrity chefs giving cooking demonstrations, children's book authors doing readings, snippets of Broadway show performances coming to Los Angeles--this year it's Roald Dahl's Matilda The Musical--Big Five publishers and indie publishers discussing publishing options, and the biggest book sale this side of the Pacific. And the Atlantic. It's a stimulating, entertaining weekend about people and the books they love.

And this year I will be a part of it!

After attending the book festival for years, this time I'll be participating as an author. As a member of the Greater Los Angeles Writers Society (GLAWS), I will be selling and signing copies of my book Evolution of a Wine Drinker! And talking about my forthcoming book. I'll give you a hint: My latest work is also a humor book.

If you want to know more or will be at the LA Times Festival of Books please stop to say "Hi". I'll be at the GLAWS Tent, #953 Saturday, April 18 from 2-4 PM.

After all, how many times do you get to spend the day on a college campus like USC's surrounded by book lovers?

Happy days are he-re a-gain. The skies above are clear again!

Coloring Easter Eggs

Every year I paint my white, store-bought Easter eggs pink, green or burgundy. But not this year! Our chickens are giving us tan eggs like this:

So I am making them turn white and yellow... for Easter breakfast:

Delicious!

Wishing you and yours a delightful Easter Sunday!

I Won!

"WOW!" I said leaping from my computer and rushing to the kitchen.
"What's happening?" Mr. Wonderful said setting his espresso cup on the breakfast table.
"I won. Well, my book won Best Humor Book of 2015!"
"Congratulations!" he said taking me in his arms and swinging me around the kitchen.
"Although today's April first. Do you think it's an April Fool's joke?"
"...Nah."

Two weeks ago my book EVOLUTION OF A WINE DRINKER was nominated by the indie book review site Big Al's Books and Pals as Best Humor Book of 2015! Since this was a reader's choice award, readers got a chance to vote for their favorite humor books, crime thrillers and paranormal vampire romances.

So THANK YOU readers for voting for my book! I literally could not have won without you! Thank you so much!

But then... maybe me winning is just an April Fool's day joke?
... Nah.

Again, here's the Good News!

A Surprise

“Here are our hens,” I said sweeping an arm toward the chicken run.

“They’re beautiful,” my friend Shawna said. I smiled.

“They’re big,” my friend Ellory said. I beamed.

“How many eggs are they laying?” they asked. I slumped.

“None.”

At Christmastime Mr. Wonderful got these hens for one reason: to have home-raised, organic eggs. Now just before Easter we had two adult chickens who ate quarts of organic feed, bushels of fresh fruits and a never-ending supply of garden vegetables. Without producing any eggs. To say I was having doubts about this fowl decision was an understatement. 

“The hens need to start laying eggs,” I said stirring my tea.

“They will,” Mr. Wonderful said downing an espresso in two jolts of his wrist.

“When?”

“When they’re ready,” he said jumping in his car to drive to the studio to work on the weekend again. Alone on a Saturday I made a few phone calls but was interrupted by a commotion from the chicken run.

Squawk! Squawk! Rushing out to see who—or what—was threatening our hens, I saw our fat black and white Barred Rock chicken strutting around the run like she owned the place. Squawk! Squawwwwwwk! It was Pilgrim making all the noise, which I thought was pretty surprising… for a hen.

Then Pilgrim flapped her wings and landed on the roof of the coop. She opened her beak and continued the cacophony. Squawk! Squawk! She was crowing from the roof of the coop, which I thought was pretty surprising… for a hen. Picking the bird up I returned her to the ground where our other fat hen, Honey, was happily devouring a head of fresh lettuce.

But Pilgrim refused to be grounded. She flapped back up to the roof and crowed repeatedly. Squawk! Squawk! Squawk! I thought this was extremely surprising… for a hen. Then it hit me. Perhaps Pilgrim wasn’t a she, but a he? If Pilgrim were a rooster it would explain why we didn’t have any eggs yet since 50% of our adult flock was biologically incapable of laying eggs.

I marched over to the local Fowl Whisperer with the bad news.

“What’s wrong?” our 85 year-old neighbor said opening her front door.

“We have a rooster, Norma,” I said running a hand through my hair. 

“No”

“Oh, yes. We’ve been raising a barren rooster.”

“… All roosters are barren.”

“That’s not what we signed up for!” Norma’s bright blue eyes took pity on me. Grabbing a pair of sunglasses she propped them in front of her reading glasses and pulled the front door closed. “Show me.”

In our backyard, I pointed at the offending black and white fowl. 

She shook her head. “That’s bird’s too fat to be a rooster.” 

“It’s fat because it’s been eating an organic all-you-can-eat smorgasbord for three months.”

“The comb on her head is too small for a rooster.”

Just them Pilgrim flapped up to the coop’s roof again. Squawk, Squawwwwk!

“It’s even crows like a rooster.”

“Hens make noise once they’ve laid an egg.” 

I opened the side compartment to the coop and showed her the interior. “There isn’t an egg to squawk about,” I mumbled. 

“Well,” Norma said crossing her arms. “Chickens do make noise right before they lay their first egg.” 

I raised my eyebrows. “Chickens also make a lot of noise when they are roosters.”

“She’s a hen, ” Norma said retreating to her house. “Just be patient.”

The next morning over breakfast I informed Mr. Wonderful that Pilgrim was a rooster. My spouse exited to the chicken run to check on his flock.  He returned a minute later.

“What do you think of your rooster?” I said pulling bread from the toaster.

“Surprise!” he said revealing a tan egg in his palm.

I dropped the toast. “He laid an egg? He’s a she!” I squawked. “She laid an egg!” I squawked again. And if I could flap up to the roof I’d squawk some more. What a surprise! OUR HEN LAID AN EGG! SHE’S A SHE! BEST SURPRISE EVER!

The Fridge & Big Al

Whoo-Wee! I've been riding high all week because 1) Spring is here; 2) Our new refrigerator was delivered; and 3) My comedy wine book was nominated Best Humor Book of 2015!

The refrigerator has a special place to chill wine bottles: be they red, white or Blue Nun.

As for my wine book, Evolution of a Wine Drinker, was highlighted this week by Big Al's Books and Pals! You can read about it here, there or everywhere! The site also discusses the three other nominees.

1) Heads You Lose by Rob Johnson
2) Mischief in Italy by Beate Booker
3) Vulgarian Vamp by Barbara Silkstone

Congratulations to those writers for their nominations! Thanks to Big Al and Co. for my nomination! And if you would like to vote for my book, you can do so HERE! (I've even included directions!)

Thank you so much for your support and help! Now I'm off to admire my refrigerator and taste how cool it really keeps my wine...

How to Vote for my Book

There have been questions about voting for my wine book to be Best Humor Book of 2015. So here's how you do it:

1) Click here:  (http://booksandpals.blogspot.com/2015/03/2015-readers-choice.html)

2) Scroll down until you find this box:

3) Sign in with your email or Facebook.

4) Click on the HUMOR section. 

5) At the drop down menu, you will see my book so VOTE away! 

Thank you for your support!

My Book Nominated!

Another fancy Saturday of feeding the chickens, taking out the trash and cleaning out Jackson's litter box.

But things really turned up when I learned my book Evolution of a Wine Drinker was nominated as the Best Humor Book of 2015 on Big Al's Books and Pals website! Yippee! A while back Big Al's gave my book a 5-star review and now this? 

Thank you reviewers of Big Al's Books and Pals. I appreciate this nomination and all the work you do reading, reviewing and promoting writers and books. Also, congratulations to the other three humor writers who received nominations in my category! I'm among some talented funny people.

Now I've never done this before but...

Evidently this is a "Reader's Choice Award" so... if any readers of my book would like to vote for it, you can do so via this link. At the link's site, just go to the blue box at the bottom that looks like this:

Sign in with your email address or Facebook. They request a sign-in to limit people to voting just once for each category. No stuffing the ballot box at Big Al's!

Also, voting closes on March 28 at 11 PM Pacific Standard Time, which is just two weeks away. So if you're going to vote, and I hope you do, sooner is better than later!

Thanks for your support! And thanks to Big Al's Books and Pals! Cheers!

Signs of Spring

The calendar says it's still winter but I beg to differ. All over Southern California spring is baaaaack!

The California Poppies are blooming:

The Lavender is a purple haze of blooms and bees:

And my favorite succulents--Senecio aka "Blue Chalksticks"--are thriving:

 

Welcome back spring!