Penny Warner: Blog

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 04:28:00 +0000

PARTY WITH A MOUSEFUL OF KIDS

Been to Chuck E. Cheese lately? We hadn’t, not for about 25 years, when the place first opened in San Ramon and we had young kids. Back then it was Kids’ Birthday Central. That part hasn’t changed, although there are more options today, what with Super Franks, Boomers, The Jungle, Party Palooza, and dozens of other packaged party places in the area.

The original Cheese House is long gone, but there’s a new and improved one in Dublin that’s brighter, safer, and louder than ever. I know because I had to spend two hours there attending my two grandkids’ combined birthday party. Bradley was turning five and Stephanie was celebrating her first birthday, so my son and daughter-in-law decided to keep it simple this year and opt for a dual party package at the Big Cheese.

When we entered the place, we were met by a security staff member who stamped the kids to make sure each one went home with the right adult. Once we were cleared, we headed over to the party room, filled with nearly a dozen tables, all decorated with festive party ware. Immediately we played a game called “Search for Right Table” and nearly joined the wrong party until my son found us.

My husband and I were each given a grandchild to watch. Tom got the one-year-old, I got the fiver. We were also handed some Cheese Chump Change to use on the various kid-level games located in adjoining rooms. Little Stephanie played a mean game of “Whack a Mole” with her bare hands, while Big Brother Bradley nailed berserk dinosaurs, drove high-speed race cars, and wildly tossed basketballs. When he’d won enough tickets to exchange for a ten-cent rubber spider, he ran off and disappeared into the giant “hamster trail” overhead. I didn’t see him again until it was time for pizza.

After seemingly hours of play time, one of the Cheese Hosts announced the commencement of the party pizza. Hoards of kids ran to their respective tables for a slice of cheese pizza and some lemonade. During the meal, Chuck E. and his band played popular songs at ear-piercing decibels, and the Mouse Himself presented each of the guests of honor with inflated crowns filled with game tokens.

Bradley beamed at the attention from the Cheesemeister and wore his crown with pride for the next five minutes. Meanwhile Stephanie, clueless to the festivities, grabbed handfuls of the chocolate cake sitting in front of her and smeared it over her face as if it were foundation makeup. I don’t know how much went up her nose, but she seemed to enjoy finger painting with the stuff, and I wasn’t about to interrupt her birthday fun.

Leaving half-eaten pizza slices and frosting-licked cake behind, the kids took off again for more games, more tokens, and more rubber spiders. At that point, having forgotten to wear ear plugs, take Tylenol, and dress in chocolate-colored clothes, and Tom and I decided to sneak out.

The party was a success, the parents were pleased, the kids were delighted, and the price was right. For a quick and easy party, these package places are the way to go. I’m thinking of hosting my husband’s next birthday there. He loves pizza and Whack a Mole.

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Thu, 25 Feb 2010 16:50:00 +0000

THE MYSTERY OF ROMANCE WRITING

While I write primarily murder mysteries, I always include a love interest in my stories. All murder and no sex makes mysteries a dull read, don’t you think?

As for me, I prefer “sexual tension” to on-the-page sex, mainly because I find the “game of love” a more compelling page-turner than reading about a comfortable relationship between a couple. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s what I’ve had with my husband of 40 years.

Still, fantasy romance is fun. In my first series, my deaf protagonist, Connor Westphal, meets attractive Dan Smith in DEAD BODY LANGUAGE. Connor publishes her own weekly newspaper in the town of Flat Skunk, located in the California Gold country. Her office neighbor is a mysterious guy, newly arrived in town, looking for his private investigator brother. When bro turns up dead after following a case, Dan takes over his job, using his former police officer background to help Connor solve the mystery.

But it’s their first meeting that was the most fun to write.

“Who the hell are you?” asks Connor when she discovers the man with arms of steel in the office next door. When he tries to flirt with her by saying, “With that accent, you don’t sound like you’re from around here. Where’d you get it?” But the attempt falls flat when Connor responds, “Meningitis.”

Right off the bat, the reader knows this will be a cat-and-mouse game of love between the two very different personalities. Through the series Connor takes the romance slowly, having been burned by an old boyfriend who cheated on her. But by book three, Connor finds herself in bed with Dan. Instead of writing the details of their “body language,” I turn the sex into sex play—and have fun with it.

For example, when Dan is awakened in Connor’s bed by fairly violent shaking, he fears it’s an earthquake—common in the area—and jumps up, stark naked, to brace himself under a door jamb. Meanwhile, Connor enjoys the view of Dan’s naked body, then pushes a button on the side of her bed. There’s been no earthquake. Connor, being deaf and unable to use a standard alarm clock, has a “Shake-Awake” alarm attached to her bed, which causes it to tremble in the morning, waking her for the day ahead. Mortified, Dan returns to bed, but his embarrassment quickly disappears when he realizes Connor’s bed has other uses in the romance department….

So you see, I like to have fun with it. That way if my mother reads it, she may blush but she won’t die of a heart attack.

Now that I’m starting a new series, HOW TO HOST A KILLER PARTY, I’ve got a new protagonist, Presley Parker, event planner who lives and works on Treasure Island in the San Francisco Bay Area. She meets Brad Matthews, an attractive Crime Scene Cleaner, who joins her in her pursuit of truth, justice, and the solving of mysteries.

When they first meet, Presley calls Brad a “lunatic,” and he tries to check her breath for alcohol. Not an auspicious beginning—but just the kind I like. And between murders, the two characters enjoy some back-and-forth repartee, often laced with sexual innuendoes.

Brad reached over to accept Pandora’s box. As he did, his shirt rose, revealing a glimpse of his tan, tight waist. That wasn’t all. There was a definite bulge in his pants. As flattering as it would have been, Brad Matthews wasn’t necessarily happy to see me.

That was a gun in his pocket.

So while I’m not quite ready to write a full-on sex scene for the page, I’m looking forward to doing a lot more research on the topic….:0

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Fri, 19 Feb 2010 17:04:00 +0000

DYING FOR CHOCOLATE

Like most readers of Janet Rudolph’s Dying for Chocolate Blog—aw let’s face it, like most women on the planet—I’m a Choc-addict. That’s like being a crack addict but more fattening.

Currently my drug of choice has me in trouble with my daughter. I just introduced the out-of-control substance to my two-year-old grandson—I gave him a Hersey’s Kiss—and now all he talks about is getting more “shock-lit.” He’s already a Choc-addict like his grandmother.

Naturally both protagonists in my two mystery series have my disorder. Connor Westphal (DEAD BODY LANGUAGE) keeps chocolates hidden in her desk, while Presley Parker (HOW TO HOST A KILLER PARTY) deals them to unsuspecting crowds at her parties. But when she’s not sharing them, she uses chocolates for medicinal purposes. She has ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder) and the caffeine in chocolate and coffee are similar to drugs like Ritalin and Adderall, which calm her down instead of revving her up.

So she self-medicates. Often.

Unfortunately for Presley, her chocolates are sometimes lethal. As a party planner, she always includes some form of chocolate on the party menu. But after hiring local TV chef Rocco Ghirenghelli to create chocolate Maltese Falcons for Mayor Davin Green’s Alcatraz Wedding Party, she soon realizes a couple of the brown birds have been injected with cyanide. She discover this when the bride-to-be is found floating in the San Francisco Bay, a victim of poisoning. And dead guests of honor aren’t really good for the party business.

So how did Presley get herself into this chocolate mess? That’s the way I wrote her. After all, it’s a murder mystery. And while I haven’t had much experience injecting chocolates with cyanide (see the Internet for instructions), I have had a lot of experience with chocolate, as well as party planning, writing party books for kids and adults, and creating mysteries. Since “they” often say, “Write what you know,” I decided to make my new sleuth a party planner (she prefers “event planner”), put her on Treasure Island where she lives and works, and have her solve mysteries all around the San Francisco Bay Area.

Presley, recently downsized from her teaching job at San Francisco State University, agrees to the career change after being encouraged by her mother, once a popular party girl and member of the City’s café society. But after developing early stage Alzheimer’s, Mother has retired to a care facility, leaving Presley to fill her party slippers.

After that it’s just one party foul after another…

Although the book doesn’t include recipes, HOW TO HOST A KILLER PARTY is like having three books in one. 1. It’s a mystery, 2. there’s a complete party plan at the end of the book, and 3. Presley offers party tips throughout the mystery. Tips like:

Party Planning Tip #2: "Like MacGyver, a good event planner can fix any party mishap with a toothpick, duct tape, or crepe paper.”

Party Planning Tip # 3: “Don’t drink while hosting an event. Especially when the police want to question you about a murder.”

Party Planning Tip #13: “Choose your event caterer carefully. Nothing ruins a party faster than a bunch of toilet-hugging guests who’ve been poisoned by bad sushi or tampered chocolates.”

I’ll leave you with one last Presley Parker tip that’s guaranteed to make your party a success: “When your dessert soufflé falls flat, dump the disaster into the disposal and bring out your backup stash of gourmet chocolates. One bite of a Christopher Norman, Marie Belle or Lake Champlain chocolate and your guests will be eating out of your hands.”

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Mon, 15 Feb 2010 19:28:00 +0000

Romance vs. Revenge on Valentine's Day

WHEN I WAS a kid, I loved Valentine's Day, mainly because my teacher had us decorate shoeboxes with pink and red hearts, bring in Valentine cards featuring our favorite cartoon characters (mine was Little Lulu), and then collect as many cards as we could from our classmates. Plus we got chocolate.

When I first fell in love with my husband, I went to a lot of trouble picking out the perfect Valentine gifts—chocolate-covered strawberries, heart-printed boxer shorts, and homemade "I Heart You" cards. And he'd always give me dyed pink daisies from the grocery store and a heart-shaped box of drugstore chocolates.

Eventually we started showering our kids with Valentine goodies. My husband would sneak into their bedrooms early in the morning and sprinkle princess- and Star Wars-themed valentines all over the kids' beds and floor, while I made pink heart-shaped pancakes, pink scrambled eggs, and pink milk.

Now that I've got so many Valentine recipients in my family, I've decided to keep it simple and just pass out chocolate roses wrapped in pink foil, along with a humorous card from the stationery store.

When I mentioned Valentine's Day to a friend of mine who recently got dumped by her husband, I realized not everyone loves Valentine's Day like I do (mainly because of the chocolates). So I quickly created a party for my "Valentine's Day Sucks" friend to help her get through this mushy time. If you prefer to celebrate "Valentine's Day Sucks" too, here are some suggestions:

# Begin with invitations. Create your own, using the "Roses are red" formula. First cut a valentine card in half using a zigzag pattern so it looks like a broken heart. Then write a poem to invite your guests, such as, "Roses are red, Violets are blue, Butch is a pig, So let's kiss him 'Adieu!' " or "Roses are dead, Love is a lie, Bozo's a jerk, So let's roast the guy!"

# Suggest what to wear. Instead of dressing up in fancy or sexy outfits, have the guests come as slobs and be comfortable. Better yet, have T-shirts made with Bozo's face, circle it with red permanent marker and run a line through it, then pass the shirts out to guests.

# Time to decorate. Have guests create their own banners to hang on the walls, such as "Valentine's Day Sucks," "Men are Pigs," or "Love Hurts." Play lady-killer music, such as Shania Twain's "Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under?" Place a chocolate rose at each place setting.

# Get your game on. Play some killer games to keep from actually murdering the guy, such as "Venus vs. Mars." Write down some question prompts about men, such as, "Why don't men like to shop?" "Why do men have only three bathroom products?" "Why don't men like cats?" "Why do men act like children?" "Why don't men put the toilet seat down?"

# Have the players write down funny answers and read them aloud. Then watch a marathon of chick flicks featuring strong women, such as "Thelma and Louise."

# Time to eat and drink. Serve junk food, decadent chocolate desserts, and wash it all down with champagne!

#When the party's over, send the girls home with gourmet chocolates, a poster of Tiger Woods, and a good murder mystery — in which the boyfriend gets it.

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Sun, 31 Jan 2010 17:56:00 +0000

Where's a good plot when you need one?

DON'T YOU JUST want to slap the next person who blurts out the overused phrase, "Get a life!"?

I have a life. In fact, with writing and teaching and baby-sitting grandchildren, I have more than enough lives.

Truth is, what I need right now is a plot. Not a cemetery plot, a story plot. A plot is similar to a life, but it's fiction and has a deadline — although I suppose you could argue that life does, too.

I'm glad I have a life because writing a column every couple of weeks requires it. If I don't experience something interesting, then I have nothing to write about. But when writing fiction, that's — to use another overused phrase — "another story."

Making stuff up is much like being a good liar, only you have to lie for about 300 pages. And for that, you need a plot.

After writing two books in my new mystery series, I need a plot for my third. I've already poisoned a bride, drowned a socialite, bludgeoned a philanthropist, and creatively murdered several other fictional characters. I've got the murder stuff down. What I need now is a cleverly twisting story full of red herrings, misdirection, and cliffhangers.

And it has to sound like real life.

Therein lies the problem. While I have "a life," it doesn't include mayhem, malice or murder. Living here in the valley, while it has its ups and down like any valley, is mostly peaceful and pleasant.

If I want drama, I turn on the TV and watch shows like "The Mentalist," "Castle," and "Criminal Minds." Sometimes these shows give me ideas for my own plots. But I have to be careful I don't steal the stories outright. That could lead to courtroom drama of another kind.

At book signings, I'm often asked, "Where do you get your plots?" My fellow writers usually give a witty response, like "At the plot store" or "Walmart." But the truth is, plots are difficult to come by, especially when your amateur sleuth isn't a police officer or attorney or private detective. Plots just seem to fall into their laps.

In my new series, my protagonist is a party planner. Only problem is, so many people have been dropping dead at her parties, she's going to be out of business soon. That's called the "Jessica Fletcher Syndrome."Remember how Jessica Fletcher, in "Murder She Wrote," was always tripping over dead bodies in quaint little Cabot Cove? It's a wonder there was anyone left in the town. So who's going to hire Presley Parker to host a party when inevitably one or more of the guests will be found dead in the punchbowl? In real life, her "Killer Parties" business wouldn't last the party season.

But luckily, writing fiction isn't like real life. You can make up anything you want. That's called plotting. And now I'm right back where I started this lament.

Maybe I should take a break from the world of fiction and get back to real life by throwing a party, with finger foods (not literally) and chocolates (poison-free). And, what the heck, signed copies of "How to Host a Killer Party."

I just hope no one falls facedown in the punch bowl. I'd like to keep fiction and real life separate as much as possible.

Join me Monday, Feb. 8 from 7 to 9 p.m. for a book-release party at Peasant and the Pear restaurant, 267 Hartz Ave., Danville.

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Thu, 28 Jan 2010 00:58:00 +0000

Penny Warner pens a culinary mystery

This appeared in the Times, Herald, Mercury News, and Oakland Tribune.

By Jackie Burrell
Contra Costa Times

Forget those locked-room mysteries of yore.

These days, some of the hottest crime fiction revolves around caterers and chefs. The latest author to venture into culinary mystery territory is Danville's Penny Warner, whose Bay Area hero — party planner Presley Parker — runs into homicidal high jinks all over the Bay Area, starting with an Alcatraz wedding gone awry.

Gourmet mayhem may not seem like a recipe for bestsellerdom, but there's no denying the genre's popularity. Perhaps the best known practitioner is best-selling author Diane Mott Davidson, whose Colorado caterer Goldie Schultz trips over corpses as often as she slurps up high-octane espressos — which is to say, every few hours.

The stories are fun and frothy, and the recipes for Fatally Flaky Cookies, Sour Cream Cherry Coffee Cake and the like are so tasty, many have found their way into avid readers' permanent recipe files. Davidson's 15th book, "Fatally Flaky" (William Morrow, 336 pp., $25.99), will be released in paperback this spring.

Other popular authors who mix Bearnaise with poison include Jerrilyn Farmer and her Hollywood party planner hero, Madeline Bean; Katherine Hall Page and her New England caterer (and preacher's wife) Faith Fairchild; and San Francisco native and UC Berkeley grad Joanna Pence, whose books revolve around sometime chef Angie Amalfi.

The much-published Warner is an Agatha award-winning author whose books include the Connor Westphal mystery series and a Nancy Drew handbook. "How to Host a Killer Party" (Signet, 320 pp., $6.99) lands on store shelves Feb. 2 and it's a lark. No recipes, which may be just as well, considering what the corpses-to-be ate just before, er, exiting the party. But there are plenty of hosting tips, including, "Like MacGyver, a good event planner can fix any party mishap with a toothpick, duct tape, or some crepe paper. Especially those pesky blood spatters."

Meet Warner at her book launch party from 7 to 9 p.m. Feb. 8 at Danville's Peasant & the Pear, or at readings at the libraries in San Leandro (Jan. 30), Castro Valley (Feb. 16) and Antioch (Feb. 22), at Pleasanton's Towne Center Books (Feb. 26), and San Mateo's M is for Mystery bookstore (March 3). Details: www.pennywarner.com.

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Sun, 17 Jan 2010 17:38:00 +0000

BABYSITTING IN THE 21ST CENTURY

My daughter Rebecca is due to have a baby at the end of the month. She’s asked us to babysit two-year-old Luke during her stay at the hospital. The last time she went to the hospital to have her first baby, she asked us to take care of her cats. I’m afraid this time will involve a little more than opening up a can of foul-smelling food and setting it on the floor of the garage.

To make sure we were up for the task, my daughter decided to give us a test run.

Now, back in the day when we had young children, we were so grateful to get out of the house alone, we didn’t insist that Grandma Mary follow a bunch of babysitting rules. She could have fed them chocolate for dinner and let them watch horror movies and we’d have been happy, as long as the kids were alive when we got back.

But my daughter isn’t quite as grateful as I was. So when they went off to a wedding last weekend, I figured all we’d have to do was feed Luke some dinner (at the table), play Buzz Lightyear for a while, and then put him to bed. No sweat; we’d raised two kids of our own.

And then she gave us “The Rules.” Seriously. Here’s an excerpt from her manifesto.

“Food Rules:
1. Please hide your cookies and chips and candy.
2. If he’s thirsty, give him hot milk, heated to 110 degrees for one minute in the microwave, in his Mickey Mouse sippy cup.
3. When he’s hungry, pick one food from each category:

“Breakfast: Category 1:
a. Whole grain frozen waffles with cinnamon—cut into fourths. Put a piece in his hand and he might feed himself.
b. Peanut butter on whole wheat toast—cut into fourths—then feed him bites.
c. Sesame seed bagel with cream cheese—cut into fourths. He might feed himself but never has for me.

“Category 2: a. Precooked refrigerated bacon – two pieces. Microwave for a minute so it’s extra crispy and he won’t choke.
b. Precooked frozen sausage – two pieces. Microwave for 1 minute, cut into little bites, and feed him with a fork.
c. Bowl of dry cereal: Cheerios or Crispex (he calls them spikeys.)”

Lunch and dinner meals are even more complicated so I won’t go into those. Let’s move on to Bedtime.

“Bedtime: Give him warm milk at 7:30 and bring him into his bedroom. While he’s drinking it, change his diaper (standing up) and put him in his Lightning McQueen PJ’s. Then tell him to pick out a story. When you finish the last story, give him his ‘wu’ (blanket), pick him up, and go say goodnight to Benny and Roxy (cats) and everything in his room. Turn on the sound machine, select “Wind,” and turn the light off. Tell him that everyone (including Spiderman) is going to sleep. Get him his bat and his ball (they should be in his crib) and rub his back. Then say “Good night, Buddy” and “I love you,” walk out and close the door. If he cries, start the timer for three minutes. then go in and repeat the process. Do this at least three times before you give up.”

By then it’ll be time for some chocolate and a horror movie.
Seriously.

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Thu, 14 Jan 2010 17:51:00 +0000

MY BLOG CHAT WITH RHYS BOWEN AT JUNGLERED.COM

Hi Rhys,
I’ve been looking forward to guest blogging on Jungle Red—what a great site! And what a great bunch of mystery writers. I’ll bet you all put on some great parties—lots of jungle prints with splashes of red, poison chocolates, a game of Truth or Dare... Now, on to the interrogation…I mean, interview…

Where did this interest in party planning come from?

It all started when I was three and had my first birthday party. I got to dress up like a princess, invite all my friends over, open a bunch of presents, and eat chocolate cake decorated with M&Ms. I knew from that point on that parties were my destiny. Trouble was, my birthday only came around once a year, so I had to think up other reasons to party. (Don’t you love that “party” is also now a verb, as in “to party!”)

Tell us about your new sleuth

Presley Parker (named after Elvis—her mother was a big fan), was recently downsized at her abnormal psychology teaching job at San Francisco State University. Forced to move from her Marina apartment and find work, she ended up renting a condo on Treasure Island and setting up her new business in an old barracks there. Her mother, once the party queen of San Francisco café society, encouraged her to try the event-planning business, since Pres often helped her mom at various functions. Reluctantly Pres gives it a try, promising herself she’ll donate a percentage of her profits to important causes like the Alzheimer’s Foundation—her mother has early stage Alzheimer’s. After the City’s premiere party planner mysteriously dies, Presley finds herself hired to plan Mayor Davin Green’s “surprise” wedding on notorious Alcatraz—with a “ball-and-chain” theme. But a major party foul occurs when the bride-to-be is later found dead floating in the bay, a victim of poisoned chocolates. When Presley becomes prime suspect, she gets help from her quirky Treasure Island co-workers, as well as the mysterious crime scene cleaner Brad Matthews who helps tidy up her tarnished reputation. She realizes that if she doesn’t solve this mystery, she’ll be exchanging her party dress for prison stripes.

You're not new to the mystery genre, but your former series, featuring a deaf sleuth, Connor Westfall, was serious and dealt with many social issues. This one is all fun. Which is closer to the real Penny Warner?

I love them both, but I have to admit, since I majored in partying the first two years at the University of Oregon, I’m more like Presley. Unfortunately, they didn’t offer a degree in the subject, so I got my teaching credential and taught deaf kids and sign language for a number of years. Still, I never gave up my love for hosting creative parties, and began writing books on the subject for both kids and adults. It’s not easy juggling a life of partying with teaching and writing, but thanks to my ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder—Presley and I also have this in common), I manage.

You're a lady of many talents--you've written children's mysteries and a non-fiction Nancy Drew bible. Obviously you have a strong connection with children. Were you ever a teacher?

I’ve been teaching Child Development and Psychology at the college level for the past 30 years. My readers often question why a child development instructor would want to write murder mysteries. I think, when you raise children, it’s obvious, but I do promise my readers that no children—or cats—are harmed in the making of my mysteries.

What is next for you and your sleuth?

I plan to have a margarita, but my sleuth has, what you’d call “a life,” so she’s busy hosting parties. In her next book, HOW TO CRASH A KILLER BASH, she plans at Murder Mystery Party at the de Young Museum in San Francisco. Naturally, someone winds up deader than a decaying artifact. When she’s finished solving that case, she’ll head to the Winchester Mystery House and learn HOW TO SURVIVE A KILLER SÉANCE.

When is the new book out in stores?

Tuesday, February 2—any time after midnight…And it’s only $6.99!

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Sun, 03 Jan 2010 23:23:00 +0000

NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS...AND CAVEATS

I SPENT A LONG TIME making my list of New Year's resolutions — about as long as it takes for me to shower. That's where I do my best resolution work.

I came up with a bunch of resolutions that I plan to keep this time — more or less.
Caveat: This should not be considered a legal document.

First, I plan to save more money and shop less. That means I'll buy underpants and other necessities by the crate at the big-box stores instead of hitting the mall twice a day.
Caveat: Unless there's a sale at Victoria's Secret.

I plan to exercise more and sit less on my rear. That means I'll get my own snack from the refrigerator when I'm hungry instead of waiting for my husband to return home from work and bring it to me.
Caveat: Unless my grandson is tall enough to reach the snack shelf.

I plan to cook more and dine out less. That means the kitchen will be littered with snack wrappers and frozen food boxes instead of doggy bags and restaurant receipts.
Caveat: Unless there's a new menu at the Peasant and the Pear.

I plan to spend more time with my grandchildren before they're all grown up and less time doing things that can wait. That means I'll be playing Mario Brothers marathons and having tea parties instead of showering, brushing my teeth and changing out of my bathrobe.
Caveat: Unless I have an urgent scrapbooking page to complete.

I plan to clean the house more and let the cat hair pile up less. That means I'll be buying a new vacuum cleaner (because there may be an actual cat in the old one), instead of just moving to a new house.
Caveat: Unless the Winchester Mystery House goes up for sale.

I plan to use Facebook more and e-mail less. That means I can send all my Facebook friends the same personal note all at once instead of copying and pasting it into an e-mail over and over.
Caveat: Unless I push the wrong button and send an embarrassing mass message that features video footage of my colonoscopy.

I plan to diet more and weigh less. That means I'll have to cut out all food instead of trying to duct tape my pants together.
Caveat: Unless it's chocolate. Obviously.

I plan to read more books and watch less TV. That means I'll be looking for books with titles like "E! News Daily" and "So You Think You Can Dance" instead of wasting time watching them on TV.
Caveat: Unless there's a Three Stooges marathon on.

I plan to be a more hip and inspiring teacher like Will Schuester on "Glee" and a less boring lecturer like that guy from "Ferris Bueller's Day Off." That means I'll sing and dance to cool music in class instead of blabbing on about the "theoretical frameworks and cultural rituals of childhood in the diverse contexts of ecological semiotic, and sociolinguistic terms."
Caveat: Unless they boo me off the stage.

Yep, these are my New Year's resolutions. More or less. Unless...

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Sun, 06 Dec 2009 17:05:00 +0000

Taking a break from holiday madness

DID YOU EVER NOTICE there's a black hole between Black Friday (super retail shopping day) and Black Monday (super e-tail shopping day)?

It's that transitional time just after Thanksgiving, when the mashed potatoes have finally been chipped off the windows and the turkey carcass recovered from under the couch, and before the dusty Christmas decorations are retrieved from the attic and again come to life in our living rooms.

That tiny window of time offers us a chance to reflect on the immediate past (How we ever got through Thanksgiving Day without having to call the cops) and plan for the upcoming festivities (How we'll spend the next few weeks prepping 'til we're pooped). That's why I decided to invite a bunch of friends over for a "Ladies' Post-Holiday Recovery and Pre-Holiday Revitalization Party Plus Make-A-Scrapbook Craft" afternoon.

After sending out last-minute invitations, I received a few regrets from those still trying to get the cranberry sauce out of their tablecloths, trapped in line at the mall, or simply scared off by the word "craft."But those who came seemed eager for a day to themselves, no matter what the party theme. We were all looking forward to relaxing for a few hours while consuming mass quantities of chocolate.

For entertainment, I asked my talented daughter-in-law Sue to show us how to make a Christmas Memory Keeper scrapbook out of ordinary paper lunch bags. I figured we could use it to keep pictures of our grandchildren, or at least a decorative lunch.

Luckily for those of us who are craft-impaired, Sue had prepared all the materials ahead of time, making this challenging task easy for those of us who'd eaten too much paste in preschool. Even the ones who'd never held a tape dispenser or a pair of scalloped scissors before quickly learned how to cut, stick, and embellish.

After everyone arrived and had eaten their weight in chocolate, we sat at a couple of tables and began covering our book-like paper bags with glitter and jewels, ribbons and trim, and Santas and snowflakes.

The younger generation — my pregnant daughter Rebecca and her pregnant friend Julie — were advanced and able to multitask. They managed to talk nonstop about cesarean sections, birth plans, and baby clothes while whipping out their works of art. Meanwhile, our table — the table with those of a certain age — could barely manage to say "pass the Rolos" while cutting a piece of ribbon.

I'd expected to be done with this project in less than an hour, leaving plenty of time for chocolate refills — three hours later I was still adding pictures of penguins and poinsettias. When I finally finished, I realized there was no room left for photographs of my grandchildren.

Oh well. The Memory Keeper is adorable, if I do say so myself, and Ladies' Afternoon Off accomplished what I'd hoped for. It provided refreshing R & R between two hectic holidays. The bonus was we all ended up with a festive place to store holiday memories.

Now that I know how, I've just started working on a second Memory Keeper. This one is for storing memories of a fun afternoon with friends. I should be done by Christmas...

Reach Sue Warner at papershapersue.blogspot.com

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 01:32:00 +0000

A big Thanksgiving with all the trimmings -- and relatives

Nostalgic for those big family Thanksgivings of yesteryear, we've decided to invite the whole family to our house this year. That means we'll be gathering relatives we haven't seen much over the past few years, mainly since they had kids.

I have nothing against kids in general, but when there are too many of them, they tend to run around the house like wild turkeys on herbs. My couch turns into a trampoline, my expensive knickknacks become toys and the cats barely escape with their remaining lives.

That's not the only reason we've avoided the mass invasion. One year, a battle broke out between the two major clans — the vegans and the carnivores — and the tofurkey food fight was not funny. You can't get that stuff out of your tablecloth, let alone your hair.

Talk about guests who never leave, my relatives were still partying at midnight when I came out in my flannel pajamas and turned off the lights. Before they left, they raided the refrigerator and ate the leftovers that would have fed us for a week.

But my kids have been nagging us to have another big Thanksgiving. They miss the frenzied chaos, deafening noise, and broken furniture the holiday brings with it. Now that they have kids of their own, they want to show them off at a "family reunion" this year.

Fine. So, I mailed off handmade invitations to anyone with a related surname. In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I asked them to bring a dish to share (a bag of chips?), a game to play (Pass-Out?), and something they're thankful for (that they're not hosting Thanksgiving?)

Around the dinner table we'll take turns sharing our blessings. The kids will say they're grateful for video games and iPods, and the fact that Christmas is only four weeks away (which means more video games and iPods). The adults will just say "Alcohol."

Then, after we all devour enough food to feed the city of Fresno, we'll sit around with our guts exposed and watch a sports event, like "The Jerry Springer Show," on the plasma TV.

My kids will leave early because they have to go to their in-laws for a repeat Thanksgiving, ditching the rest of the relatives who've brought their sleeping bags.

Exhausted after everyone leaves, we'll try to get back into the spirit of the season. Before you know it, the relatives will be back for Christmas.

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 00:02:00 +0000

GREAT FALL CRAFTS
By Guest Blogger Sue Warner from Paper Shaper!

Lately, I’ve been inspired by all the gorgeous reds, yellows, and browns in store windows and on neighbors’ doorsteps. Why wait until December to decorate your home? It’s time to get creative and crafty now. Don’t get rid of all your pumpkins yet. Put some beads, glitter and shimmer around the house. The warm, spicy colors of fall are sure to brighten any home.

Here are 10 simple ideas that you can use to create the latest fall crafts.

1. Decorate with beads.
Make wine charms with fall colored beads in red, yellow, and brown. Add them to small wire rings, then give them to your friends as hostess gifts. Or make fall-themed key chains or wine bottle toppers. Go to your local bead store for ideas and classes. Two new bead stores in downtown Danville offer a great variety of beads and unending project ideas. Both are located across from Lunardi’s. supermarket. Femme Chic, 294 Railroad Ave. ( info@femmechic.net This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it ) has a lot of great project ideas. Just a few blocks away is Beaded Bliss, 222 Railroad Ave. (www.beadedbliss.com) with great kits and bead sets. Both stores offer classes and trunk shows to get you motivated to start any project.

2. Decorate with Styrofoam and beads.
Make beaded ball ornaments. Cover 2 or 3-inch Styrofoam balls with beads from one of the bead stores. First, cover the ball in glue. Use pushpins to string the beads, filling each with 3 to 5 beads. Push the pins into the ball until it’s covered. Add a loop of string at the top with a pushpin and glue. Use the loop to hang your ornament onto an ornament tree. Turn one of your small plants into an ornament holder or get a small ornament tree at a craft store. In December, use your ornaments on your Christmas tree.

3. Decorate with glitter.
Cover everything with glitter. Martha Stewart’s glitter is the best I’ve found (http://www.marthastewart.com/martha-stewart-crafts). Buy tiny pumpkins and cover them with glue using a foam brush. Follow with a coat of beautiful bronze or gold glitter. Paint the stem with acrylic paint. I covered mine with three coats of spray fixative so the glitter didn’t get everywhere. They turned out adorable and were so easy. You can also glitterize leaves, wreaths, candlesticks, fruit, flowers, or whatever you can find that is just begging for glitter.

4. Decorate with paper.
Make a fall sign to hang on your mantle or use it for your front door. Construct the sign to say F-A-L-L or A-U-T-U-M-N using 2-inch chipboard letters from your scrapbooking stash or the craft store. Paint them chocolate brown with acrylic paint. Back each letter with 3-4 inch squares of coordinating fall themed scrapbooking papers. Glue each letter-square side by side to form the sign. Glue on some glitter-covered leaves in the corners. Add a matching chocolate brown or orange ribbon at the top for a hanger by punching holes at the top on each end, lacing the ribbon through, and tying a knot to hold it in place on each end. For examples and photos of these signs, visit The Paper Shaper at http://papershapersue.blogspot.com.

5. Decorate with circles.
Make a wreath from fall-themed scrapbooking papers. Cut out several 5 to 6-inch circles, overlap them to form a large ring, and glue them together. Add a ribbon to the top of the wreath to make a hanger and a festive bow. In the lower left corner add some fall leaves, sticks and pinecones using hot glue. Feel free to cover anything in glitter for a snazzier look.

6. Decorate with vases.
Create festive Thanksgiving centerpieces made from vases. November’s issue of Parents Magazine offered a cute version of this project. (http://www.parents.com). Place all of the beautiful vases that you own (and hardly get to use) across the center of the table like a table runner. Fill them each halfway with stones, lima beans, acorns, sticks, or anything fall-like. Cover 12 to 16-inch-long sticks with acrylic paint (and glitter if you want). Cut large squares, or circles out of paper. Draw letters on each shape to spell a word, such as T-H-A-N-K-S or F-A-L-L. Glue one letter onto each stick and put it in a vase.

7. Decorate with ribbon.
Make napkin rings from hair elastics covered with fall-colored ribbon. Cut the ribbon into 6-inch lengths and tie each piece onto the elastic until it’s covered with ribbon. Finish off each napkin ring with a dangling leaf charm from the craft or bead store. These will look great with your other table decorations.

8. Decorate with frames.
Put fall leaves in frames. Get matching wooden frames in a variety of sizes from a local craft store. (Richard’s Crafts in Alamo has a good selection: http://richardsartsandcrafts.com). Remove the glass, fill each frame with a variety of fall leaves, then replace the glass. Arrange them on a table or hang them on the wall.

9. Decorate with fleece.
Make a warm fall fleece throw. Buy 2 coordinating cuts of fall-themed fleece from the fabric store. Get about 11/2 yards of each. Cut 7-inch-long slits 1 inch apart along the perimeter of each piece of fabric. Lay the 2 pieces on top of one another and tie each slit of fabric to the one below it, attaching the two pieces together. Now you have a softy, cozy fall throw!

10. Decorate with gourds.
[Here's a great project to do with kids]

Here's a great project to do with kids
Fill a large basket with a variety of gourds from the pumpkin patch. Include mini pumpkins (covered with glitter!). Tie bows to the basket with wide orange or brown ribbon. This will look good all fall long.

Now that everything’s decorated with orange and brown glitter, it’s time to have a party! I just need to figure out how to find time for all of these crafts.

Sue Warner lives in Danville with her husband, Matt, and her children, Bradley,4 and Stephanie, 9 months. She enjoys scrapbooking, paper crafting and all things crafty. She sells handmade paper crafts such as scrapbooks, gift tags, cards, wine charms, and more. Visit her blog at http://papershapersue.blogspot.com.

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 16:11:00 +0000

It's the Great Pumpkin Party!

Celebrate Halloween's most beloved gourd, the pumpkin, with these inspired decorations, games, activities, and more!

When we think of Halloween, images of ghosts, goblins and other scary spirits come to mind. But what would Halloween be without our favorite orange symbol—the pumpkin! This year, host a Great Pumpkin Party at your very own Pumpkin Patch!

Invitations
Buy mini pumpkins at the grocery store and write the party details on them with black permanent marker. Hand deliver or mail to guests in small, sturdy boxes. Or inflate orange helium balloons, draw jack-o-lantern faces on them, deflate them, and mail in envelopes with instructions for recipients to blow them up. Attach a stem cut from green construction paper with the party details.

Decorations
Use a Balloon Time Helium Balloon Kit to inflate orange balloons with helium, tie them off with green ribbon, and draw funny faces on them with permanent markers. Let them float around the party room.

Carve out pumpkins and fill them with dry ice for a spooky atmosphere.

Paint funny faces on pumpkins with acrylic paints and set them around the room.

Create a pumpkin patch in the front and/or backyard using bales of hay. Set pumpkins around and on top of the hay. In between bales, lay out fake leaves and nestle the pumpkins inside them.

Make a sign that reads “The Great Pumpkin Patch” and stick it in your yard. Create a scarecrow, using a pumpkin as its head.

Cover the party table with an orange tablecloth, scatter fall leaves and hay on the cloth, and place mini pumpkins and orange candles down the middle.

Games and Activities
Keep the costumed guests busy with lots of pumpkin fun!

The Pumpkin and the Pins
Set up a game of bowling using pumpkins as bowling balls. Place plastic pins or empty plastic soda bottles at one side of the room or yard. Let the guests decorate their pumpkins with permanent markers to personalize them. Then have them roll the pumpkins and try to knock down the pins.

Pumpkin Pitch
Cut the top off several pumpkins, carve out the insides, and save the seeds. Line the inside with foil. Have the players try to toss the seeds into the pumpkin. If the seeds are still wet, the game is even more challenging!

Pumpkin Punch
Inflate orange helium balloons and have the players draw faces on them. Have them try to keep their own balloons up in the air as long as possible, first using their hands, then only their feet, then only their heads!

Primp your Pumpkin
For adults, have a pumpkin carving contest. Provide carving materials and let them race to carve out the best pumpkin design in a limited period of time. Award prizes for strangest, funniest, most realistic and so on.

For kids, have a pumpkin craft activity. Set out craft materials, such as markers, glue, sequins, glitter, pipe cleaners, fake blood and glow-in-the-dark paint, and let the kids create a pumpkin masterpiece.

Pumpkin Hunt
Hide a bunch of small pumpkins around the yard or party room and have the guests try to find them. When everyone has found a pumpkin, have them “primp” it.

Refreshments
Salt and bake pumpkin seeds and serve them to the guests.

Serve hot cider or pumpkin soup in mugs.

Cut out pumpkin-shaped cookies and let the kids decorate them before they eat them.

Make a pumpkin cake as a centerpiece. Bake two spice Bundt cakes. Place one cake upside down on a platter and frost the flat top. Place the other cake right side up on top of the other cake, so the flat sides are facing each other. Frost the outside of the cake with orange-tinted icing. Use a chocolate frosting tube to draw eyes, nose, mouth, and stem.

Favors
Give the guests Halloween candy in small, pumpkin-themed bags.

Make popcorn balls, tinted orange and shaped like pumpkins, covered up with plastic wrap.

Pass out small decorative pumpkins, painted pumpkins and orange balloon bouquets.
About the Author

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Sun, 27 Sep 2009 22:05:00 +0000

TAKING A VACATION FROM VACATIONING

We hadn’t been on a family vacation in years. With the summer rapidly coming to an end, we panicked and made reservations in Maui. Three families, including three small grand-children, all under one roof for eight days. What were we thinking?

A week before we left, we decided to make a test run to Disneyland. But the first amusement ride was a nightmare—the flight to Anaheim. The four year old serenaded passengers with the theme from “Ghostbusters” at the top of his lungs. The two year old wanted to go home. And the six-month-old baby played with the hair of the person in front of her.

We checked in at the Camelot Hotel across from Disneyland, then headed for the Magic Kingdom in our Mickey shirts, Mouse ears, and sunscreen. Passing by the hotel gift shop, the four year old decided he wanted ice cream and refused to take another step. His dad had to carry him kicking and screaming the rest of the way.

Our first stop was the Expensive Character Breakfast, where popular Disney icons walked around inadvertently scaring young children. The baby was pretty much oblivious to the Fairy Godmother, the two year old was terrified of Captain Hook, and the four year old ignored all of them, preferring to play games on his father’s iPhone.

Once breakfast was over, the two year old took off for Toon Town and the four year old ran to the Ghostbuster’s Ride (aka The Haunted Mansion), leaving the baby behind with me, “Grandnanny.” I treated myself to a two-dollar water while the baby filled her diaper.

We ended the day at the Rainforest Café. I smiled at the long line, feeling smug about having made a reservation online and wouldn’t have to wait. I soon realized I’d made the reservation at the Rainforest Café in Orlando, Florida. It was an hour before they found a table for nine in the jungle-themed restaurant that was filled with waterfalls, monkeys, and air conditioning. Unfortunately a fake “storm” arrived, complete with lightning and thunder, scaring the crap out of grandkids who fled to the gift shop.

Finally it was bedtime, thank God. On the way back to the hotel the baby had another diaper blow out, the two year old threw up, and the four year old remembered he still wanted ice cream from the hotel gift shop. After the grandkids fell asleep, their parents headed out to watch the fireworks, while Grandnanny stayed in the room, keeping an ear out for the sleeping cherubs. At the first sound of the ear-splitting sonic booms, the grandkids woke up screaming.

The next day, we did it all over again. Rode more rides, bought more crap, ate more junk. On the return flight, the baby chewed on the safety card, the two year old used his seat for a trampoline, and the four year old sang “It’s a Small World After All” a bazillion times. By the time we reached home, I never wanted to see those people again.

Too late. A week later we’d be on a five-hour plane ride to Maui where we’d be staying in one small condo for a whole week.

What were we thinking?

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Sun, 30 Aug 2009 20:06:00 +0000

HOST A NO-LABOR LABOR DAY PARTY!

As an author of several party books, I’ll use any excuse to host a party—even Labor Day. Not the pregnancy kind of labor day. It’s difficult to have a party when some woman is screaming “Get this baby out of here now!” No, I mean the upcoming holiday that celebrates the fact that we can finally send the kids back to school!

But I’m also lazy and don’t like to work too hard on hosting duties, even if it is “Labor” Day—the one day when we actually celebrate “work.” (Who came up with that idea? Somebody’s boss?)

So I’m here to help you plan a no-fuss, “no-labor” Labor Day Party, because it may be your last opportunity to party until Halloween. Begin by choosing a theme for your party. Hosting a plain old Labor Day Party doesn’t sound too inviting. Your guests may think you’re having them over to help you paint the house or build an extra bedroom. That’s not a party. That’s a scam. And if you’re inviting me, I’m busy that day. Instead, give it some personality and make it “The Greenbrook Grill Gathering,” “The Back Lot Bar-B-Q,” “The Pothole Lane Pot Luck, or “Meet Your Reclusive Neighbors Block Party.”

Set yourself up as CEO, then micro-manage the party by dividing the neighbors into groups (according to how well they get along). Give them important names like “The Invitation Committee,” “The Food Group,” “The Decorating Team,” “The Games and Activities Tribe,” and “The Clean-Up Crew.”

If you’re having the classic Neighborhood Block Party, make invitations by first enlarging a map of your neighborhood. Make copies, label each of the homes with clever names, such as “The Wacky Warners” or “The House That Never Sold” and mark the party place with an “X.”

Block off the street with police tape and set up the party in the middle. Or have it in someone (else)’s backyard, a nearby park or the homeowner’s association clubhouse. Ask everyone to share their folding tables and chairs, or other spare furniture such as those front-porch couches, then decorate them with colorful balloons. Have personalized T-shirts printed with words like, “Killer Labor Day Party 2009!” or “Our Street’s Cooler than Your Street!”

Ask guests to bring a special dish that covers one of the four casserole food groups—meat casseroles, salad casseroles, veggie casseroles and dessert casseroles. To keep the crowd under control—and the teens from toilet papering your house—have a few games and activities on hand, such as a corn-husking contest (blindfolded), a scarecrow-stuffing contest (go goth this year), a pie-eating contest (cherry makes the best mess), watermelon seed-spitting contest (the gals will love this one), and a pumpkin toss (from the roof.)

For clean up, write down tasks such as, “Fold up the chairs,” “Throw away the paper products,” or “Call in a Crime Scene Cleaner.” Have guest pick a task from a bowl—and don’t let them leave until the place is spotless.

Or, since it’s Labor Day, just make the kids clean up everything. That way they’ll be glad to get back to school.

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Wed, 19 Aug 2009 15:36:00 +0000

CHILD DEVELOPMENT STAGES NO ONE EVER TALKS ABOUT

Next week I go back to teaching Child Development at DVC’s San Ramon Campus. And I feel like a fraud. I’m supposed to teach the students about the stages of a child’s growth and development, which I do. But what I don’t do is cover the stages that no one ever talks about. Now that I’m a grandparent of three, the truth is rearing its ugly head.

I realized it last year when my four-year-old grandson Bradley, a budding artist, got a hold of a colorful marker and drew a “picture” on his mommy and daddy’s bedroom wall. This was never covered in the textbooks. I was reminded again last week when he decided to decorate his baby sister’s face with a black marker. The shocking thing is, no one ever told Bradley’s parents there’d be days like this.

But I knew.

Back when I was a baby my mother had only one child development book available to tell her what to expect—Dr. Spock’s Baby and Child Care. When I had my first baby, she handed the book down to me. Today parents have a plethora of child development books to choose from, the most popular being What to Expect When You’re Expecting.

But now that I’m heavily into the grandparenting years, I realize what a crock all these advice books are. Sure, they cover the basics like toilet training (“Get a musical potty!”), but they neglect to include the truth behind these developmental milestones (“Never let a newly toilet-trained child be a flower girl in a wedding.”) So while parents arm themselves with Dora The Explorer toilet seats, they’re blindsided by the surprises that come with actually raising a child.
I’ve decided to write an expose and tell the truth about “What to Expect After You’ve Expelled (the Baby).” Nothing will be spared. I plan to include the following:

Age 1 Month: Developmental stage: Baby has a grasp reflex. In truth, baby will “grasp” your hair with one hand and pull it out by the roots, while “grasping” your eyes out with the other hand.

Age 6 Months: Developmental stage: Baby can sit upright. In truth, when you place baby in a high chair, she will arch her back, slide out of the chair and escape the premises before you can even buckle her in.

Age 9 Months: Developmental stage: Baby begins crawling. In truth, baby will crawl around picking things out of your carpet to snack on while heading for your purse to find your lipstick and draw on her face, teeth, cloths, and couch.

Age 1 Year: Developmental stage: Baby says first word. In truth, baby will not only call everyone male “da-da,” but loves to say “truck” with an “F,” loudly, in church.

Age 2: Developmental stage: Baby uses independence skills. In truth, baby will be able to use scissors for cutting his own hair, will dress himself in either the same shirt for a week, his Halloween costume, or just his pajama top, and will punch “911” on your landline, bringing the police who consider calling Child Protective Services.

This is just the tip of the iceberg we calling “child development.” Just wait until I write the sequel: “Your Teenager: Military School or a Convent?”

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Sun, 02 Aug 2009 16:21:00 +0000

YOU CAN'T MAKE THIS STUFF UP

Although I didn’t plan to become a fiction writer, I was already making stuff up during my school days. Any time I had to do a paper that required research—which I hated—I always wrote from my imagination and hoped it sounded realistic enough to fool the teacher. I made up stuff on everything from visiting historic California Missions to interviewing experts on the importance of Atomic Energy. And back then I didn’t even have the Internet for help.

Now that I’ve morphed into a fiction writer, I’ve come to love research. In fact, I’d much rather research a person, place or topic than actually write the book. I’m currently writing the second book in my mystery series and it requires a lot of research to make the story sound authentic. For example, last weekend I spent the day just doing research. First, I sat inside one of those teeny toy Smart Cars to see if my broad-shouldered love interest could fit. I found the car amazingly roomy inside, great for making U-turns on one-lane mountain roads, and perfect for a car chase on the sidewalk. I almost bought one but they were out of yellow.

Next I went to the San Francisco County Jail to see what it would be like to visit a prisoner, just as my protagonist must do in order to save her BFF. Sure, there’s plenty of information on the Internet about visiting the jail, like “No cell phones, weapons or gang colors.” And good thing, since I’d planned to wear something colorful. But I wanted to know more. Such as, what color are the walls? (Somewhere between Shenandoah Taupe and Caramel Apple) and what does it smell like? (A cross between a hospital hallway and high school locker room). Those are details you just can’t get from the Internet.

The characters in my books like to eat between action scenes and romantic interludes, so I had to check out San Francisco cafes, diners, and bars that would make interesting backdrops for their clue-filled conversations. I discovered a wonderful French café hidden in San Francisco’s trendy South Park, filled with pony-tailed hippies and spike-haired hipsters, computer techs in logo t-shirts and bike riders in colorful Spandex, all gobbling blueberry crepes and croquet-monsieurs. They’d be perfect for an appearance in my latest mystery. While sipping a café au lait, I eavesdropped on conversations that ran from dramatic break-ups to outlandish adventures. And I took notes.

On the way home I swung by Treasure Island, the primary location for my book, to see how I could make that unique setting become a character in the story. That meant attending a wine tasting (I bought a bottle of Treasure Island Wine because the label featured a pirate flag), talking with the security guard (who filled me in on the new TV show “Trauma” being filmed there), and chatting up the Commodore at the T.I. Yacht Club (he tipped me to the best garlic fries on the Island).

Although I’ll probably use only a small per cent of the things I’d learned, it was those “telling details” that I hoped would make the book come alive.

You just can’t make that stuff up.

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Sun, 05 Jul 2009 16:45:00 +0000

THE CAFÉ LIFE

With the plethora of cafes in the Valley, I’m never more than five minutes away from a non-fat, decaf latte. In fact, there are so many cafes to choose from, when it’s time to take a coffee break with friends, we have a hard time deciding which one to visit.

My favorite haunts are always reliable—Pascal’s, Bagel Street Café, Cherubini, Borders Book Cafe, Starbucks and Peets. They all offer a cozy place to relax and chat while sipping on a rich, hot mocha or cappuccino.

Coffee breaks are a long-time tradition with women. Back in my mother’s day, they didn’t have cafes, only a handful of coffee shops, which weren’t suited to the type of social connection women wanted—and needed. Instead, my mother and her neighborhood friends would gather mid-morning at one house or another and enjoy a cup of Maxwell House with a side of Winstons, while they chatted about their lives in the newly formed ‘burbs.

Back then the neighborhood was filled with traditional families—-men who went off to work and “housewives” who stayed home to care for the house, kids and dry cleaning. Coffee breaks were essential to staying sane. They gave women the chance to vent about the challenges of raising kids, balancing the family budget, and hundreds of other topics that took them at least an hour or two to discuss before extinguishing that last cigarette and rinsing the dregs from that Fiestaware coffee mug.

Today, the cute café has replaced the smoke-filled kitchen with the Formica table, and “specialty” coffees fill paper cups instead of “black.” But the need is still there—the opportunity for women to get together and share the latest events of their lives. The café is just the backdrop for these gatherings, a place where we can talk about the latest government scandals, outrageous Hollywood gossip, and of course, our families.

The only difference is we’ve replaced one addiction—-smoking-—with a new one—-chocolate. And wouldn’t you know it, there’s a new café in town that lures in customers who have those double addictions: Bittersweet, the Chocolate Café.
I met my coffee friends, Camille and Cindy, at Bittersweet last week, to see for myself if dreams really do come true.

Sure enough, this little slice of heaven, hidden away in the Navlet’s shopping center in Danville, knows What Women Want. Not only is the place adorably shabby chic, it’s filled with gourmet chocolates in all shapes and sizes and nationalities. A chocoholic can have anything from a Chocolate Thai Iced Tea to a cup of Hot Chocolate-Peanut Butter drink.

The three of us ordered up our favorite drinks and pastries, and settled into the comfy chairs to chat about, well, everything. Camille talked about her upcoming high school class reunion (I’m not allowed to say what year). Cindy shared picture of her grandchildren captured on her iPhone (cute, but not as cute as mine.) I entertained them with what I thought were hilarious stories about my brilliant grandchildren. And we still had time to cover such topics as pedicures, writing projects, weight-gain/loss, husbands, current books, the DMV, and afternoon plans, all in under an hour.

The morning coffee break has certainly changed over time, but one thing remains constant: the opportunity to spend time with good friends. The coffee and chocolate are just icing on the cupcake.

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Sun, 10 May 2009 16:35:00 +0000

THE EMPEROR'S NEW SUIT

I love this time of year—who doesn’t? Spring means blooming flowers, great weather, and outdoor fun. It also means a whole new wardrobe. Time to change out of those heavy sweatpants, warm hoodies, long-sleeved shirts, snuggle socks, and neck-hugging mufflers, and trade them for comfy shorts, cool Tees and airy flip-flops. And that means shopping, since last years’ shorts are too tight, the Tees are too stained, and the flip-flops have no tread left.

While I enjoy updating my closet, my husband Tom doesn’t see the point in buying new clothes. Ever. Even if his old pants won’t fasten any more, the T-shirts are dyed spaghetti sauce red, and the shoes have more duct tape than leather, then he’s fine. If I want to dress him up a bit for a special occasion, like going out in public, I have to buy the new clothes, rip the tags off, and sneak them into his drawers so he thinks they’ve been there forever.

The other day we had to attend a formal event. This required a suit. Tom doesn’t own a suit. Never has. And he prides himself on that fact. He’s an electrician, so his wardrobe consists of holey T-shirts covered with clever double entendres, such as “Check your shorts?” In spite of the fact that they’re embellished with coffee spills, burrito blobs and even blood stains, he insists they’re “perfectly good—and who’s going to notice?”

When this solemn occasion arose, obviously he had nothing to wear. Even his best work shirt—the one that reads: “Extreme Makeover” and is signed by Ty Pennington—would not do for this event. I gave him an ultimatum: Rent a suit or buy a suit. So off we went to the Men’s Warehouse, where my son met us. Unlike his dad, Matt just wanted a new suit to add to his closet full of suits. He was so impressed by his dad’s willingness to “dress up,” he offered to give the buy-one-get-one-free one to his dad.

After an hour or so of trying on suits—how long can it take? Don’t all suits basically look alike?—Tom picked the one that made him look just like his father. Once we were back home, he tried on the suit again. I caught him standing in front of the mirror, admiring his distinguished look.

“You like the suit, don’t you?” I said, grinning.

He shrugged, and didn’t put it on again until the event. As soon as the occasion was over, he carefully put the suit back in its plastic holder and tucked it at the back of his closet. The next night we were to go to dinner with friends. I suggested he might want to wear his new suit. Moments later he appeared at the doorway in his stained khaki pants (top button missing), his Charlie Sheen shirt (featuring chest peek-a-boos between the buttons), and the scuffed deck shoes he not only wears for formal occasions, but also for working around the yard, cleaning the garage, and climbing on the roof to clear the gutters.

I shook my head.

“What?” he said, looking down at his outfit. “These are perfectly good.”

What was I thinking? A new suit was not about to change my husband into a fashion model. Oh well. I’ll get a few new T-shirts and shorts for the summer, shove them in his drawers so he doesn’t know they’re new, and use the rest of the money on my own new wardrobe.

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Tue, 28 Apr 2009 14:55:00 +0000

DO YOU HAVE HOARDER-CLUTTERER DISORDER?

I got an email the other day from a television show asking if I might want to be on the program. Apparently she had read one of my columns some time ago and thought I’d be a good interview. The topic: “Are you a hoarder or a clutterer?”

I beg your pardon? I immediately checked to see if the email had come from “The Jerry Springer Show,” or even “60 Minutes,” but no, surprisingly, it was from one of those nature channels. They were offering me an all-expenses-paid trip to the East Coast, just to find out if I was a hoarder or a clutterer.

I’ve done some television segments over the years, for products like sugar-free chewing gum (“Cleans your teeth just like a toothbrush”) and colored plastic wrap (“Make your leftovers look even more appetizing”). I enjoy my occasional fifteen minutes of fame. But I had to laugh at the suggestion that I might be a hoarder or clutterer. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Sure, like most normal people without H-C (Hoarder-Clutterer Disorder), I save stuff. Important stuff that I think I’m going to use in the next decade so I don’t have to buy it again and waste money. And sure, while I’m not using all that stuff, I may set it out on a table or mantel or windowsill or empty floor space, so I don’t forget I have it and accidentally buy more. But that hardly makes me a hoarder, let alone a clutterer.

Thinking my kids would get a kick out of the email, I sent it to them. My son-in-law Mike wrote back immediately: “DO IT!!! Go on the show! If there is even the slightest chance you will get rid of the 5,000 fake books, cutesy birdhouses or plastic grapes, it will be worth it!”

I looked up from my son-in-law’s email and glanced around the room. OMG, he was right. There were fake books, cutesy birdhouses and plastic grapes everywhere. Where and how had I accumulated all this crap? Judging by the amount of stuff that filled the wet bar alone, I was not only a pathological hoarder, I was also a chronic clutterer.

I immediately went to the wet bar, the catch-all for anything that I couldn’t find room for elsewhere, and began to remove the first layer of stuff. Out of that tiny hole in the wall came a wicker basket, an armload of fake ivy, candles that look like tomatoes and pinecones, a couple of humorous wine bottles (“Mad Housewife Chardonnay”), some sidewalk chalk, a laptop computer, a picture of my husband dressed as a school cafeteria cook, a pair of socks, somebody’s sunglasses, an empty gift bag, and some old Polaroid film.

It took me most of the day to decide whether to toss out the stuff or move it to another place. By the time I was done, the kids were arriving for dinner. But it was my husband who first noticed the change.

“Where’s all my stuff?” he said, frowning at the wet bar.

My son-in-law’s head jerked up. “You have a WET BAR?!!! Has it been here ALL THIS TIME?”

I nodded proudly at my decluttering skills. “Next I’m going to tackle the fireplace (full of fake candles), the mantel (a showcase for my Smurf collection), and the family room cabinets (more birdhouses and grapes). That should take me the better part of a week. But it’s a start.

And it leaves me plenty of time for my H-C Anonymous meetings.

Penny Warner can be reached at http://www.pennywarner.com

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Sun, 01 Mar 2009 18:11:00 +0000

48 HOURS WITH A FOUR YEAR OLD

5:00 am. Phone rings, jangling me from my spirited pirate dream. Son Matt tells me that wife Sue isn’t feeling well and needs to go to hospital. I head for the car in my pajamas, then realize I need to wear real clothes in case I‘m pulled over for Driving While Asleep. Put on yesterday’s clothes.

5:10 am. Sue, Matt and their one-week-old baby Stephanie are off to hospital. I try to sleep on their couch but the house is freezing. Turn up thermostat to comfortable 72 degrees. Just nod off when I get a message from my son. Sue needs surgery to remove useless organ called “gall bladder.” She’s on meds and loves them.

6:00 am. Decide to get up. Need to be on my game for this busy four-year-old. Will watch TV until he wakes up. Can’t find the remote.

7:00 am. Still can’t find remote. Go to computer and check emails, look up funny videos on Yahoo (Ellen Show: “I Drink a Little” and “Single Ladies” performed by oversized guy in leotard.). Play Solitaire for next two hours.

9:00 am. Haven’t had a shower, coffee, or breakfast. Time to wake up Bradley and get this party started. Tiptoe in and find him playing happily in bed. We hug. In spite of the fact I’ve been to his house hundreds of times, he gives me a tour.

9:15 am. Offer breakfast. He wants toast and milk. Doesn’t like the way I make toast, the way I butter it, or the way I cut it. Drinks the milk after much cajoling (“No pizza rolls until you finish your milk.”)

9:30 am. Potty time. Bradley enjoys a leisurely potty time and isn’t done until he “reads” the complete works of Calvin and Hobbes. When potty time is over, I get clean-up detail. No need for details.

10:30 am. Get him dressed (outfit has to match!) Head for grandma’s house with armful of Smurfs, games, toys, and promise of a burrito for brunch. Wants to watch Tom and Jerry cartoon while eating. I realize it’s way too violent and turn on “Dora the Explorer” instead. Ear-piercing screams. Consider making a margarita. For both of us.

11:30 am. Play Candyland. Cook “Popcorn” in mini kitchen. Do animal puzzle. Read “How Do Dinosaurs…” series. Jump on guest bed. Drive little cars. Make up clues for Blues Clues game. Build castle from blocks and knock it down. Repeat.

Noon. Finish playing with everything in house. Make pizza rolls for lunch. Watch more bad cartoons.

1:00 pm. Suggest we make cookies. He wants green ones. Covers them with sprinkles until they are no longer visible. When done, takes one bite, says “Yuck,” and spits it into my hand. I toss the rest when he’s not looking.

1:30 pm. Go outside to play. Push him around court on tricycle. Teach him how to play basketball. Run after ball. Draw pictures in front of neighbor’s house with sidewalk chalk. Use up all chalk.

3:00 pm. Call rest homes and ask prices, availability. Don’t qualify. Yet. Let Bradley play on computer while I lie on couch with heart palpitations.

5:00 pm. Husband Tom comes home. His turn. Convince him into taking Bradley back to his house so he can play in his own bedroom with his toys and his Wii. Wave goodbye. Sit down on couch with glass of wine. Realize have another full day of this tomorrow. Consider getting a nanny.

5:06 pm. Experience an odd feeling. Actually miss Bradley. Lie back on couch and reflect on the day. Fall asleep within seconds.

That's what she said...

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Sun, 15 Feb 2009 00:17:00 +0000

Here are a few tips on Writing Dialogue that I shared on a panel at the San Francisco Writers Conference.

The purpose of dialogue is to:
1. Move the story along
2. Make the story come alive
3. Show, instead of tell
4. Increase the pace
5. Reveal character
6. Reveal information
7. Add reality
8. Create drama

When using attribution:
1. Use tag lines sparingly.
2. Use "said," not variations on said - exclaimed, sputtered, announced.
3. Substitute action instead of using attribution - "I love you." He kissed her.
4. Avoid “said” substitutes – snarled, snapped, interjected, declared
5. Avoid “Swifties” – adverbial modifiers, such as He said hotly.
6. Use props that can be fiddled with instead of using "said."
7. Use body language and motion – eyes, hands, etc.- instead of "said."

When writing different types of dialogue:
1. Use a local or telling word, such as "Chirren” (New Orleans) for “children”
2. Consider the syntax, such as “You want, yes?”
3. Tell us how he spoke, such as "in a slow southern drawl."
4. Distinguish the style of speech, such as, “Sorry. Don’t know. Want help?”
5. Use individual character tags, such as "Hypers!" said, Nancy Drew.
6. Watch stereotyping – it’s offensive
7. Watch heavy dialect – it’s hard to read and slows the story

Learn by listening to other speak, then condense it so it's readable

Finally, read your dialogue aloud to see how it sounds.

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Mon, 19 Jan 2009 01:21:00 +0000

WILL YOU FRIEND MY FACE?

I was recently invited to join MyFace. Or SpaceBook. Or was it FaceSpace? Whatever. It’s a website that’s currently all the rage—even with people of my discerning age. Since I like being invited to things, especially popular things, I joined up.

I have no idea what I’ve gotten myself into.

Once you belong, it sort of looks like you’ve joined a cult—granted a very happy one. First you fill out a Profile. This is where you enter intimate details about your life, like where you went to college (I went to four), what you do for a living (write columns), and what your hobbies are (joining online groups I know nothing about). They also want your marital status, so I know it’s not just a front for one of those Dating Sites.

Still, I left that part blank.

Ignoring the distracting Botox ads, I move on to Photos. I don’t have any, other than the one taken five years ago that’s on my website. That’s because I don’t know how to put them on the site. It’s certainly not like scrapbooking, where you just tape them to the page.

Next I go to my Wall. This is where some of my 53 Friends have written me notes. William asks, “What’s new and exciting?” (Nothing.) Danna wants to know, “How was the clam chowder?” (Good.) Carole says, “What is this site all about?” (No clue.) I haven’t written back on their Walls because I have too many other Wall-notes to read from the rest of my 53 Friends.

The interesting thing about this FacePlace is that I can sneak into my Friends’ sites and read what’s on their Walls. Like Cherie’s Wall (she has 119 Friends!) She’s doing exciting things like “attending the Obama inaugurations on CNN” and partying with her 119 Friends. She invited me to join the Tango Diva group.

I don’t know what that is.

Ignoring the Wrinkle Cream ad, I move on MaryElizabeth’s site. She has 816 Friends! She has famous Friends like Jeffrey Deaver and Linda Fairstein and Lisa Scottoline. I decide to steal some of her Friends so I can have more—which is apparently perfectly legal.

I click on Mario because his name sounds familiar. Will he accept me? Ignore me? Out and out reject me? I don’t like rejection. Even by people I don’t know and will never see in my life.

I look at their pictures to see if they seem Friend-ly. I avoid the ones who look like flowers or their pets. Then I look at the picture I put on my Profile page to see how potentially new Friends are judging me. I look ridiculous. Now I have to have a new picture made. Maybe get some of that Botox and Wrinkle Cream first.

There are still more links to explore, like the one called “What are you doing right now?” (Nothing.) There’s also a box that says I have “1 Friend Suggestion,” “1 Event Invitation,” “3 Nicest People Requests,” “2 Smile Requests,” “1 Blue Cove Request,” and “4 Little Green Patch Requests.”

Huh?

I realized I’ve just spent an entire day adding Friends, writing on people’s Walls, and reading their Walls. No worries. My goal is to have more Friends than any of my Friends have.

I just don’t know what I’m going to do with them all.

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Tue, 06 Jan 2009 20:42:00 +0000

DECLUTTER WEEK

No matter what my family says, I’m not a “hoarder.” They tried to hold an intervention for me the other day, but there was so much stuff everywhere, they couldn’t find a place to sit.

Okay, that’s an exaggeration (I don’t want to get in trouble with Oprah, but whatever happened to “literary license?”). I’m trying to make a point here.

I confess. I save things that I know I’ll find a use for in the next decade or so. But every year, during that Dead Week between Christmas and New Year’s, instead of shopping the sales for more junk, I declutter.

Okay, another lie. Frankly, I can’t afford to buy anything after maxing out the Visa on Christmas gifts. So what if the iPhone I paid full price for is now on sale at Wal-Mart—at a two-dollar savings! What does it matter that Mervyns is selling clothes at 95% off? There’s only one size left—and it’s not mine, after eating all those Christmas cookies. I suppose we could re-fi, now that the mortgage rates are half-price, but we did that last week when the rates had plummeted an eighth of a percent.

So I spend “Shopping Week” decluttering. First I deChristmas the house, which involves deornamenting the “Crispy Tree” (great term that I plagiarized from another writer—which might just get me on Oprah!). Once that’s done, I discover the rest of the house is still riddled with clutter that was once covered by fake garlands, talking Santas, and sparkling lights.

Although there is clutter from the back bathroom (mismatched nautical-themed soaps) to the front room fireplace (decorative candle holder with six never-used candles), my two biggest projects are my “office” and the “guest” bedroom. My office is mainly a catchall for anything that I can’t part with but can’t find a place for. It’s so full of crap, I can’t even locate the office supplies. And the kids now refer to the “guest bedroom” as “the cat room.” The bedspread looks as if it’s made from feline fur. Seriously.

My biggest challenge is decluttering all the books I’ve never read and never will. Once I’ve cleared out the bookshelves, I fill them with all new books that have been stacked on the piano and mantel for the past six months. More books I’ll never read.

Next I sort through out all my old craft supplies—things like crayons (remember those?), pipe cleaners (how many can one household really use?), and pompoms (you never know when you’ll have a craft emergency.) As soon as that’s done, I refill the space with my collection of scrapbooking supplies. You can never have too many sparkly stickers, pinking scissors, and pads of cat-themed paper.

Once I find the guest bed that’s buried under toy cars and trucks, Candyland and Chutes and Ladders games, and dinosaur picture books, I think about getting rid of the bed itself so I have room for more clutter. But the cats fight me for it (that one’s almost true), so I toss out the portacrib (filled with stuffed animals), costume box (mostly fireman hats), the old Halloween candy (forgot where I put it).

When I’m finally finished, the house looks exactly the same, except for the missing Christmas decorations. But they’ll soon be replaced with New Year’s décor, Valentine’s Day stuff, and Easter trimmings—all covering up the new clutter that’s accumulated just since Dead Week.

And I’ll swear everything in this column is true, if I ever get on Oprah.

noreply@blogger.com (Penny) — Sun, 21 Dec 2008 18:36:00 +0000

'TIS THE PARTY TIME SEASON

It’s that party time of year again! After all the shopping, wrapping, and stressing, it’s time to stop, drop and eat rolls, along with everything else at the holiday buffet table. This year we were invited to three Christmas parties—a cozy evening at a relative’s home (black jeans), an open house at a long-time friend’s (black slacks), and a literary gala in the City (black silk).

At the first party I ate a huge meal and drank too much wine. At the second party I limited myself to healthy appetizers and one glass of wine. By the third I went straight to the dessert table (for the Secret Cake) and washed it all down with water.

Those parties were fun because I didn’t have to cook, clean, or declutter. But this year we were blackmailed into offering our house for the annual Neighborhood Progressive Dinner party. It seems that last year, after too many paper cups of eggnog, my husband volunteered our home. And apparently someone who didn’t have too much eggnog remembered his ridiculous offer.

Now I have to clear away all the clutter that’s accumulated over the past 30 years and hide it all in the back bedrooms. Then I have to cook something fragrant to cover the smell of cat litter. And finally I have to drape the house with my moth-eaten Christmas decorations to cover the cobwebs on the ceiling, the scratches in the coffee tables, and the cat hair on the drapes.

But by far, the best holiday parties are the ones you’re not invited to. Like my son’s office party at the Fairmont Hotel’s Crown Room, when you just happen to be in the neighborhood.

We entered the grand hotel, my cheeks rosy from several glasses of wine. Grinning like Elves paid overtime on Christmas, we made out way up the elevator. We couldn’t wait to surprise Matt and his eight-months pregnant wife, Sue. But when the elevator opened to the top floor, we were met by a frosty woman at the check-in table.

We tried to sneak by She Who’s In Charge of Guest Security but she drew up her mouth in a bow and said, “You need to check in first!”

“Oh sorry!” I said, beginning to shake like a bowl full of jelly.

“What are your names?” She indicated the last four nametags remaining with a plump finger.

I glanced at them, recognized one—the head of my son’s company—then blurted out the name.

“Here you go,” she said, handing over the nametag. “You’re at table two.”

My eyes twinkling, I snatched the nametag out of her hands before Matt’s real boss walked in the door, and headed for the party room. While everyone was dressed in suits and gowns, we stuck out like Rudolph on a Christmas Eve in our khaki pants and cartoony Christmas T-shirts. Ducking behind a beam, we finally spotted Matt and Sue, about to sit down at Table Two.

Faster than Santa could rise up a chimney, we flew over. “I believe these are our seats,” I said, pointing to the boss’s nametag. Matt looked as if he’d just learned there was no Santa Claus, while Sue seemed as if she might just have her bundle of joy right there at the party.

After they sort of recovered, we turned with a jerk, laid a finger aside of our noses and, like a flash, disappeared into the frosty night—before Matt’s real boss could arrive and fire my son for having wicked bad parents.

For us, ‘twas the happiest Christmas party ever!