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.

It’s the 20-year anniversary of our first date this October 15.  Ton o’memories.  But of late I seem to be lingering on my husband’s life-long commitment to setting and attaining his goals.  Of course this is also due to the fact that he just made Fire Chief.  But in watching him for the past 20 years this attribute may rub off a little on me, and, hopefully, more so for the impressionable seven-year-old around the house.

To those of you that need a little proof as to what I mean consider this little story.  A couple of weeks back Eddie was at the National Fire Academy in Maryland.  (And for once I did NOT call him with an emergency at home while the “guys/Chiefs” still told him I had.  He called me at work, out of breath, worried, as to what had befallen the Bushman household only to find that he was, all over again, heralded in as the new “rookie” Chief by typical firefighter joksters.)

Anyhoo, Ed took off for the weekend to meet up with his cousin Sean and sister-in-law Katherine to what promised to be a hurried 2-day tour of Washington D.C.  Of course any tour given by this couple promised to be an excursion complete with written itinerary.  Eddie faced the challenge, and the promised Ethiopian food, with gusto.

At the end of the weekend he was rewarded with, well I guess you could call it, a reward.  Shawn and Katherine had prepared a framed plaque to commemorate his recent chief-dom.  There were two “badges” adorning the matted and expertly framed piece of art.  The first was gun-metal gray and read the words, CHIEF, Kasota Fire Department that had been previously owned by their mutual grandfather, Elmer Olson.  Shawn, remarkably and unselfishly, had opted to give away this family heirloom to Eddie.

The second “badge” below was a full-color likeness of our L.A. City seal, complete with the city’s incorporation date of 1886, commemorating Eddie’s promotion.  And then the kicker, Katherine, with her special talent for writing had this sentiment inscribed:

From the Kasota stone of the Minnesota prairie to the sun-drenched beaches of the California Coast, the achievement and honor of Chief is once again.

Every day, not just the hot summer months, or during the Santa Ana winds firefighters and their Chiefs are setting goals and achieving them.  And what may seem to be a personal goal, maybe even a family one, encompasses much more.  It’s a goal they set for us.

During 9-11, another date in my memory that I have shared with Eddie, not only did I have to watch my television until I was bleary-eyed I had to watch Eddie too.  I could only imagine other fire-fighter wives feeling the same as I did.  Grateful and guilty that our husbands were home with us.  while they felt hog-tied to their seats, powerless to stop, help or rescue what they’ve spent their lives training for.  As Eddie put it so painfully at the time, it was like a football game that he felt forced he was “benched” during.

To our firefighters, and chiefs, that couldn’t meet their goals that day I say, tragically, there will be other days.  Other days where militia is replaced my firefighters.  In a time in history where heros will be made of them all.

Starting in my childhood, not quite fitting in with my Mexican American friends in the East L.A. neighborhood I grew up in, I was mesmerized by the sounds of Spanish, the spicy scent of the kitchens and the loving warmth permeating from the large families. In an effort to acclimate, or just to hold onto that part of my youth, I started on a journey discovering Latin writers. As an adult I have had the opportunity to meet and work with people from South America as well as Mexico. For many years I planned on naming my first child Consuelo, now if I could just remember the name of the book she was in…

Oscar Hijuelos, The Mambo Kings Play Songs of Love Like reading “the making of” I Love Lucy, brothers Cesar and Nestor Castillo come to  New York City from Cuba, to easily sweep us into 1949 with their singing, and making, songs of love. Oscar Hijuelos gives us brothers as they sometimes can be: opposites. Cesar makes their big plans for success while Nestor, doomed by lovesickness that follows him from Cuba, follows as best he can for as long as he can. I picked it up because it won the Pulitzer Prize in 1990 and it quickly became a favorite. The film version starred Armand Assante as Cesar and Antonio Banderas as Nestor at the height of their sexual prowess.

Reinaldo Arenas, Before Night Falls The autobiography of an exiled Cuban writer stricken with AIDS is outstanding, as it should be for his weighty talent. We read of Arenas childhood in Cuba, his awakening homosexuality and embracement of his chosen lifestyle. His efforts, and those of his friends, to help publish his work outside of his own country took a surprising turn while he was incarcerated in a Cuban prison. Their creative efforts, and his quest to be published, finalize his resolve to escape the controlling Cuban regime. By leaving his beloved beaches of Cuba he is left to conquer only the stucco of an ugly and unforgiving New York. And it is here, in his new home, that he struggles and eventually succumbs to AIDS.

Gabriel Garcia Márquez, Love in the time of Cholera  Florentino, the boy, sees Fermina, the girl, and falls in love. Like Romeo and Juliet, it is not to be as they are forced to part. For the next 50 years, yes I wrote fifty, Fermina builds a life with the doctor she chose to marry instead. Their marriage seems normal both from the inside and the out while Florentino, on the other hand, never marries in what he deems as self-sacrifice. In reality Florentino leads a wildly promiscuous life with continual passionate liaisons. At the death of the doctor Florentino has the – here I would use a Spanish word but this is a family newspaper – “nerve” to ask Fermina to marry him! And it is here Marquez begins his tale in reverse.

Laura Esquivel, Like Water for Chocolate  This now classic book is an exercise in passion for romance and food, sometimes the food builds the passion, other times it adds to the heartsickness. Three daughters are born to an overbearing mother, but it’s Tita that falls in love with Pedro and isn’t allowed to marry him because long traditions force the youngest daughter live out her life caring for the mother instead. (My husband had a secretary fifteen years ago that was living proof of this tradition.)  Instead, Pedro is asked to marry the eldest sister. Tita, also being the cook of the family, prepares a wedding feast that causes all to fall ill. But the meals she prepares after being with Pedro stir more than her own heart as well. Torrid stirrings cause buildings to combust on their own and indigestion prevent immature couplings. A very easy read but be prepared for recipes, in menu form and in prose, that will stir you just as well.

Isabel Allende, Daughter of Fortune A romantic historical novel, bordering almost too much for my tastes on romance over history, it briefly visits four cultures: English, Chilean, Chinese and Americana during the California Gold Rush. Our heroine, Eliza, an abandoned child brought up by a wealthy couple in Chile, finds herself pregnant, without a husband, at sixteen. If that’s not enough, her fiery personality allows her the gumption to haul her pregnant body to California where her intended has gone to make his fortune in gold. Learning about the masses of men finding their way from Chile to California was interesting and truthful. Luck for Eliza comes in the form of a Chinese cook on the ship, with his own story, that helps her throughout the voyage and far beyond.

Isabel Allende, Portrait in Sepia  After Daughter of Fortune we return to revolutionary Chile, and the most vivid character, our heroine’s grandmother, Paulina del Valle. The story of her custom bed; meant first for romance and second to comfort her gigantic girth, is a perfect metaphor for the changes in life. This Grandmother encompasses Nana’s everywhere in what we hold in our minds: the voice, the appetites and the rules of powerful matriarchs in every family.

and Zorro I only read this book as our libraries has begun a monthly reading challenge, per se, last year. It seemed an easy selection as the title, and author, would have mass appeal. It was slightly less gripping than I expected but I still learned more from this Zorro, and the legends, that I had from any film. An easy read that I thought of saving for my Fluff Novels column solely devoted to read only during summer vacations…suffice to say Allende doesn’t produce too much fluff.

Carlos Ruiz Zafon, The Shadow of the Wind I don’t usually recommend a book I haven’t read but a wonderful woman, that volunteers for both the Betty Ferguson Foundation and Assistance League, big-reader Jeannie Carpenter, swears that this story as just amazing. She suggested that just synopsizing the back cover is enough: In 1945 Barcelona a young man reads The Shadow of the Wind and is compelled to find more works of the author’s. Instead he finds that all books by “Julian Carax” are being destroyed. Lots of reviewers hailed the book as touching, tragic and thrilling.

Sidebar:

Let’s Talk Libraries 

I attended the community meeting regarding the new Newhall Library held at Hart Hall on March 20. Lucky enough to sit next to Cheryl Phillips, librarian at Peachland Avenue elementary, I was educated before the show started.

“Our schools need county libraries to help offset our school’s budgetary cuts.  We average 10-11 books per student whereas the national average is 20. Where we used to get about 28 dollars per student we are down to what feels like 28 cents. Fundraisers, like the 5K Fun Run that Michael Shapiro organized at Valencia Valley Elementary helps. But having local libraries, dedicated to books first, is vital.”

Linda Demmers, our speaker for the evening and consultant on the project, prompted us by saying to “Dream really big” and to “Put on your seatbelt”. Our demographics showed younger residents, families, commuters, creative community members, multiple languages and diversity. Newhall residents averaged 38.9% with Bachelor degrees, with SCV having 30.9 and L.A. County with 27.7.

A recent survey had received approximately 1400 responses showing 94% have computers, 77% borrow books, 30% sit and read – here Demmers added sitting to read was available at Valencia not Newhall – 72% want more children’s books, 54% want more new books, 47% ask for school curriculum support, 67% ask for a quiet reading read, 66% a separate children’s area, 65% homework center and 38% local history.

Here’s what the slides showed us in viewing other libraries: Teen Zones, Frank Lloyd Wright and Mission themes architecture, up to nine stories high, lounges designed for families, merchandising areas, self service and full, study areas, bookstores, aquariums, learning centers, full size dinosaurs and trees, local history room with enclosed bookcases, fireplaces, community meeting rooms, working planetariums, murals, art galleries, natural light, students eating lunch on the library steps…

The attendees liked making the library a destination, an after school “hangout” for teens including popular teen library blogs, putting local historical documents in a dedicated library space, delivering books to seniors and creating visually appealing meeting rooms for local poets and artists.

We currently have 17,000 borrowers with an average annual attendance of 80,000.  Borrowers check out 8-10 books annually. Newhall currently has 4,800 square feet and is 100% overfilled. Currently with 12 chairs for adults and 4 for children our usage requires 150-175 chairs.

There is no space for displays or exhibits.  The backroom area that serves all behind-the-scenes work is the size of a banquet table. Annual library attendance is equal to the combining annual attendance at sporting events and concerts.  Don’t we deserve a library befitting the current and future needs of our community?

When you figure out that you can order best sellers from your local library, for free, you are a step ahead of the crowd.  You can pick up their monthly Book Page newsletter at any branch and choose from a wide range of reviewed selections.  The next step?  I called my librarian to walk through the process of getting a PIN number and then ordered my unabridged “spoken recordings” via their website: http://catalog.colapl.org/.

When your book is available it will be sent to your local branch and a notice is mailed to you.  (That’s a bit of a catch.  Sometimes I wait two weeks to two months, so, I always select at least three different books at a time.)

When you discover the pleasure of having a book read to you on that long commute across our valley or the next one, at night instead of watching TV, and old-fashioned page turning puts you to sleep – you may have found the secret to how to get through so many great books.

So when is the time?  Now:

Elizabeth Gilbert, read by the author, Eat, Pray, Love:  Midlife crisis happens at thirty-one for Gilbert.  In a cathartic moment crying on her floor for no apparent reason, she realizes that her happy marriage isn’t really defining her as a person. Her publishers agree to her spending a year abroad doing a “Travel” book.  Gilbert first visits Rome to embrace the unparalled food and romance language.  When she moves into an ashram in India, plans to see more of the country is abandoned as she struggles to settle into a spiritual lifestyle.  Finally traveling to Bali, for the last section, Love, she finds it first among the people and then, remarkably for non-fiction, with a future husband.  Lots of characters that you are grateful to find are real.  Good for anyone in mid-life crisis, divorce and/or spiritual leanings.  Some people felt it a long read; not so in audio.

Sue Monk Kidd, read by Jenna Lamia, The Secret Life of Bees:  It’s the US in 1964, when the rich southern accent of Lamia takes us to South Carolina and introduces 14 year-old Lily.  Lily has run away from the abusive father that she believes blames her for the death of her mother and chooses instead to be enveloped in the care of the family servant, Rosaleen.  Their journey allows Lily (and the listener) a coming of age with a new family, an understanding of Black Madonna Honey, civil rights and how we all must “find the mother” in ourselves.  Her next book, The Mermaid Chair, I didn’t enjoy as much but if you are a romantic, I would steer you in that direction.

Khaled Hosseini, read by the author, The Kite Runner:  Hosseini reads his life-spanning book of “Af-wan” boys running kite races in Afghanistan to immigrant men working swap meets in America.  Here, too, is a journey story that allows the listener a freer imagination to envision how a single horrific childhood event can challenge us through to adulthood.  And how it might not be too late to save the next Afghan boy from an even worse Taliban-ruled fate.  His new book, on my bookshelf patiently waiting to be read, A Thousand Splendid Suns, is on the current bestseller list. 

Jack London, read by Frank Muller, The Call of the Wild:  The hero of this classic is Buck, a dog-napped family pet from California and sold for mush, literally, during the Gold Rush.  After listening to his abuse and search for food and warmth, you will hear how Buck adjusts and is rewarded, finally, with a loving owner.  And then we can see the kind of loyalty, and strength, that not even his family in California saw. First love shown through his tender deeds and thoughts never sounded so honest to my ears! 

Louis de Bernieres, read by John Lee, Birds without Wings: Greeks, Turks, Armenians, both Muslim and Christian, are friends and lovers, in the same town in Turkey until war starts.  This epic story (The longer the book the nicer it is to have it read to you.) will take you further from home than any of the others I’ve recommended.  The story telling, inhabitants and language will transport you in time.  The same holds for de Bernieres Corelli’s Mandolin; the film’s saving grace is the cast, the book’s saving grace is actually a more stellar one. 

David McCullough, read by Edward Hermann, The Path Between The Seas: The Creation of the Panama Canal 1870-1914  First and foremost, anyone can enjoy some remarkable history by having it read to us!  Secondly, it won the National Book Award!  Thirdly, it can make the time pass for a couple driving to Vegas.  Many men died building the Panama Canal.  The climate simply bred mosquitoes carrying deadly disease.  It was more dreaded to go to the hospital because so many didn’t survive there.  (It was thought that standing the legs of the hospital beds in cups of water would keep crawling insects off of the beds, but instead allowed the mosquitoes a weakened captive audience.)  Several men of different caliber took on the leadership of the building.  Plans continually changed as the mud continued to ebb and flow over the years.  Nicaragua could have finally been put on the map, instead of Panama, leading traders and travelers to their destinations in new speeds.

Suze Orman, read by the author (like she’d let anyone else choose where her inflections should be), Women & Money I have a composition book half filled with where our investments are “just in case”.  Orman would approve as most women have a fictional relationship with their finances, relying on marriage, home or social security benefits.  It is a simple wake up call we can all handle.  So do it.  Or at least get the video and watch it.  It makes a new year’s resolution to know more about money very easy.

And just for fun, when the kiddies are in the car or even when they’re not: Chris Van Allsburg, The Polar Express, read by William Hurt, Dr Seuss, Horton Hears a Who, read by Billy Crystal, and Laura Numeroff, If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, read by Carol Kane  Just to hear these three actors lend their unique recognizable voices to a child’s story is compelling for any age.  They themselves might have kids, they might have needed the work, who cares?  They put their earnestness into their storytelling!  They are usually accompanied by the book for your child to follow along with.  But I’m not telling you the stories if you don’t already know them, it’s my gift.  But I will tell you this: A few years back a co-worker of mine was having a tough time with a boyfriend.  I lent her my cassette of Polar Express.  She kept it.  Uses it for therapy when needed.  Try this after reading Suze Ormon to calm down.

In the inaugural Books 101 column, male award-winning writers were highlighted.  This week, of course, I feel compelled to focus on current female writers.  And, as my mother once again has voiced her opinion on the subject, I am equally compelled to allow her the first choice:

Nicole Krauss, The History of Love   The oldest story in history, boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy finds girl (sort of) but told in a very interesting way.  Mom wouldn’t give me any more details so I excerpted part of Amazon’s review: “…a hauntingly beautiful novel about two characters whose lives are woven together in such complex ways that even after the last page is turned, the reader is left to wonder what really happened.”  It sounds like a hard read so consider yourself warned.

Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking   Joan Didion lost her husband, John Dunne, from a coronary in 2003.  To add illness, literally, to injury, his death occurred right after their only daughter became gravely ill.  When some time had passed Didion was unable to have his clothes removed; all she could think of is that Dunne would need them, when he comes home.  For anyone that has lost a loved one and then was told things like “Time will heal” or “Give it time” or would just like to be more compassionate, this writer really tells us what the passing of time doesn’t change.

Geraldine Brooks, The Year of Wonders   This author was motivated by some true events that took place in a small village near London hit by the bubonic plague during the 1600’s.  Most villagers want to flee.  But their young rector, Michael Mompellion, gives one stirring sermon explaining that if they flee they may survive, but not without infecting the friends and family that provide them shelter.  Why not stay and contain the plague?  And, as you read you wonder, at what costs?  And who besides the narrator survives?

Brooks is also known for a more recent work, March.  If you are a Little Women fan then this is the golden ticket for you.  What was Mr. March truly doing during the war?  His letters show his interest in home but where was his heart?  What, besides his duty, made him compelled to enlist?  I liked the former work of Brooks a bit better but would never have read that if I hadn’t been so turned on for more of her writing after reading March.  (And, at press time, come to find that she has just written a new book entitled People of The Book: A Novel.  It is a fictionalized story surrounding the protection of a real and rare illustrated piece of Jewish literature.)

Nora Ephron, I Feel Bad About My Neck   Epron spots a homeless woman on the street and writes that she is only five beauty treatments away from looking just like her.  That the new fifty looks like thirty because of the hair dyes our mothers didn’t use.  She hates her purse, housekeeping, and when she said “If the shoe doesn’t fit in the shoe store, it’s never going to fit” my husband could only laugh at me while I vainly tried to hide the shoes I still hoped to wear someday!  A facelift is great but it can’t fix the neck area – something we may all feel bad about at times; she makes us laugh through the process of it.

Lisa See, Snow Flower and the Secret Fan You get to learn the truth about some Chinese women’s duties during the 19th-century.  Arranged marriage, superstitions, foot binding, and the way out: secret female friendships carried via a secret language written on fans.  Nice to know there was some comfort there.  Local resident Jeannie Carpenter also thinks See’s new book, Peony in Love, about a 17th century Chinese girl/woman, is amazing.  “I’m not finished with it, I’m savoring the reading time.”

Ann Patchett, Bel Canto In another work, Rhonda Fleming’s biography, she thanks author Ann Patchett.  I wanted to read Flemings book only because of this work by Ann Patchett.  Never before had the work of an operatic singer held any interest for me until I read Bel Canto.  While being held captive, the singer, along with several international business people at a birthday party in South America, slowly find ways to continue with their daily lives.  And while waiting for interminable negotiations to end, one voice must continue to practice while others are being found or silenced.  Beauty and fear never mixed like this before.

Timothy Egan, The Worst Hard Time: The Untold Story of Those Who Survived the Great American Dust Bowl: “On April 14, 1935, the biggest dust storm on record descended over five states, from the Dakotas to Amarillo, Texas.” How did that happen?  And how many times? To what end? Farmers were driven to extremes to meet and compete with demands. Eventually layers of topsoil floated up. When you slept at night your pillow, and you, woke up blackened. Your head left the only mark; a ghostly silhouette. Imagine what that would do to your lungs, your home, and the vegetation. Think Grapes of Wrath.  Pick up the book, check out the unbelievable photographs, then, read about your not so distant history.

Tracy Kidder, Mountains Beyond Mountains: The Quest of Dr. Paul Farmer, a Man Who Would Cure the World: Dr. Paul Farmer left behind most of his life in America to diagnose and cure infectious diseases in third world countries. Building medical facilities and humanizing his patients at home and abroad, Farmer is a one-man force. His own illnesses at times put aside, Farmer keeps plugging away to make a change in countries others try not to think about. He makes you think about them, and worry, what will happen when he is gone. Thank God for his “Partners In Health” international charity organization that provides direct health care services for those living in poverty.

Erik Larson, The Devil in the White City:  During the 1893 Chicago World’s Fair Larson tells the stories of two men: Daniel H. Burnham, the architect in charge of the fair, and H.H. Holmes, a serial killer. While one watched the first Ferris Wheel being built with cable cars, the other erected the World’s Fair Hotel, with specified rooms for unwanted guests. One built while the other methodically dismantled. Either character may interest you, or both, as Larson makes combining their stories undoubtedly more interesting than if told alone. Hardly believing it a work of non-fiction, that quality made it undeniably more engrossing.

And then there is Larson’s Thunderstruck: Another dual main character story this time combining Guglielmo Marconi, the inventor of wireless telegraphy, with Hawley Crippen, a seemingly shy doctor that had talents in murder and disguise. Their stories connect on a transatlantic cruise. The new wireless being the device needed to help locate Crippen, and his female accomplice, is only half the excitement as we learn how in the heck a wireless can reach so far. Maybe not as exciting as learning the trials of how the White City was built; this book is still equally absorbing in its factualness.

Jeannette Walls, The Glass Castle: Hard to resist the start of Walls’s memoir as she describes spotting her homeless mother rooting through a dumpster while she herself is dressed to the nine’s for a fancy evening. Walls’s early family life included brazenly selfish parents that used their quest for freedom, independence and art to avoid the daily necessities such as providing for their children. Alcoholism, lack of interest in employment and excuses are hardly as acceptable to their children as they age and move out. The title comes from Walls’s father’s dream house, one he wasn’t sober enough to do more than envision for his children. Remarkably, through it all, you never doubt the depth of Walls’s devotion, unwavering love and understanding. It allows the reader a more respectful view of homelessness; even where there might be a choice. This book reminded me of hippies gone bad. Its okay to live like an artist – but don’t have children along just to clean up the paint.

Jon Krakauer, Into Thin Air: A Personal Account of the Mt. Everest Disaster:
Before the book and subsequent film Into The Wild, Into Thin Air was Krakuer’s personal account of the catastrophic expedition up Mount Everest in March 1996. Outside magazine originally asked the journalist to accompany the trekkers to the base camp but experienced climber Jon Krakauer held out so that he could join the expedition. Eight people died. And that was only on their side of the 29,000 foot tallest mountain in the world.  Krakauer analyzes, from a climber’s view point and first-hand knowledge, what mistakes were made, his own shame and the criticism of some of the families. Krakauer couldn’t wait to turn his Outsider article into a full book. He forged into the writing while the disaster was still fresh in his mind. And he puts you there too: ice blinded, frost-bitten, brain fuzzy from empty canisters of H2O…All while learning the history of the mountain, it’s climbers and it’s deathly hypnotizing appeal.

Elie Wiesel, Night: You’re not Mel Gibson; you believe there was a Holocaust. You may have even taken your child to the Museum of Tolerance and read Anne Frank. It’s still not enough. At Night, Wiesel feels tremendous guilt at having survived the Holocaust over so many others. He questions God.  This very short account is only the beginning for Wiesel as his life works try to encompass the unbearable loss done to generations.

Ann Patchett, Truth and Beauty: Patchett’s close lifelong friendship with Autobiography of a Face author Lucy Grealy made me look up Grealy’s book as well. I searched out Grealy’s thin forgotten volume buried in the Cancer section at Border’s. Patchett tells Grealy’s story, somewhat interspersed with her own rise, faithfully. Grealy, a victim to childhood cancer of the jaw, is left with battle scars that each recall differently.  Patchett sees Grealy, grammar school age, being applauded when she is chosen to be the announcer for every school stage production. Grealy sees herself ridiculed by the same youngsters for missing a chin. You can read them together, or try hard not to.  Their relationship seemed almost romantic at times. (Patchett carried Grealy around often when the latter was recovering from surgery and subsequent drug addictions.) Like strong female friendships that appear in our schooldays or spinsterhood, without the complications of men and marriage, it’s still love in sickness and in health.