I like my local supermarket.  They recently won the award for most customer friendly in their district.  I especially like that one of the checkers always gives me coupons for whatever I might have in my cart.  (I’m afraid of coupons really.  I’m always driven by the coupon more than the actual need for the item.  Like shoe sales.  I don’t really ever needs new shoes—I just need a bigger closet!)

Samantha likes the Cookie Club.  No matter what, she can count on a snack, at the end of our shopping.  It’s like a carrot held over her nose from the fishing rod in my cart.  It works every time for good behavior.  As long as you start in the produce and end in the bakery of course.

Recently, sharing time with mom, we ended up at the same chain market in my sister’s neighborhood.  I hate going to new markets.  Even if it is in the same chain they still have to muck up my system by reversing or rotating the aisles.  What marketing genius thought that one up?  I almost strangled an employee at my favorite Trader Joe’s until she could locate the chocolate soymilk.  What a nightmare.  But this trip was just for dear old mom and therefore I was safe from freaking out. Or so I thought.

She was in hog heaven right out of the gate because she met her female counterpart in the bakery section.  We were selecting my mother’s birthday cake.  They discovered that they were the same age and both hated raisins in their carrot cake.  She, along with the salesperson I had to remind my mother, knew how to spell “Felicia” for her cake.  Later, they discovered that they both found bananas unsatisfying.  When they started in on the culinary delights of black licorice over red I had to get her out of there but fast.  And not just because they were insane but because I happen to find, along with most of the free world, black licorice revolting.

Thankfully she had her cake and sale cherries in tow, yes at her age that was all she remembered that she came for, and we headed to the checkout.  Here’s where I got to have some fun.  We went to the new “U-Scan” line.

The one-page flier said, “The do-it-yourself checkout stand that allows you to scan, pay for and bag your own groceries”.  Of course there were more instructions that followed but I, not unlike the dozen or so people waiting in the longest line there, were too mesmerized watching.

And so I watched, and interviewed, the shoppers that were trying out this new toy.  These people, with just a few items, were having the time of their lives.  Each one wanted to show me how to put the money in.  Told me not to lift the bag until the transaction was complete.  And, how to touch the screen following each prompt.  The helpful checker that watched over the proceedings, forgive me for not writing down her name, watched her screen and helped those customers, myself included, that didn’t want to follow the prompted instructions.  She told me that this was all designed for customer convenience.  (Which my mother doubted of course counting up the number of customers able to scan at the several terminals over the one checker watching.)

I had more fun checking out from that market than I’ve ever had before!  I could see why you would want to go every day with a short list just so you could play with the technology.  Like ATM’s used to be!  Like old Game Gears and the original Pac Man computer game!

What will they think of next?  I couldn’t help but ponder that one while my mother, meeting her twin separated at birth again in the parking lot, discussed what (computer) chip of fate had predicated their meeting.  I finally pulled my mom away reminding her that she has enough good friends that she has absolutely nothing in common with.  Kind of like a new computer and me!

Mama wants more…what a great idea for a book. Wish I’d thought of it. If I did there wouldn’t be a chapter on More Support. Or it wouldn’t take away the one thing I need to get through parenting. “If Mama doesn’t get the support she desperately needs, well then she’s gonna need more things like Prozac and Merlot to get her through her day. No one wants that.” I never had the Prozac, but give up the wine…?

Finding a local published author on a nationwide online book club I had just joined was a pleasant surprise. Even though she wasn’t accepting new “friends” and her profile was set to “private” it only slowed me down a nanosecond from shooting her an e-mail.

Before I met Stephenie I read most of her website www.mamawantsmore.com and felt I knew much about her. I expected a rich southern accent from the Oklahoma transplant. I expected both the Cheese Eater and Bald-Headed Monkey, from her first book, Living with Cheese Eaters and Bald-Headed Monkeys, to be with her. I expected her to mention her column that she wrote here and sent to her hometown newspaper and how she’s acclimated to the big move to the SCV. She didn’t disappoint.

Her only small-in-size inspirations, Bentley and Palmer, busied themselves as I would expect children of Mama writers would the hour we spoke at a local Starbuck’s, with juice boxes, Oreos and more than a couple of books to read on their own. They were well behaved cherubs; so I decided to start my interview. But, as an experienced mother, I wondered how long it would take before a demand for cheese was made.

It all started with more than a passing interest in journalism in high school, she had an earnest goal even then of becoming a syndicated columnist. In college this was cast aside just long enough to pursue a marketable degree in elementary education. She kept her hand in by taking an online course in novel writing.

After marriage and children came, Stephenie started writing down some of the funny insights she gained as a “Mama” and e-mailing stories to her friends. That morphed into weekly columns and blogging. Keeping her columns current with a mom’s perspective a recent one was entitled, “I Miss Tornado Season.” (Wait until her first California earthquake.)

She designed her own website when she decided not to be one of the many writers blogging. For a while she wrote a blog for Disney. She has completed a young adult novel that is set in the south during the 1960’s, but hasn’t found the time to do anything with it yet.

Raised and schooled in Oklahoma, she and husband Derek, left behind friends, family, and all things familiar to chase Derek’s dream job of becoming the Head Golf Coach at UCLA.

“When we were looking for a place to live, we were told that Valencia is the best place for families. Lots of people ask why we don’t live closer to campus, but we love it up here. We’ve found this community more than just welcoming. The great public schools, prices, and friends we’ve made make the commute worthwhile.”

Relocating was lonely at first, especially with a husband that travels for work and young children to entertain. So Stephenie took the opportunity to focus on her own dreams.

“It wasn’t until we moved to California that I started compiling a collection of my columns into one book. I was feeling displaced and a little homesick, so my mom encouraged me to spend the time focusing on my writing career.”

“I’ve always wanted to have a bound book with a title page, a dream I could attain through self-publishing. So I went for it and through iUniverse and was given the Editor’s Choice award for outstanding editorial quality. I personally believe that if you have a dream you want to accomplish, you have to do it yourself.”

One of Stephenie’s favorite things about living in the SCV is community atmosphere and friendly neighbors.

“I was spending a lot of time inside on my computer working on my book, which isn’t the best way to meet new friends, but a trip to our community pool changed all that.”

“The first time I struck up a conversation with another mom at the pool, I realized, later, that we forgot to exchange phone numbers. The next day my new pool friend tracked me on the internet. We quickly became friends and through her I’ve made lots of other friends who are now reading my stuff and supporting me.”

“I love getting feedback from my readers. The e-mails and notes I receive serve to validate an audience of mom’s that want compassion, humor, and what I call ‘positive Mommy writing’.”

“What do I want more of now? Time. More time to write. More time to hang out with my new friends.  More time to sit around and do nothing. But any mama knows that time is actually the one thing that there is never enough of. Writing is my true joy, and knowing that I make other mamas laugh and smile is why I find the time to do it.”

Being a member of the international mother’s group, MOPS, garnered her a position on the local leadership team. But how would other moms find her?

“You can order my book through my website, Amazon and BarnesandNoble.com. I’d like to call our local Barnes and Noble and see about a book signing or having the book available locally, but…I…haven’t made the time. Time is obviously something that I have an issue with, but somehow I manage to find enough to take care of my kids, my husband and, late at night, my writing.”

At this point in the interview the cheese kid and the monkey kid wanted more Mama. And, more surprisingly, the lady that had taken her attention for the better part of their hour.

“Hold my hand” came from her little one, Palmer, aka Bald Headed Monkey, and I was more than happy to oblige. Turning my pen and pad over to them I asked what they would like to say in mom’s interview.

Palmer continued with, “We are going to the Del.” This in Palmer-speak was the Hotel Del Coronado in San Diego and spending time with his grandparents for Mother’s Day. From Bentley, aka Cheese Eater, was a quote prompted from his mother.

“What did you tell me when I asked if you wanted to be a good writer like Mama?”

“I’m already better.” I can’t wait to see how that will translate in Mama talk.

###

The next book Eve has to read is recommended by Jeff Jacobson: What to Drink with What You Eat: The Definitive Guide to Pairing Food with Wine, Beer, Spirits, Coffee, Tea – Even Water – Based on Expert Advice from America’s Best Sommeliers by Andrew Dornenburg. “I find it one of the most useful research tools I have, and that I have given several away as gifts to friends and family members. I like it so much that this is the second year that we are featuring it at the Wine Classic.“

Mags Kelly runs the book club for The Betty Ferguson Foundation (BFF). She sends monthly post card reminders for the upcoming choices and to meet at Borders the second Saturday of the month at 10:30 a.m. For May they are reading A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers and The Swallows of Kabul by Yasmina Khadra in June. I read the former and highly recommend it, Eggers writing style has a captivatingly modern pulse to it.

I get real compulsive about reading…e-mails. “Taro” sent me an invite to join GoodReads.com so “we could see each other’s books”, compare reviews, add friends, meet people and explore. I compulsively invited more than half my e-mail address book and pasted every review you might have read on these pages onto GoodReads. When I finally got back to Taro, thanking him for e-mailing me I found out that his sister-in-law is EMILY Bushman @earthlink.net, not Eve. (All along I thought that he had gotten my e-mail from a book review column.) But, to give me some credit, Taro went to The Signal’s website, read articles I had written and is still considered “a friend” of mine on GoodReads.

So there you have it, in a nutshell, or by a nut as you may prefer, my compulsive reading behavior. But haven’t you ever discovered a book by a new author or read a new genre and, because you found the writing so persuasive, craved more? Here are some of my highly rated, albeit compulsive, cravings:

Vacations Done Better: When choosing to visit to New Orleans I knew nothing save for my memory of Legoland’s sculpture of the famed Bourbon Street. There had to be more than popular culture to discover during the convention that brought me there. I always have my triple A tour books but, wanting to get an insider’s view, I also hunt down books by local authors to read before I arrive. A Confederacy of Dunces, by John Kennedy Toole, had won the Pulitzer posthumously for the author. The tale, of a bizarre young man teetering on the edge of obscurity and drunkenness gave me yet another diaphanous layer of New Orleans. Next, when traveling to Alaska, I read all I could find from mystery writers Sue Henry and Dana Stabenow, loving the tales of dog sled racing and murderous competitors the most. When a female Iditarod racer joined our Alaskan cruise I already knew how the dogs were handled, why they live to run and had a feeling of accomplishment that I had understood far more than I would have if I hadn’t done any reading. Of early Alaska and its inhabitants I also found Life in Alaska by Mary Wynne Lamb helpful.

Same locale, same author: Modern writer, Anita Shreve, has set three of her novels in the same house at different times: Fortune’s Rocks, Sea Glass and The Pilot’s Wife. Each is a fairly romantic, easy to read novel, with stories involving a large beach house on the New Hampshire coast. She has written over a dozen books but none that intertwine place and time as these three.  And, though not a series as each book is independent, the writing style and haunting location makes them just as compulsive reading as a series.

Austen leads to Wharton: Reading every book by Jane Austen in my twenties led me to Edith Wharton in my thirties. Even though they were decades and countries apart, Wharton’s language and style, as well as female-centered themes, are similar. I’ve since tried the many popular variations of Jane Austenesque books; none compared as well as Wharton. Start with the classics Ethan Frome and The Age of Innocence and then move on to The House of Mirth, Summer, A Mother’s Recompense, The Reef, Madame De Treymes and Custom of the Country.  Of course that would only be if you enjoyed Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, Emma, Mansfield Park, Northanger Abbey and Persuasion.

Finding Spirituality: Spirituality for me can be simply defined as making important connections with other human beings and nature; a kind of honorable owing to both. I was first brought to this realization by the books by Ricky Hoyt (revricky.com). Room for An Elephant: Stories for the Child in Your Life, spiritual stories to teach children important lessons and Good Thinking, “spiritual foundations for the head and the heart” that explores questions on theology for adults. Both gave me great pause and gently nudged me to further journey. I then read Herman Hesse’s Siddhartha and Unitarian minister Robert Fulghum’s classic, All I Really Need To Know I Learned in Kindergarten, both completely different but equally eye-opening. Now I try harder to look up and really see the Oak trees when I jog past them and smile at the drivers that don’t run me down in my pursuits. At a recent Betty Ferguson Foundation meeting, Jane Bettencourt-Soto strongly recommended 90 Minutes in Heaven: A True Story of Life and Death by Don Piper and Cecil Murphey. She said that she liked the spiritual book as it would help anyone coping with the loss of a loved one that might be concerned about heaven. And, what we all want in our spiritual quests, it gave her peace.

Biographies to Fiction: I never had any interest in reading the books by Amy Tan or Stephen King. But biographies, and especially those of writers, were keen to me. What I didn’t expect was to be romanced into reading their work afterwards. Tan and King are completely different and both dauntingly prolific. I can’t say I’ve read everything by either (nor do I desire to) but I have enjoyed several tastes of their differing genres. I liked The Kitchen God’s Wife, The Joy Luck Club, The Hundred Secret Senses and The Bonesetter’s Daughter by Tan and Lisey’s Story, Dolores Claiborne, Thinner, Dreamcatcher, Cell and some of The Dark Tower series by King. I discovered that trying something I assumed wasn’t for me is, more often than naught, worth the effort.

Tolstoy to Dostoevsky:  Reading Leo Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina had been a journey for me the first and the last time I read it and I eagerly wanted to read more Russian translations. When our Russian exchange student arrived to live with us ten years ago, she introduced me to the poetry and prose of Mikhail Lermentov and Alexander Pushkin. Moving from there I really prided myself on getting through Fyodor Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment and the Brothers Karamazov. Why does getting through a “hard read”, like any Dostoevsky, feel so rewarding? Is it the beauty of a job well done by writer and reader?  Or, is it just the reward of feeling the beginnings of mastering a genre?

War novels disguised as Romance: Birdsong by Sebastian Faulk led me in with a war-torn romance at the start. Then, thrust into the trials of digging and surviving tunnels, for more than the next third of the book, I was actually quite reluctant to leave the soldiers behind and return to the romance. From there I had to read All Quiet on the Western Front and The Killer Angels, both sans romance. When I visited Gettysburg with my family I borrowed a audio tour tape from our library. I learned that remarkably told histories can evoke connectiveness to the past and, that there is plenty of powerful literature out there that doesn’t require strong female characters, or romance, to further the story.

In two weeks I will be covering what some of the Santa Clarita Valley book clubs, and beyond, are reading.  If you would like to share some of what your book clubs have read or just share what your club might be doing differently, please e-mail me.  I think you know I will read anything and pass it along to readers citywide…

It started out as a pleasant late afternoon workout at the gym.  I smelled a little bit of smoke but was getting used to it, as it seems to be in the air, so to speak, every day in SCV lately.  But then the fire engines pulled up right across the street.  Some of the men came over to me because I was the only one “tall enough to see” out of the windows.  (It could have been the LAFD jog bra that I was sporting, who knows?)  Then just as we discussed our options the air quality inside of the gym took a decidedly “cloudy” turn that none of us could avoid noticing.  I forced myself to leave, just short of a little much-needed abdominal work, to get my kid and me the heck out of dodge.

I live on the other side of the Calgrove “gate”.  I knew that there were only a few hills, but quite a few homes, in the path of the blaze.  I wasn’t concerned.  Ed was at a cooking class and Sam and I were looking forward to a “girls” night at home.  But before we got inside our house our attention was called once more to the billowing clouds, the parade of helicopters overhead, and most importantly, the sheriff driving slowly up our cul de sac calmly repeating a message over his loudspeaker system.

“There is a fire in your area…this is just a warning…you may want to pack up your photo albums…” Now it’s possible that last part was spoken to us directly.  I can’t remember exactly.  All I know is that the street was suddenly filled with people.  My immediate neighbors and their children had collected outside, gravitating toward the house with the best view and the sheriff for more information.  When given the opportunity I asked a couple of questions.

Was it that close?  No one knew how close it could get was the answer.  Or which way the wind was travelling.  (And why on this particular evening there was any wind at all.)  I do remember the last question answered from our sheriff and that was that he would only be back if it was to tell us to get going.

No way to sugar coat that to the second-graders standing within earshot.  I convinced Samantha to head home, as others gravitated back to theirs.  I called Ed as soon as we arrived back home, fifteen minutes before his class started, and got a little “ooh”, in response to my relayed information.  He was a bit surprised but had no plans to give up his knife techniques class yet.  I was calmed by his confidence but still planned to pack up a little bit.  Just as a precaution.

Not ever successful at hiding my own nervousness I tried to re-direct Samantha into a bath while I grabbed a few photo albums.  There was no way she was going to fall for that so I quickly established a box for her treasures too.  She filled it with dog-eared stuffed animals, favorite videos, new CD player, hers and her dad’s Indian Princess vests, the pearl bracelet Ed bought her when she was born, even grandma Felicia’s spare robe and slippers that we kept in our guest room.

She worried that we would forget our cat Louis.  I tossed his carrier in the front seat as a reminder.  We both ended up taking baths in case we wouldn’t get to one until the morning.  And when I was just contemplating calling my sister Charlotte that lives on the other side of Valencia to warn of the upcoming slumber party she may be hosting I flipped the news back on.  The fire was out.

The neighbors were out walking around.  Some had even climbed up the hillside at the top of our street that spills over onto Calgrove.  But I could only view this from my window.  Samantha is calm.  She knows the sheriff won’t be back tonight.  At least that’s what I told her.

But what about me?  Well, I’ve decided to leave the trunk packed.  Just in case.  I still have emergency water bottles but nothing you would consider useful like an overnight bag.  Just the “essentials” that I had to pack in my box?  Samantha’s kindergarten box, a photo of Ed in I drinking a carafe of wine at a café in Venice, Italy taken eighteen years ago, my original framed wedding invitation, a framed photo collection of five generations of the females in my family, a fire chief’s hat recently given to Ed by the former chief of Big Bear, Eddie’s baby pictures and what I promised Sam we would go through later tonight; the infamous Saving Box from Samantha’s babyhood.

It’s time to pack your trunks neighbors.  Even if we are lucky enough to survive this dry, hot summer with our homes intact, a trip down memory lane is due.  And while your tripping, remember, if it wasn’t for our sheriff or fire departments we could loose it all without a warning.

I wasn’t allowed to write on this subject until today.  Today was the day it was announced in The Mighty Signal that five of our Newhall District schools had just attained their Distinguished School status.  One of the reasons my school’s principal wanted to wait until it was formally announced was because he was sure that our school wasn’t going to be the only school to achieve the prestigious award.  He was holding hands with his fellow schools, while I, the selfish curmudgeon, was betting on just my own at the time.

See, I wasn’t present at the other school’s site visits from the judges, I only got invited to my own because Eddie and I are current Site Council members.  And even with that, Eddie, as my fellow council member and formal watcher of all that comes-out-of-Eve’s-mouth, was worried that our school would not, like the hundreds that had applied, make the final cut.  (I secretly wondered if I would get the blame for this later.)

Let me go back a little to enlighten you as to the process from a lame, uh I mean lay, person’s point of view.  Several months ago our principal explained that it was time to re-apply for our school’s Distinguished School Status.  He asked for our input.  He even prepared a questionnaire to pick our brains of what programs, in our view, set our school apart.  Eventually, after he met with his teachers and staff many times as well, he presented our council with a lengthy single-spaced two-sided copy.  The next step, we learnt, was editing the document to meet the criteria while keeping the words below a specified maximum.

We then heard that the application was accepted.  A bit later we saw the school get a little touch up painting done.  The next step was going to be a school tour.  Different representatives from our student body would lead the tours.  Our site council was invited to the luncheon.  That pretty much brings us up to date.  Now onto the meal!

I harassed our school’s office manager to provide other than what I assumed would be the fare: breaded fish sticks with just a tiny stripe of dried ketchup, steamed bean burritos, crust-on grilled cheese sandwiches and rubber-like Jell-O cubes.  (Okay, I know I’m showing my age here because the kids nowadays get “fast food”.)  She laughed and promised that everyone else would enjoy a catered meal but that she would microwave something unrecognizable just for me.  To feel at home.

The fellow site council members showed in full force.  So did members of the PTA and representatives from College of the Canyons, Title One, our after school program managed by the city, our district’s counselor, our English Language Learners parents and other parents that had children in these various programs.

During the meal there were several informal “getting to know your school” type conversations at three tables in the school’s library.  (I was grateful that they had enough “adult-sized” chairs to meet our needs.)  Afterwards, the “judges” congregated at the center table and asked to hear, more formally, from each representative.  Although we were all a bit nervous, especially since our principal had left the forum, we got over it fairly quick realizing the importance of our answers and attitudes.

They asked if we understood the new reporting standards.  Well, lucky for me, as secretary of the council, we had just covered this in our meeting the day before and felt confident, because I had also just transcribed my notes, in answering this one question.  I said we understood it and looked forward to soon seeing more specific accounting of our student’s progress.  I still buffered my shins with my napkin from a swift kick from Eddie, but because he hadn’t read my notes yet he left me amazingly unharmed.

A couple of parents, ones I had met before, were very convincing.  One parent had recently moved to our school from another city.  She was concerned that her daughter wasn’t doing well and decided to repeat a grade.  She voiced her concern with her daughter’s teacher and administrators at the time.  They, in turn, told her “not to worry” that they had been “successful with this before”.  This mother was now smiling from ear to ear because of the progress she was now seeing in her child.

Another parent explained the hardships that she expected to encounter with her children having different “special needs”.  While one was in G.A.T.E. another was in the Title One program.   I had heard her speak on this before and knew how strongly she felt that our school was fulfilling the needs of all of their students.

Still another parent was almost in tears when she discussed her own experiences in other districts.  But I was hard pressed not to be moved the most by the English Language Learner parents through their interpreter.  The interpreter, who is also the head of that group, couldn’t help but add her comments to that of her parents making them that much more heartfelt and sincere. She also had the strongest showing of parent members present.  (Heck, the joke of the day was in telling our principal later that this particular staffer practically did cartwheels to get us chosen.)

They gave us a little feedback that day by complementing the students that gave the tours in knowing so much about their school.  But we still didn’t know by their gestures where we stood.  Predictably the last words, when they were rapping up, was the question, “Does anyone else have anything left to add?”  And once again, it was a parent with the help of her interpreter once again, that gave the final comments for the day.  I think she spoke for us all in the district when she told of how happy she was in general with the school, the staff and the programs she didn’t expect to find in place for her children.  We were all smiles.

And now that I see so many schools in the newspaper that had to have just as many involved parents, teachers and staff I can’t help but be proud.  We are involved in the education of all of our children.  What the heck can beat that?  Except, of course, a well executioned cartwheel.