HAPPY HOLIDAYS

There's nothing like a holiday season to make you think of all that you should be doing or should have accomplished by the end of this year. Christmas movies and the smell of freshly baked gingerbread are supposed to make you feel all warm and cozy inside with a hint of hopeful cheeriness.

Yeah, well, I have a feeling that ends when you're about 11 years old. Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying the smell of gingerbread doesn't bring to mind warmth and sweetness-- it does-- it just also brings the vision of dimpled thighs slapping together. Yes, my dimpled thighs. And holiday movies are always wonderful, but unfortunately after an hour and forty-five minutes you have to go back to real life, which means it's probably cold where you are, if you've got kids one of them probably has the sniffles, you're worried about the end of the year bills, and the "where should I be on New Years Eve?" factor always comes in if you're constantly dreaming of making it bigger and better each year.

It's a stressful time of year.

And worst of all, all I want to do is comment.

Yep, I'm a mad commenter. That's all I've been thinking about the past month. As I write my screenplay and edit, my psyche has been dreaming of a world-- maybe ancient Rome?--where there would be paid commentors. Yes, just like court jesters, but with a higher salary and better accomodations. As a professional commentator I would follow people around and comment on the daily events, and I would undoubtedly be witty and at times profound. And always humorous, because life needs a little humor. However, neither one of my siblings would ever be allowed to visit me on the job because they both stand by the fact that I'm not funny.

And when they do that, I commentate. And I find this witty and funny. And they usually just exit the room.

Anyway.

At some point I hope to get my head out of the clouds and either permanently on paper (i.e. columnist) or better yet as a famous movie star extraordinaire who no one really knows. The plan is to be rather like Johnny Depp. Be silently beautiful and fabulous with a penchant for drinking red wine and smoking cigarillos while sporting a few well-placed but meaningful tatoos which my evening gowns would coyly hint at when I'm walking down the red carpet.

Oh yes, I have plans. But, sometimes I just get distracted.

Or, I'm always distracted. Hmm...

All I know is that while I was supposed to be writing and was instead listening to Dane Cook's comedy of awesomeness this morning, he mentioned that all men dream of being part of a super cool heist ala "Ocean's 11". And I dream of that too. Except I never actually am part of the heist. I'm just the female version of Brad Pitt to some gorgeous and thoughtful George Clooney. I am extremely well-dressed but look as if I rolled out of bed looking that stunning. I think of grand schemes and I have a group of rough and lovely people who are like my family, but not. That is what I was dreaming of this morning when I was refining my resume and sending out little tid bits to casting directors. OOOh, I would love to be part of Ocean's 11. Yes, yes I would.

Oh, and I also dream of world peace...

Anyway.

We were talking about the holidays. And the fact that I just can't stop commentating. I think I have proved my point by now. On the commentating bit, I mean.

But yes, the holidays. I've been reading and listening to every bit of New Years tidbits that every magazine and self-help guru has to offer this season. The advice ranges from making New Years resolutions to starting a new diet to just taking baby steps to a better you.

All of this is good.

Last year I made the resolution to "be happy" and by March I thought: "What the f*@& does that mean?" Yep. I began commentating on myself, which gets awkward when I'm in a supermarket aisle having a good ole argument with myself--especially when all the other super market shoppers just saw me dancing with my cart down aisle 2 (I love dancing in supermarkets, because they undoubtedly are playing some sort of 80s excellence. I also enjoy serenading myself or a can of green beans, like that one time when Albertson's was playing Air Supply's "I'm All out of Love" and every friggin' person from aisle 1 to 10 was mouthing the words soulfully to themselves-- that's awesome too.) Anyway, seeing me happy dance in aisle 2 and then seeing me verbally kick myself in the aisle by the string cheese only leaves people assuming that I am bipolar. When I am really just a fabulously out of work commentator. Crap.

This holiday season I wish many things for my readers (who I hope are still out there, still checking on this bit of blogosphere). But, mainly I do wish one thing and that is to be happy. Yes, I realize I just went on about how I didn't know what that meant. It's because I really don't know what it means.

For some it may just mean getting those monthly expenses down so that it doesn't haunt every step or sip of coffee you take. For others it may be achieving some sort of career status, a slight improvement that says you're worth something, and that you are capable of doing something right. And for some it just might be that you need to be content with yourself.

And for all of us, I think the main struggle is truly knowing what we want in life.

It's easy to get confused with that last one. Often what we want in life is imposed upon us by so many outside factors. What we want to be, where we want to live, what we want to do with our free time, and how we can be the best we can be. I have a feeling that if we just figure out exactly what we want-- it doesn't matter when we really get it. It's that clarity of mind, that inner purpose-- that true dream that helps us get out of bed in the morning and it fills us with a sense of adventure.

I recently got some good advice that was simple and to the point: 1) Decide what your goal is. 2) Write out the steps to get there. 3) Get started.

It's very simple. And no one needs to follow those steps more than myself. I just lamented for the first half of this blog that it isn't possible for me to be a court commentator slash super cool legal heist participant, plus be a movie star and maybe also a princess all at once.

But more than anything, I want that clear path. I'd like it wrapped up under the tree in sparkly silver paper with a big white bow. And I'd also like a puppy for Christmas. I would name her "Lady" and we would be bestest friends. But, that's present number two.  (And yes, I know your purpose in life doesn't come wrapped up with a bow--that was me being funny, okay?)

When you figure out exactly what you want--that's yours to keep. If you get it, hold on tight to it. It's like what Curly says in City Slickers-- the secret to life is one thing. You have to figure out what that one thing is.  And you can't figure it out for anyone else-- you can only figure it out for yourself.  That's your gift.

Besides, you need to focus on getting the people in your house interesting Christmas gifts.

I'm going to get my little brother something fun like a t-shirt signed by Metallica.

I'm going to get my sister a Snuggie. Because she pissed me off this week.



Happy, Happy Holidays.



Hug your family-- be thankful for them. Drink Eggnog-- it's yummy. And figure out what you want.  What your one thing is.  It might be sitting right in front of you.

And how great would that be?


"New year, same goal."  -Joe King





For more blogs go to:  dvb-freeparking.blogspot.com/

LOVE LETTER

It's hard to say when you re-fall in love.  No, that's not true.  I think you do know when it happens.  I don't think you feel it creeping up on you, but I think you do know when it happens.

Now, HOW it happens?

Different story.

Can't be planned.  Can't be recreated.  Can't be decided on.

It's something between you and the fates and traffic.  It's a whole omelet of things, really.  And it's when you're going about your life, packing bags and trying to get a cup of coffee, and saying goodbye to a pet and stubbing your toe.

This I know.  I can't tell you what it is.  I know that we fight.  I know that I cry about it a lot.  That we argue over where our lives are going.  Whether it's love or just a fling or a tortuous love affair or just a date for an afternoon.  We argue, this I know.  And I have threatened to leave.  Stomped my feet, yelled profanity, and also whispered sweet nothings...

But, yesterday.  No, that's a lie.  Last night-- I fell back in love with Los Angeles.

Between the sun and the smog, the bohemian and chic, the fake and the faker, the palm trees and the orange groves that turned to Disneyland, the shiny cars and faded flip flops, the dreams and the non-reality--

I realized I was home.  Sometimes it takes you six years to realize it's love.

And as Harris K. Telemacher says:

There's someone out there for everyone-- even if you need a pickaxe, a compass, and night goggles to find them.  And romance does exist deep in the heart of LA.

I don't know about you, readers, but over the past few years I have become something terrible: a complainer.  I look back and I'm just not sure how it happened.  It happened gradually, that much I know.  Just a constant whine seemed to come from my lips-- or worse, a slight hint of anger.  And even my humor began to have a slight serrated edge to it-- instead of a quick tongued wit, I had a dagger of opinion.

Now, as terrible as that all is-- at least I noticed it.  And that is a huge thing, that I know.  So many people change gradually and they themselves do not recognize it-- I, dear readers, recognized it.  And my subconscious was trying to turn back the clocks and find out just where it all turned just a little grumpy.  Where it all turned a little sleepy.  And dopey.  Yep, I (somehow) had become all of the seven dwarfs all on my own.  Hell, with my pale skin and dark hair I was even Snow White.  Yep, that girl who would take an apple from a really creepy looking stranger.  Yep.  I had lost my way, if only a little.

Of all the things I've gotten wrong in the past few years, there were a couple of things I got right.  One of which was finding the beautiful condo I live in-- I'm lucky to even have it--it's beautiful, and in a neighborhood that could not suit me anymore if it tried.  And the second was my choice of furry companion.  When I moved into my new abode a few years ago, I went to the local pound to find a furry friend.  And there, I came across the most beautiful, elegant grey and white tabby whose big green eyes and demeanor simply said "Yes, I am a lady."  And she was perfect for me.  She was still wearing a bell collar that had been given to her by her previous owners (who had dropped her off in the shelter's 'overnight' box).  The vet deemed her to be about a year old.  I named her Emma and took her home with me.

She was everything that I could possibly ask for.  Affectionate.  Elegant.  She never climbed onto things or walked on my counters.  She would sit majestically on my couch when people were over for dinner.  She enjoyed a good conversation.  She liked to be adored, but never pleaded for attention.  When someone less than favorable walked over the threshold, she simply turned her back and made it known that she did not approve.  She was not only my best friend, she was my baby.  We were a pair.  And when I was sick, I always woke up to her cuddled on my pillow above my head, protecting me.  Watching over me.

In the mornings, she ran alongside me to make coffee and eat breakfast.  She sat at my dining room table with me while I wrote blogs and countless emails.

This year she turned four, which in the cat sphere of things is still a baby.  I had come from a household where animals lived incredibly long.  Where cats passed 18, where St. Bernards passed 15.  My dear Emma and I, surely, had years ahead of us.

The past few years have been emotionally stressful for me--if only hidden behind closed doors.  And the one who was there for me, with me, was Emma.  She was one of those cats that clearly was a person that had been turned into a cat by some local sorcerer.  She was beyond cat.  She was human.  She was my friend.

As you know, dear readers, up until a few days ago I had been in Europe for two weeks.  Lovely London museums, Peter Pan, yadda yadda yadda.  I made phone calls inquiring about my cat, texted frequently to ensure she was fine, and  the response was always the same: she's a little sad, but she just misses you.  I hated to leave her, but I knew I'd be back soon.

And when I got back four days ago, I noticed that my beautiful Emma was lethargic.  Not playful.  Sure, she was mad at me, but surely she'd get over it in a day or so.  Emma was forgiving and she loved me.  And the next day she wouldn't eat.  And as I laid myself down on the floor next to her, hearing a faint and tired purr-- I knew something was wrong.

The vet took my baby from me.  Said she needed an IV and needed blood tests.  And I didn't get to say an official goodbye because I thought to myself: she's only four.  She's fine.  She just missed me.

And the next morning, I lost her.  She died at the vet's.  Without me getting to say goodbye.  And I had missed the last two weeks with her.

The vet was kind enough to pull me (sobbing) aside and told me that she had a virus much like Leukemia, she would have had it her whole life and I wouldn't have known it--and that he knew she had just waited for me to get home before passing away.

So, today marks my Emma being gone for two days.  And I am sitting here writing alone.  And I have decided to not take anything for granted anymore.  It may seem silly, this love for a cat-- but she was my family.  And my house seems empty and my writing seems heavy and my coffee just doesn't taste the same.

And I miss her more than I can possibly express.

I've heard many people in the past few years mention how people are getting pets and not having children.  That there are now pet spas and pet hotels-- and surely that's so silly and people just want to waste their money.  And maybe I would have slightly nodded a half-assed agreement to that sort of talk a few years ago.  Not that Emma ever made it to a day spa, because I could not afford such things.  I don't think it's people wasting their money.  Maybe it's extravagant, sure.  But, I think it's finding a companion and really loving it and taking care of it.  Some of us don't have families where we are living.  And our pets are our family.  To each his own.  Love the one you're with.  All of that--take into account, because it's true.

I have not read this best seller, but I have seen the film and I really enjoyed it.  There was obviously a reason that it maintained its place as a national bestseller for so long.  That book is called MARLEY & ME by the journalist John Grogan.  It's an entertaining and heartfelt recollection of his family's life with their dog Marley.  I think I'm going to put down "Dracula" for the time being.  And I'm going to pick up "Marley & Me."  I'm going to read it because I've heard from numerous sources that it's wonderful.  I'm also going to read it, because this week I'm giving thanks to the universe for giving me Emma for the past three years.

Yes.  The past few years have been tough.  But that's nothing.  I had Emma, which made every day end well.  And I'm grateful for the time I got.  And for everyone who loves their pets out there (and I know there's a lot of you, I saw you at the vet's this weekend)-- give them an extra snuggle and a kiss and maybe an extra treat.  And don't be grumpy.  They love you.

"No animal should ever jump up on the dining-room furniture unless absolutely certain that he can hold his own in the conversation."  -Fran Leibowitz

In my next life I think I want to be French.  Well, maybe not really French.  Let me rephrase that: in my next life I would like to be born with a French essence.  Yes, yes, that's what I mean...


The past week I seem to have been bombarded by all things French.  French books (My Life in France by Julia Child; A Year in the Merde by Stephen Clarke; an accidental run in with a French Vogue), French films (A Good Year, Chocolat, French Kiss), and I now have (or maybe have always had) the idea that I would be much more fabulous if my personality lent itself to the subtle, red-lipsticked ideal of a French woman.  

Now, quite often I like to think that I have some of those suave tendencies.  A slight sophistication, a classic style, and maybe a hint of that je ne sais quoi-- HOWEVER, those thoughts and dreams have just gone KAPUT since after handing the friendly termite exterminator (who showed up at my house this morning at 8 a.m.) a handful of Cadbury chocolates, I proclaimed:  IT MAKES A DAY SO MUCH BETTER WHEN YOU HAVE SOME CHOCOLATE IN YOUR POCKET!!! 

Now.  What followed was:
a)  That awkward moment where you think to yourself:  Did I just rhyme???  
b)  Then comes the more awkward moment:  Does he think I meant to rhyme???
c)  Then you realize:  I am so not French.  Juliette Binoche would not have said that.  And she even starred in CHOCOLAT.  Damn it....

Believe it or not, every once in a while I am cool.  I call it when I am my "James Bond self"... i.e.  cool.  But, then before I know it, just when I'm about to say something terribly simple, classy, and to the point like: Shaken, not stirred.  I say something like: It makes a day so much better when you have some chocolate in your pocket.  Yep.  Just when I'm starting to feel the ooh la la of French charm, I end up with the oh no no no...  But, I'm working on it.  Chocolates in my pockets and all.

I doubt the French even eat Cadbury chocolate.  I'm sure they whip up a fantastic creme brulee or something.  Or maybe they just have a baguette and a cigarette.  Either way, I don't see the French walking around with chocolates in their pockets.  They probably don't even have pockets.


Anyway.


I hope you had a chance to read PETER PAN-- and if (for some crazy reason) you missed it this time 'round, please read it in the future.  It's just lovely.  (And if you didn't get around to PETER PAN, hopefully you had a chance to at least check out the fabulous FUG GIRLS.)



I have also officially finished Mrs. Child's MY LIFE IN FRANCE.  It was interesting.  I love Julia and I love, love, love her personality and gumption (and how I do love to use the word gumption)-- but I found her book a little slow.  However, if you're all about the cooking and loving of France, this is a decent read.  I probably will not read it again--but the film made me giddy and just oh so happy-- so, this time 'round I am going to go with Meryl Streep's version.  And I'm okay with that.

As for my next reading adventure, I'm probably going to go with another classic and that is DRACULA by Bram Stoker.  This is for two reasons.  First, because it is OH SO close to Halloween.  And Halloween happens to be my favorite holiday.  Absolute favorite.  No contenders.  Besides Christmas, that is.


Now, I don't like scary scary Halloween-- I like a slightly vampiric Disney like version.  This means I dress up, eat candy, drink, carve pumpkins, go outside to smell the essence of fall in the air, and watch HOCUS POCUS because it is awesome.  And, since I love vampires (this would be reason number 2) as much as pirates (who doesn't love pirates--especially when they are portrayed by Johnny Depp), I'm going to go ahead and read DRACULA.  For those of you who went ahead and added the STANZA application on your iPhone (again, it's free) you can read DRACULA very easily.  I've read the first few chapters and it's a lot more entertaining than I had expected.  So, for those of you who have the time, read it.  Although (for some reason), I have a discouraging feeling that many people will skip this...  Anyway, that's what I'm going to read until I pick up something new from the bestseller list.  

On the subject of vampires, below are some other books that are said to be worth the read:


1)  INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE by Anne Rice
2)  TWILIGHT by Stephenie Meyer
3)  THE HISTORIAN by Elizabeth Kostova
4)  THE VAMPIRE LESTAT by Anne Rice
5)  LIVING DEAD IN DALLAS by Charlaine Harris (Now TRUE BLOOD on HBO)



And that's all I'm going to list.  Because if I list anymore, I'm going to sound creepy and I'm not creepy.  But, it is the right month for vampire novels, so if DRACULA doesn't suit your fancy, you can always try one of the above.  You could also always watch episodes of BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER because, really, that's just good fun.  I'll leave it up to you.  Halloween is a very personal thing.

And, quickly, before I go-- (where am I going to?)-- Halloween reminded me of a series that I'd also like to give a shout out to.  The only bad Halloween I've ever had consisted of me being stuck indoors with a less than remarkable roommate.  How I wished I was somewhere that had trick-or-treaters and costumes and caramel apples!  But, alas, sometimes (hopefully only once) you find yourself stuck indoors with an unworthy companion.  The only good thing about the evening was ABC aired the Halloween episode of PUSHING DAISIES.  AND I LOVE PUSHING DAISIES.  Unfortunately, due to the Writer's Strike (which was totally called for by the way, if you are a writer, I was on your side), the show had a fairly lackluster 2nd season and got canceled.  

HOWEVER, the first season of PUSHING DAISIES should not be missed.  You can purchase the first season for around twenty bucks and it's so worth it.  It's filled with cleverness, colors, Kristin Chenoweth, and a man who owns a pie shop who's loved the same girl since he was 8 years old.  It's beautiful-- rather like hour long episodes of a happy Tim Burton-esque magical world.  And it's fun.  And the kids will love it too.  Just so great.  BUY IT.

And I must say that the "Pie Maker" and his sweet pie shop makes me think:  You know what?  I don't need your creme brulee.  Or your baguette and cigarette, for that matter.  Because I've got gumption (such a good word) and a little bit of style and I may even rhyme every once in a while... 


And that is just fine.

Maybe I'll be French for Halloween. 



"I had come to the conclusion that I must really be French, only no one had ever informed me of this fact."  -Julia Child "My Life in France"

Before I launch into my adventures at the British Museum this morning, I want to give a shout out to two of my favorite girls who I have never met, but would love to meet and become best friends with (they are now on the same list as Dawn French and Jennifer Garner who I know would be awesome to hang out with)--those two girls are known as THE FUG GIRLS.  I hate to give a shout out to another blog, but I must, I must, I must!!!

I will tell you now that this is a blog for women.  Who love fashion.  Or just really enjoyable commentary.  The blog is called GO FUG YOURSELF.  One of my best gal pals in the world told me about it a few months back and I've been absolutely addicted.  In fact, when I am having a bad day, when I feel grumpy, when for some reason the only friend in the world I have is a tub of ice cream-- I go to gofugyourself.com and everything is better.  And yes, I read it on good days too.  :)

The Fug Girls are Jessica and Heather and they (obviously) live inside my head.  They write like I think, and they are oh so enjoyable.  Read it, Ladies.  It's too good to miss.  It's my version of VOGUE-- and it's way better in my opinion.  Because these girls aren't harsh, just charming-- and they love Cate Blanchett and so do I.  Check it out.  I love them, love them, love them-- and I'm giving them a shout out in hopes that they want an intern that is obviously destined to be their newest of gal pals. (a.k.a. moi) 

As I was saying...

Today I made my way to the British Museum all on my lonesome.  I took the tube, and read my copy of Julia Child's "MY LIFE IN FRANCE" on the way.  I enjoyed Julia's tidbits of post-war France and all that it's markets had to offer.  However, as lovely as the book is-- I'm not going to lie-- I am not enthralled.  I thoroughly enjoy it, but I can easily wait a few days before picking it up again. 

So, I'm enjoying it.  Will I take it to bed with me?  Probably not.

(This comment is referring to the fact that the first night in London, I had taken a rather old copy of "JANE EYRE" off my grandmother's bookshelf.  I was so tired that I simply held it in my hand in bed.  Then my mother came in my room to tell me good night, woke me up and asked me if I intended on reading the book or was I just sleeping with it.)  So although Julia's book is not a sleepmate, it is lovely and good for sunny afternoons...

Once I reached the British Museum, I spent a few hours roaming.  I had been there a few years back, but it's always good to get a second glance.  I roamed through the halls of Egyptian artifacts and Roman statuary and that was all good and fine.  Relics from the times of the Crusades are ALWAYS fascinating in my Templar fascinated mind.  BUT, what I enjoyed most (and who could be surprised?) was the large library.  A large, two story hall filled with books and all the lovely artifacts that English gentlemen had brought home from the grand tour.  (As I was roaming the library I imagined how their conversations went... perhaps something like "Hello, darling!  I have just returned from Greece and I have brought you a beautiful piece of the Parthenon!"  or, my personal, favorite "Yes, yes, I decided to visit Egypt and I have brought home my very own mummy!  No, no, not that sort of mummy...mother is still alive and kicking...No!  Dare I say it?  A real dead Egyptian!"  And yes, that's how it all went in my head.) 

In all seriousness, it was beyond fascinating.  All I could think of were ways to make enough money to build myself a library of the same caliber.  Apparently, I would have to be royalty, but really, Prince William is still a bachelor, so anything is possible...

After a good hour in the library, I decided to check out the bookshop.  And you will never believe it, dear readers.  I was ready to leave when out of the corner of my eye there I saw a pocket sized version of "PETER PAN" wrapped in a green cover with Captain Hook on it.  How could I resist?  A copy of "PETER PAN" and a glorious library ten feet away?  In London???  Be still my little book reading heart.  Of course, I bought it.

As I made my way slowly back to the library, I was reminded of the last time I had a for real, tangible copy of "PETER PAN"-- it came as a volume of a large children's book series that my parents had given me as a child.  I distinctly remember that it was a forest green color with Peter etched onto the cover.  The series was always on the second story of my father's library in the lefthand corner--where all the children's books were.  HOWEVER, back home I have a lovely, yet overzealously tidy uncle who took the liberty of disposing of the series a couple years ago.  I believe he sold them at a garage sale.  Sadly, I was not home to defend the books and I only got to complain to him over the phone-- he cooly noted that I had grown up and besides, hadn't I already read them? 

This brought me into the same scale of frenzy as the last time we'd had such an argument.  I got home from college one day to find that a lot of my books were in boxes in the garage-- presumably destined for the same fate as my children's books-- and I went (there's really no better way to put it) BONKERS.  My uncle noted that I had already read all of them and that he couldn't imagine reading a book more than once-- OH ME OH MY.  I lost it. If my memory serves me right, I turned bright red with anger and I believe a few expletives were used...

Eventually, I calmed down and tended to the task at hand: I petted my poor books, brought them back inside, gave them a scoop of ice cream and sent them off to bed.  Oh, and I may or may not have called my wonderful uncle a cave man. 

But, we got over it. 

He no longer touches my books and he respectfully thinks I'm insane.  And that's just the way it's supposed to be.  :)

So, when my feet finally made it back to the library, I sat on a wooden bench in the middle of my own heaven.  I took off the cover of "PETER PAN" (I usually don't like to keep covers on hard back books), and there underneath the green cover with Captain Hook was a burgundy book with gold lettering that simply and beautifully read: "J.M. BARRIE "PETER PAN".  My dear lord.  Peter Pan, the library in the British Museum, and it's red with gold letters????  Jiminy Cricket, it doesn't get any better.

After an hour of reading, I made my way back to the subway station.  I feel that the sighting of "Peter Pan" was good luck on many levels-- first, because it's lovely to read such a lovley book in such a lovely setting.  Second, because my subconscious was trying to lure me back to Selfridges where I had seen a pair of divine blue suede pumps that brought to mind Carrie Bradshaw's shoe adoring comment: HELLO LOVER... But, the sun was setting and it was time to go, and really who needs blue suede pumps when you're holding a red book with gold letters?

Tomorrow, I make my way back home and away from London and Peter Pan.  But, truly readers, as I reread "PETER PAN" I wanted to run to a computer and tell you all to please not miss this book-- READ IT. 

Next time round, I'll give you something different.  But this week is your week to visit Neverland.  And no excuses about being a grown up-- I simply won't hear of it.

Read "PETER PAN".  Write a letter to someone.  Check out the Fug Girls.  And be merry.

All my love and a bottle of red wine,

Danielle


"There's something you should know about me... I'm very, very choosey... I'm also very, very suspiscious, very, very irrational and I have a very, very short temper.  I'm also extremely jealous and slow to forgive.  Just so you know." 

-Marion Cotillard to Russell Crowe in "A GOOD YEAR"-- the film I happened to be watching while writing this blog...

Dear Readers,

Tonight (and until Tuesday), I am far, far away from most of you.  Tonight, I sat in a pub in a small town outside of London.  And as I was enjoying my drink, I noticed that the fellow sitting across from me reminded me of someone... 

Who was it?  That slight twinkle in his eye?  That young smirk at the tip of his lips?

And then it came to me.  He would be a perfect grown up Tootles.  Or a Smee. 

And then I realized (with great shock and a little bit of horror) that I had forgotten to list one of the most wonderful books ever written.  The book that I am, in fact, going to make the first book on my "Free Parking Book Club" list. 

That book, dear readers, is J.M. Barrie's "PETER PAN."

Ever since I was a child, this story has been a part of me.  I guess you could say-- it's been my shadow.

When I was young, I felt to be the most capable-- I was the oldest of three, and I knew that my parents depended on me to set an example of sorts.  I could tell stories.  I didn't need to be a child.  We even had a sweet Nana dog of our own-- a St. Bernard named Sabrina whose big brown eyes told us when we were good, when we were bad, and when we needed to go to bed.  And, much like Wendy, I spent many nights looking out my window...

But, when I actually grew up-- actually left childhood behind-- I heard Peter's tapping at my window... I hit 22 and suddenly wished I hadn't grown up.  For really, it wasn't all it had promised to be.  Where were the mermaids?  Captain Hook?  And a fairy of my very own?  WHERE WAS THE ADVENTURE?

Even if you missed Mr. Barrie's story as a child-- even if you somehow missed Mr. Disney's lovely portrayal (although it is an incredibly simplified version)-- you can still experience "Peter Pan." 

The truth is this.  No matter the wrinkles, the hardships, or the adventures you've had-- you never, truly, have to grow up.

And as I sat across from my own version of "Smee" at the pub tonight, Mr. Smee told me how I resembled one of the loves of his life: another "Danielle" who he had left his antique book shop to so many years ago...  My Smee was 80, and as he spoke I saw a young man in his place...

And then, Peter Pan began to touch my heart once again...

Everyone knows the basics of the story-- Peter, the boy who will never grow up, Wendy, the Lost Boys, and of course-- Captain Hook.

But there are so many beautiful nuances in the book that should not be missed! 

The kiss that is hidden in Mrs. Darling's smile. 

The fact that when Peter Pan is flying to Neverland he forgets who you are.

You don't want to miss it.  And there's no excuse for you to.  I know that many of you don't have time to go out and purchase a new book.  There are careers, children, and lives to deal with-- but now, if you don't have the time to get to the bookstore, there is (dare I say it?) the iPhone. 

I feel absolutely despicable mentioning it.  Almost as grimey as I felt when I purchased a copy of Julia Child's memoir "MY LIFE IN FRANCE" at the airport a week ago.  I needed to purchase a book, and it was one of the ones I had promised to read-- HOWEVER, it was one of those books that had the film version splattered all over the front of it.  So, instead of getting Julia Child's enchanting postcard of her and her husband looking amorously at one another-- there, on the cover, was a picture of Meryl Streep walking through a market in France.  I said a little prayer to Julia:  "Mrs. Child, I am so sorry.  I wanted to read your book and I'm sorry that it's covered with Meryl Streep...  I should have gotten to Barnes & Noble to buy a real copy, but I am lazy, lazy, lazy!!!"

Now, I love Meryl Streep.  Who doesn't?  I have no doubt that it wasn't Meryl Streep at all who had this done...  So, the point is that I felt absolutely disgusting purchasing Julia Child's memoir with Meryl Streep on the front of it.  But, I needed the book, and that was that.  So, to somehow make it even-stevens I pulled out three or four pages from it and used the pages for a letter to a friend.  I figured if the book somehow sacrificed itself for the writing of a letter, then we would be on an even keel.  And so we were.

ANYWAY.

J.M. Barrie's book must not be missed.  And I do believe that to truly enjoy a book you must hold it in your hands.  But I know that times are changing.  And I would rather keep all readers and not discriminate.  So, for you readers out there who have iphones, there is an application called STANZA.  (Believe it or not, some kind waiter once notified me of its existence.)  On it, you can read (for free) any classic you like.  And on it, you can read "PETER PAN."  Thus, when you are stuck somewhere-- at the office, at lunch, at home in the rain, or on a bad date-- you may pull out "PETER PAN" (or "The Picture of Dorian Gray" or "Dracula" for that matter) and read a quick chapter so that you feel alive again.  And believe me, dear readers, nothing makes you feel more alive than "PETER PAN."

There is something that touches your heart strings.  Your soul.  You childhood.  Your children's childhood.  And you will believe.

I dare to bet you.  I bet you there is no one out there who will not enjoy this book. 

As for Ms. Child's memoir-- so far it has been a delight.  It's all about food and France and a woman who is 6'2" and fabulous.  And I'm constantly craving pastries because of it...

Tonight I sleep in London.  And how I wish that Peter Pan would come knocking at my window and take me to a place where I will never grow up-- but, it is raining here and I wouldn't want Peter to get wet or for tiny Tinkerbell to get drenched-- so I will only dream of it.

I know you are all thinking of it.  Get yourself a copy.  Buy it, read it, and remember it.


For reading it will be a great adventure.




"She asked where he lived.



'Second to the right,' said Peter, 'and then straight on till morning.'


'What a funny address!'


Peter had a sinking. For the first time he felt that perhaps it was a funny address.


'No, it isn't,' he said.


'I mean,' Wendy said nicely, remembering that she was hostess, 'is that what they put on the letters?'


He wished she had not mentioned letters.


'Don't get any letters,' he said contemptuously.

'But your mother gets letters?'


'Don't have a mother,' he said. Not only had he no mother, but he had not the slightest desire to have one. He thought them very over-rated persons. Wendy, however, felt at once that she was in the presence of a tragedy."

J.M. Barrie "PETER PAN and Wendy"

Somehow, through the test of time, we have forgotten how to write, receive, and read love letters.  God forbid we step out of the realm of e-mail, text, or a quick call from our cell phones.  Perhaps there is endless handing off of stationary behind closed doors that no one ever speaks of-- but I doubt it. 

Personally, I have saved all the letters I've received over the years.  Love letters from boyfriends.  Love letters from friends.  And my favorite-- a love letter from a friend of a friend-- which came to me on yellow legal paper and somehow seemed to be the most beautiful thing I have ever received...

There's the box of letters from my first love and pen pal.  Then my leather journal that holds those sporadic letters from a dear friend far away, the only one I tell my secrets to-- and those aren't traditional love letters, but friendship letters-- letters of honesty, understanding, and sisterhood.  A true sharing of self.

As beautiful as a book, a letter can be so satisfying.  And when a letter is written with intent-- it can be breathtaking.  Better than a cup of coffee in the morning, and so gratifying-- for ten minutes with a letter can be a love affair.  If the writer knows how to love.

In the midst of packing, I ran my finger along my bookshelves, that hint of dust coating my fingertip-- and there was a book that I haven't looked at in a good while.  I think I may have chosen to forget about it-- but books have a way of coming back to you.  And this book is crimson red--with gold lettering.  And you know, dear readers, that that is damn close to bright red and bright yellow.  And you know what that does to me...

The book is "LOVE LETTERS: An Anthology of Passion"-- and it's exactly that.  There are love letters from Keats, Wilde, Hawthorne, Shaw, Lawrence and more-- and their lover's responses-- and it made me realize how we forget to express ourselves in any tangible way. 

We can't all write books-- but we can write letters.

I am known for blotting my lipstick on my books' pages.  And I am also known for leaving letters in them.  I can pull a book off my shelf and relive that month, that week-- because there's always something left in them.  Notes.  Play tickets.  Love letters.  Bills.

If you don't have time to read a book this week, write a love letter.  This world is lacking in love letters.  Feel free to send me one.  :)

Now that I have gotten that out of my system, I can continue with what I initially set out to do before I was taken over by that red book...

Below is a list (in no particular order) of some of the books that readers have e-mailed me.  You are fascinating, dear readers.  Simply fascinating.

Enjoy.

READER'S PICKS:

ARS AMATORIA  by Ovid

THE PILGRIMAGE  by Paulo Coelho

GOSPEL  by Wilton Barnhardt  
WUTHERING HEIGHTS  by Emily Bronte  

TIMELINE  by Michael Crichton

THE BLIND ASSASSIN  by Margaret Atwood

IN DEATH series by JD ROB

THE FOUNTAINHEAD by Ayn Rand

WHERE THE SIDEWALK ENDS by Shel Silverstein

PILLARS OF THE EARTH by Ken Follet

MY LIFE IN FRANCE by Julia Child

TUESDAYS WITH MORRIE by Mitch Album

THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY by Oscar Wilde

THE SEAGULL by Anton Chekhov

ABOUT A BOY by Nick Hornby

HOLIDAYS ON ICE by David Sedaris                                 
TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD  by Harper Lee

DON'T KNOW MUCH ABOUT HISTORY: EVERYTHING YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT  AMERICAN HISTORY BUT NEVER LEARNED by Kenneth C. Davis
HAMLET  and ROMEO & JULIET by William Shakespeare

Thank you readers for sending me your thoughts-- and if your books didn't make it on the list this time, I promise they'll get a chance to shine.

As always, thanks for reading.

"There would have been the making of an accomplished flirt in me, because my lucidity shows me each move of the game-- but that, in the same instant, a reaction of contempt makes me sweep all the counters off the board & cry out: "Take them all-- I don't want to win-- I want to lose everything to you!"  

-American Novelist Edith Wharton to American Journalist W. Morton Fullerton, June 8th, 1908.

Hello!

Well, it seems I am a liar.  I did intend to read either Pillars of the Earth or Julia Child's My Life in France.  BUT, as you know dear readers, things don't always work out how you planned... 

I did, however, read a book from my bookshelf.  It looks at me frequently, and I eye it occasionally because (for some odd reason) I am drawn to bright yellow and bright red.  TOGETHER.  And there on my bookshelf was A YEAR IN THE MERDE  by Stephen Clarke.  In all it's bright yellow and bright red glory.

Basically, two years ago this book and I went on a date.  I was going through a difficult time and I just wasn't ready for a frivolous read about working and living and having sex in France.  I wasn't at that crossroads in my life yet.  So, after about a chapter and a half, I told the book:  it's not you-- it's me... (which I'm not sure it believed), and I set it back on my bookshelf.  There's even a kiss mark on the first page where I had at least used the book for a good purpose-- blotting my lipstick (I feel the French would appreciate this).  And there by my lip smack was my name and the date of the last time this book and I spoke-- and it was a good two years ago.

ANYWAY.  After deciding on Saturday night that I needed to not go out and be social, I poured myself a glass of red wine (or maybe two, I admit to nothing) and opened up A YEAR IN THE MERDE.  By Monday I had finished the book.  And here is what I have to say.  It's an "International Bestseller."  I know this because it's written in bright red letters across the cover of my copy of the book and because that's what made me pick up the book in the first place-- not only was it bright yellow and bright red-- it was also a bestseller.  Hmm.

And here's my take on it.  It's all about a young advertising/marketing Brit who spends a year in France-- and all about the French lifestyle, how to master the French shrug (that says: I simply don't give a shit, it's your problem, and don't I look absolutely fabulous today?), and, of course, about sleeping with French women.  Now, this book is okay for a plane ride or maybe after you've finished your Glamour magazine and you're just not looking to go intellectually up a notch.  It was a decent read, but I really found no redeeming qualities in the main character.  He was like John Cusack with Jude Law's libido but without John Cusack's cuddly-anti-hero charm.

And that is my opinion.  Men in their twenties and early thirties--probably men in their thirties who are businessmen and unmarried-- would enjoy this book.  Maybe that's why I missed it's sparkle-- I'm not a man and reading endlessly about getting into a woman's pants just bores me.  BUT, men must have loved it because, as I said, it is an "International Bestseller".   If you are a businessman about to get on a plane, buy the book.  I'm sure you'll enjoy it.  Ladies, I'd go ahead and pass this one.

And back to the discussion about bright red and bright yellow.  I discovered this attraction last night when I was rereading my highlighted sections of Neal Gabler's Walt Disney biography.  (Yes, I am a highlighter.  Or at least an underliner.  In truth, I can not read a book for the first time without a pen or highlighter in reach.  It actually makes me anxious and upset.  Now, if I'm reading it for a second time, I can cope-- because this most likely means I have already marked all the passages that I wanted to mark-- but even a second time round, a pen is preferred.)

ANYWAY.  This book?  Also, bright red and bright yellow-- the back cover is solid bright red and bright yellow.  However, I love Neal Gabler's book and don't really care about Stephen Clarke's so all this really means is if you want to attract me, the bright red and bright yellow will only get you a date, not a relationship.  (And, I slightly worry about this because I believe Ronald McDonald is always wearing these colors and truly, he is not my type.)

On a different note, thanks to everyone who e-mailed me about my short story.  I appreciate the feedback-- you all are wonderful!!!

Now, as I said before, I love the e-mails but please SUBSCRIBE to the blog.  It makes me look cool and it raises my spirits in the morning when I check out my blog and all it's happy bookness.

Also, I'm leaving on a trip in less than a week and I'm going to have to decide what to read, pronto.  I am considering a reread of Wuthering Heights paired with something new and sassy.  What do you think?  Any suggestions?  Someone once told me that all of Anne Rice's books are worth a read...any comments???

Before I leave, I'm going to post a complete list of all the books that readers have e-mailed me.  Then, I would like to have this book blog go into book club territory-- where we read together.  Come on!  You know you want to!  Don't make me have to change this blog into a fashion website where I just talk about all the different outfits celebrities wear (okay, I did tell Chloe Sevigny yesterday that I LOVED her dress at the Emmys and she told me I was so sweet.  And that was kind of cool.  But enough gossip!)

So please subscribe and let's get this show on the road!  I know that at least fifty of you are somehow related to me, so really you have no excuse.  The rest of you readers I can not guilt into joining this book club we call FREE PARKING, but you know that tons of good karma will come your way if you do.  Karma loves me.  We're best friends.

'Til later this week my friends.  Be well!

Sincerely,

Danny

               "Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend.  Inside of a dog it's too dark to read."

                                                                       -Groucho Marx

Dear Readers,

I hope, at some point, you find that one book that defines you.  That one where you can pull it off the shelf and you're once again reminded of who you are and what matters to you.  I have two books like this:  JD Salinger's "Franny & Zooey" and Tom Stoppard's "Arcadia."  I picked up "Arcadia" this evening and remembered so much... 

Since we're taking a few days respite (so that you can read your books and I can read mine), I'm going to include one of my very own short stories below.  It's titled "MAGGIE" and I hope you enjoy it.

Please also check out the charity that this blog is sponsoring.  It's charity:water and all you have to do is answer a question and money is donated by Google for clean water around the world.

And, as always, keep reading!
 

MAGGIE


She sat with her chin in her hand, hypnotically twirling a pencil on her desk.  The fluorescent lights that watched over the cubicle were in a daze themselves—rarely changing.  Maggie continued to spin the pencil, lightly fingering the eraser as the point spun slowly.  Maggie’s light blue button up shirt and navy blue skirt seemed exciting compared to her brown loafers.  People buzzed by her— pretending to be busy.  Her straw colored hair fell over her palm as she continued to watch the pencil slowly pirouette…

Coworkers typed with that distinct hum of tapping…  Sent illicit e-mails… Browsed online shopping sites… 

And Maggie began to dream. 

The pencil twirled and twirled…  And there was a dainty pink skirted ballerina in its place…she twirled and twirled with her chestnut hair tied firmly in an elegant bun.  Then the ballerina threw her head back and cackled—a sweet, infectious giggle—and the room began to hum…

Then there was the round ringmaster with his twirled moustache.  His baton marching and bouncing in time with the music of big drums…  His black top hat erect on his head, he bowed to the fair ballerina and kissed her cherry red fingernails.  She blushed and the ballerina smiled as the ringmaster took her in his arms and began to spin…  The room continued to hum as Maggie watched the little figures below her… Her big eyes a light grey blue, she watched and studied the life beneath her.  There was the music she wanted to hear, the dream world was pulling her—and she began to lose all contact…

Outside her cubicle the office went about its business…  But the slow drip of the coffee machine was keeping in time with the drums…  And then…

Maggie looked up at the giant pencil and smiled at the ballerina next to her…  A majestic red carpet rolled by—dignified and strong…vibrantly unrolling as it bounced… The ringmaster marched by with a magical band following his lead…Maggie was encircled…

There was wind and leaves and when the crowd cleared— there was Venice with its gondolas and striped shirt mimes, with their painted faces and their sinister and beautiful masks.  On her right, a window pane gleamed, beckoning her.  In reply, Maggie stuck her nose against the warm glass of the meringue-selling bakery.  Her breath forming small circles as she exhaled… The meringues slowly glowed white, yellow, and pink.  Inside, the robust baker with her hairy upper lip and her sausage fingers, wiped beads of sweat from her olive forehead…her rolling pin keeping time with the drums…

And in the reflection… as the meringues began to float and sing… was a tall stranger, straw-haired and gentle.  His square fingertips touched the glass and Maggie’s clothes turned to red, maroon, and crimson, then stark white— flowing and soft, her slip clung to her calves as the wind whispered around her shoulders and across her button nose…

Maggie reached for the fingertips— and the glass disappeared and so did the man.

And everything began to spin...

The mimes reappeared and offered her strawberries and blown-glass rings of every color, but she couldn’t stop twirling and the man was gone and the ballerina was watching as the ringmaster pulled Maggie up and up and up…

And there lay Maggie.  Exhausted and twirled.  A sigh of relief danced from her lips.  Her breath kept time with the clicking of laptops and the ringing of obnoxious cell phones.  Her legs that once felt light as meringues began to feel the pull of the earth and she clung sleepily to the tufts of cloud, so soft and comforting.  But the cloud would not hold. 

Maggie’s pencil skidded off the desk.  Her straw-colored hair held a distant scent of strawberries.  She palmed around for the missing pencil, fighting the urge to open her eyes and see that nothing had changed. 

Fearful to let go of the little ballerina with the chestnut hair.  Fearful that the ringmaster might haunt her dreams. 

And she was still enjoying that small, minute moment with the man with the straw-colored hair.  His long, spindly fingers pressed lightly against the baker’s window.  She could somehow taste the kiss that she had never even dreamed— and she could imagine the comfort of the spindly arms that were so tastefully covered in a coat and tails…

Outside the sun was setting and the fluorescent lights were ready for their evening siesta. 

Office workers packed up their things and groaned about the morning that would come too soon, or soon enough.  Quick to not be left behind in the darkness, Maggie pulled open her eyelids, reached down for her spinning pencil, retrieved it, and tucked it in her satchel along with her day’s work and stained coffee cup. 

Then Maggie left her cubicle.  She said goodbye to Joe, Daryl, and Steve, and Diane the mother of three.  Maggie and her loafers made it slowly for the exit, 6 pm hanging on the clock, and as she reached for the exit door— ready to push with her whole body— a limp fling of energy that would propel her back into routine— she stopped.  Her fingers tenderly grasped the silly pencil from her satchel.  And as she began to lift her arms, Joe and Diane eyed her curiously.  With their four eyes watching, Maggie twisted her hair up into a chignon and secured it with the dancing pencil.

Hair up, she softly pushed herself into the exit door, leaving the fluorescent world behind for tomorrow.

And went home to paint her nails red.
 


WRITTEN BY:  DANIELLE VAN BEEST


 

"There is no mistaking a real book when one meets it.  It is like falling in love."
                                                          -Christopher Morley

As I've grown older, I've noticed a distinct change in the genre I choose to spend my time with.  When I was a teenager, I was filled with the "Romeo & Juliet" mindset-- I loved tragedies, dramas, etc.  I could never understand why my Dad avoided them like the plague-- he usually just said: "that's too heavy.  I'd rather something lighter."  And in response, my teenage angst and I would roll our eyes at him and stomp off.

Now I understand where he's coming from.  Despite reading the occasional drama, the "heavy" books are no longer for me.  This may be why I couldn't quite get through the famous "The Unbearable Lightness of Being"--three quarters of the way through the book I deemed it depressing, and I decided that I disliked the main character so much that we simply could not get on-- and I put him and his story back on my bookshelf.

Books that are filled with only drama-- that hit a little close to reality and home-- I just don't find enjoyable anymore.  I appreciate them for their art-- but part of me now assumes that life is too beautiful and too short to spend it with the deep and sad.  That is probably why "Much Ado About Nothing" is my favorite of all Shakespeare's plays.

Now that I'm out of my head and back on the page-- I hope you all enjoyed the reading list for my female readers.  I hope you enjoyed it and that you have printed it out and when you make your next trip to the bookstore, that you will pull out your FREE PARKING list and pick one for the mood you're in.  Please let me know if you love these books too.  Again, you can either comment on this page or email me at: dvbfreeparking@yahoo.com.

Ladies, I am also writing the "10 Must Read Classics for Women" as well.  The first list is for fun and interesting choices-- but every woman needs a little Jane Austen and Emily Bronte in her life as well.  So, no worries-- the list is on its way!

Now on to the men folk!!!  I am happy to say that I have actually received some e-mails from my male readers letting me know their favorite books and why-- love the why part by the way-- one reader's explanation for why his favorite novel is "Jurassic Park" is because he "f*#@ing loves dinosaurs."  Love it.

Below is an interesting mix for men.  Let me know what you think and I hope you enjoy it!


10 MUST READ BOOKS FOR MEN

1)  THE GREAT GATSBY by F. Scott Fitzgerald
Considered one of the greatest American novels.  This was number one on my list, and numerous male readers named it their first choice as well.  If you haven't read it-- or read it in a while-- do.


2)  THE CATCHER IN THE RYE by JD Salinger
Ah, Holden Caulfield.  I was once told by an English teacher that he believed you should read this book every 6 years or so-- because every six years the book would have a completely different effect on you each time.  So, I have read this book with six year gaps-- and it's true.  It's a classic (although Franny & Zooey is by far my all time favorite JD Salinger novel--and maybe favorite novel of all time).  
 

 3)  HOW TO WIN FRIENDS & INFLUENCE PEOPLE by Dale Carnegie
 First published in 1936, this book has been an ongoing best seller for many reasons.  Read this book, and you will find that you are more able to speak with people and that you are more confident, clear spoken, and dare-I-say-it...happier.  A must read for every man.


4)  DANDELION WINE by Ray Bradbury
One of my absolute favorites, it's all about Ray Bradbury's love of his childhood.  The book is set during a hot summer in the 1920s-- all about what it's like to taste dandelion wine, saving up to buy that pair of sneakers that's sure to make you jump higher than ever before, interesting war veteran neighbors, inventions, and growing up.  
 

5)  THE ALCHEMIST by Paulo Coelho
Short, beautiful, and a must read.  
 

6)  THE MALTESE FALCON by Dashielle Hammett
Ah, the quintessential detective novel.  Catch Humphrey Bogart as the novel's famous detective "Sam Spade" in the film version after you read it.

  
7)  THE ODYSSEY by Homer
The epic Greek poem (and follow up to Homer's "The Iliad"), follows Odysseus on his trip home to Ithaca from Troy.  A classic and must-read.
 

8)  ZEN AND THE ART OF MOTORCYCLE MAINTENANCE by Robert Pirsig
The book chronicles a father and son's 17 day road trip and all the philosophical discussions about life that goes with it.  All about "Metaphysics of Quality," this book helps to explain life and how to live with both "the rational and the romantic."
  
9)  THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO by Alexander Dumas
It's a famous book for a reason.  Read it. 

10) JURASSIC PARK by Michael Crichton
Ah, and the cult classic.  There's a reason why it sold so many copies and why the film version followed soon after.  And, if you (as one of my readers said) "f*#@ing love dinosaurs" and adventure-- this is the book for you.

And that sums up my first list for the men.  It really runs the gamit-- everything from epic Greek poetry to detective novels to great American literature and so on.  Please let me know what you think of this list.  

What should have been on this list?  Did you enjoy these books as well?  Are you secretly fuming because "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" is absent???  Should "The Picture of Dorian Gray" be listed?

Comment or email me.  I would love to hear what you think.

Back to my own reading world-- since I last wrote, I have finished AMERICAN EVE: Evelyn Nesbit, Stanford White, the Birth of the "IT" Girl, and the CRIME OF THE CENTURY by Paula Uruburu.  And it was GREAT.  Definitly more for women, I would say, then for men.  But it's terribly fascinating and really paints a picture of life in New York City in the early 1900s-- and how women lived, survived, and married--and unmarried.  Fascinating.

Today I will run off to the book store and grab something new-- one of my favorite activities I must say.  I am buying The Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett.  One of my dear friends just e-mailed me and suggested it--it's a historical novel about the building of a cathedral.  (For those of you who don't know me--this book sounds like it was written just for me and my cathedral-loving soul.)  I might also pick up a copy of Julia Child's My Life in France which was suggested by another reader.  I'll read them and keep you posted.  Literally.  :)

I hope everyone has a beautiful weekend and I hope that at some point you're able to curl up with a book and glass of wine-- or maybe even a manly cigar.  Or, if you're one of my healthier readers, I hear a glass of lemonade with one's book is just as divine.

As always, thank you for reading!

"Man is least himself when he talks in his own person.  Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth."  - Oscar Wilde

Hello new readers! I have already received some e-mails about what you are currently reading-- love it. If you haven't commented/posted your current reading (you can do this at the bottom of each blog post where it says "comment"--just roll your mouse over the word and it should turn orange, then click on it), please do so. I'll be sure to put a list together this week of what everyone's reading and why they recommend it. 


For many of us, books are special because they represent that brief increment of time where you can devote yourself to reading-- not to work, not to family duties, etc. So, you want that book to be everything that you're currently looking for. That's why I'm really excited to get everyone commenting and talking-- tell me what you're reading and why you love it.

The first reader/post is from my beautiful grandmother in England and she has just finished: The Veiled Kingdom by Carmen Bin Laden. Yep, you heard me right. Carmen Bin Laden. Born in Europe and raised with Western values, Carmen married into the Bin Laden family and the Saudi Arabian culture. I'm visiting my grandmother in a few weeks and she is going to give me her copy. I'll read it and let you know what I think.

ON THAT NOTE. That reminds me of another reason why I'm very passionate about this blog. Some of my greatest memories revolve around books-- I'm known for giving my books away constantly (I write my name and the date on the title page, so that when the book finally returns to me I know how long it's been gone.) And I love books and I feel that lending out your favorite book really is a wonderful thing.

I can remember one of my best friends from Texas was appropriately nicknamed "Philosopher" (his real name was Josh). The day I left to move to California, he gave me a copy of The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. He told me someone had given it to him, that he wanted me to read it, then immediately give it away to someone else. It is one of my all time favorite books. And it's just the sort of book that needs to be passed on-- it's inspirational and absolutely beautiful. I have purchased numerous copies of the book over the past 6 years, and I have dutifully handed them off after re-reading them.

I'm going to begin with 10 books for my female readers. (My next blog will feature 10 great books for my guy readers, then after that the reading lists will be co-ed, I promise.) There are so many wonderful women in my life. And many of them have forwarded their favorite books on to me over the years. I, in turn, have read them and loved them. Listed below are 10 books that were suggested to me. I think you should consider them if you're looking for a book, ladies. Enjoy.


10 GREAT BOOKS FOR WOMEN (In no specific order)


1) THE RED TENT by Anita Diamant
My cousin Dawn gave this book to my Mom, who read it and gave it to me. It was so good that I read it in two days. I sat for six hours at one point. (This was during Christmas vacation, when six straight hours were available to me.) Every woman should read this book. It's intense, spiritual, heart breaking, and it makes you realize how important the women in your life are. Read it.


2) A ROOM WITH A VIEW by E.M. Forster
I really can't remember who first handed this book off to me. I've read it so many times that the binding can hardly keep the pages together. It's a very leisurely book, something lovely for a plane flight. It's a classic.


3) EAT PRAY LOVE by Elizabeth Gilbert
There was a period of time last summer when EVERYWHERE I WENT there was a woman reading this book. It was like when Harry Potter first came out. I think I didn't read it on purpose for a long time because EVERYONE was reading it... But, it was everywhere, so finally I picked up a copy.

It's so enjoyable. Elizabeth's trip to Italy, India, & Indonesia help her to get through a terrible divorce and she begins to finally do that important thing-- which is to find out who she really is and what she really wants in life. I have handed my copy off to my aunt Robin. (I hope she's reading it.)

I knew I was going to enjoy this when the author, in the beginning of her book, compares her type of loving to somewhere between "a golden retriever and a barnacle"-- which hit home with me... I immediately felt connected to her. Read this in the carpool line, those 30 minutes before bed, and when you can't sleep so you're drinking that medicinal second glass of wine. Wonderful and fun.


4) THE OTHER BOLEYN GIRL by Philippa Gregory
Okay, this author has written about a gazillion books since this-- most of which I've read-- don't bother with the other titles, but do read this one. SKIP THE FILM. The film is terrible, and soooooo does not give this book justice. It's all about fiery Anne Boleyn, her sister Mary, and Henry VIII. It reads like a historical romance novel--which means it's a trashy yet classy girly novel with some history (so you don't feel so wrong about reading it). Sooo good. Read whenever. Wherever. Not a classic, but you won't be able to put it down.


5) THE HISTORIAN by Elizabeth Kostova
I have just given this book to my mother. This book just glared at me from a shelf one day, and I gave in. It's the grown up version of a vampire novel-- but reads like real life. It's brilliantly written, and absolutely fascinating. You won't find anything Twilight-esque in this book. It creates a world of historians and professors who find themselves asking "what if Dracula is still alive?" AWESOME.


6) A LOTUS GROWS IN THE MUD by Goldie Hawn
My good friend Mary gave me this book. If you love Goldie Hawn (and who doesn't)-- read this. It's enjoyable from beginning to end and makes you realize that everyone's life is filled with beauty, love, hard times, bloopers, giggles, and times of perserverance. Lovely.


7) THE AWAKENING by Kate Chopin
I first read this book as required reading in high school. I have told many friends to read it. It's about a married woman in New Orleans in the late 1800s and her fight with social standards-- who to love, who to be, and if you can leave it all behind to be free. It's terribly good and not all that happy, but it's a must read. If you like soap operas at all, read this.


8) THE ALCHEMIST by Paulo Coelho
This is a quick read and will be in your life forever. It needs no explanation. Read it.


9) 100 YEARS OF SOLITUDE by Nobel Prize winner Gabriel Garcia Marquez
My best friend and I argue about which book is better--100 Years of Solitude or Love in the Time of Cholera. They are both incredible, but I'm going to recommend 100 years first. Marquez is known for his style of "magical realism"-- it chronicles 100 years in a fictional town-- all about family, love, loss, and fantasy. Brilliant.

10) I FEEL BAD ABOUT MY NECK by Nora Ephron
This book is nothing short of kick-ass-awesome. You heard me. Quick, fun, and for women of all ages. Read it, read it, read it. And who doesn't love Nora Ephron????


And those are my first 10 recommendations! Let me know what you think.

Have you read one of these books and didn't like it? Did you love it too?

What books would you add in a must-read list for women?

And for my male readers-- please send me your favorite book of all time. I'm planning a very interesting list for the boys-- so please send me your input!

And if you prefer to email me your thoughts instead of commenting on this page, you can email me at: dvbfreeparking@yahoo.com!  ALSO, I just found out that previously you had to be a registered google user in order to comment on this page-- I have disabled that function so that you can comment without having to be registered--so now that there are no excuses, I'm going to expect lots of comments!!!


Thank you so much for reading.

"I wish you well and so I take my leave,
I Pray you know me when we meet again."
William Shakespeare