San Francisco’s Union Square during the holidays, from an historical perspective.

The skating rink and lit tree, in Union Square, downton San Francisco, California.

The model for the statue was a young local beauty, Alma Spreckels, who ended up marrying the sugar king (yes, she actually called him her "sugar daddy"–or as she put it, "I'd rather be an old man's darling than a young man's slave."

She also founded the city's Legion of Honor Museum, because none of the swells would take her money for the renowned DeYoung Museum. Many of her treasures came from France, which she helped during World War I. She was one of the most ardent patrons of Auguste Rodin.

The mansion the Spreckels built, on Washington at Octavia, was purchased by novelist Danielle Steel, lucky lady.

— Josie

HA Christmas Banner

Art from the Heart: What Does It Mean When Your Wife Wields a Chainsaw?

Task at Hand Ever notice how the end of the holiday season brings out the contrariness in some of us?

Bah humbug, and all that jazz.

Oh, not me. I'm still on a holiday high. In fact, I wish it would never end…

But that's just because I've been procrastinating with a new book proposal.

But enough about me. I about laffed myself silly at this masterpiece (more objectively, it's a “mistresspiece”) by artist Kelly Reemtsen, who shows her work here in San Francisco's Caldwell Snyder Gallery. (FYI: They have a second gallery just north of the city, in the wonderful wine country village of St. Helena.)

It's entitled “Task at Hand.” Hmmmm. Okay, I'll bite. A woman dressed in a chic party frock holds a chainsaw as if it's a Pucci clutch?

Talk about making a statement.

Read into it what you want, but my take on this is that, no matter how we try to hem in our anger, it will show itself eventually.

In her case, fashionably.

But that's just my interpretation. I'd love to hear yours, too.

(If you want to see a larger version, double-click on the photo…)

Periodically I'll turn
this blog turns into an Internet art gallery by uplinking similar pieces by Ms. Reemtsen and other artists, whose works I feel tell a
story similar to what I'll be telling you in my next novel, SECRET

Passive is the new aggressive,





Josie' s Next Book: Secret Lives of Husbands and Wives

Simon & Schuster/Downtown Press

(ISBN: 9781439173176)

Look for it in bookstores June 1, 2010

From Amazon

From Barnes & Noble

From Bigger Books

From Books a Million

From Borders

From Copperfield's

From Your Local Independent Bookstore

From Powell's

Tome of the Mommy: How to Tell Your Child There Is No Santa

SantaCon There is no "right time" to tell your children that there is no Santa.

Worse yet, there is no right way.

If you're lucky, as you're stumbling to get the words out, your son will pat you calmly on shoulder and say, "Look, Mom, I know what you're trying to tell me, and it's okay. I've already figured it out."

Sort of like he's figured out that whole birds and bees thing.

Yeah, yeah, I know: happy new year to you, too.

Well, here's hoping he'll spare you that look of condescension when he tells you these little facts of life.

And that he knows to keep his mouth shut about the bully who let the cat out of the bag. Because we all know that there's no accounting for a mother's revenge.

(That photo of SantaCon, the Santa Convention in New York City's Washington Square, I'm sure broke many a child's heart. To add insult to injury, The New York Times asked some noted writers their opinions on it. You can read what they say as to when and how, here…)

That said, those of us who've already gone through this trial can tell you who yet to have this displeasure one very important thing: don't wait too long, or you'll find out that someone else has beaten you to the punch.

We did, with our son. He heard it instead from his fourth grade teacher, whom I guessing, was afraid the other kids would tease him unmercifully if they found out.

For years afterward, he told us it would be the first issue he'd bring up with his therapist.
He also told us that he was never going to tell his children that "lie."

My response: "Oh yeah? We'll see." He's never relished the role of killjoy. I doubt seriously that he'll do that to his own kids.

Instead, he'll do what we did: try to put the whole Santa myth into perspective for them. To discuss with them the joy of giving, and how Christmas is really about the birth of baby Jesus.

Hopefully not as their ripping open their presents. They'll never hear him over the rustle of wrapping paper and their own squeals as they plug in that generation's version of wii.

Our daughter started doubting the existence of the Easter Bunny when I accidentally left the price tag on the chocolate rabbit in her basket.
I've never lived that one down.The grilling she gave me was worse than anything they do in Gitmo. By the time we were done, I was so soaked with sweat, you would have thought I'd been waterboarded.

Today she's just beyond teendom, and she still looks forward to her Easter Basket, but the scars are still there. I know. I could tell by the way she rips off the chocolate bunny's head and munches on it. No dainty bites for her.

Doubt can do that to a girl.

It can also do that to a marriage. In my book Secret Lives of Husbands and Wives, the heroine, Lyssa Harper has no reason to doubt her husband's love, but he seems to doubt hers — particularly when he hears from her so called friends that she's been spending too much time with the neighborhood DILF.

But, hey, it's almost Christmas, so I'll leave you with heartwarming excerpt instead.

— Josie

Olivia is bouncing on our heads at five in the morning. "Can we go downstairs now? Please? To see if Santa has been here?"

Mickey's voice chimes in from the hallway. "Olivia, of course he's been here! Just look over the banister, for crying out loud! The whole floor is covered in them."

Ted peels our daughter off his chest, tossing her onto the foot of the bed. "Yeah, sure, go! GO! . . . Hey: you can look, but don't touch—until your mom and I get down there, too."

"How long will that take?" Olivia tries to pull the covers off the bed, but I hang on fast to it on my end.

"It will take longer if I don't get my first cup of coffee." I know I sound grumpy, but that's the breaks. It's been a long stressful week. We put out the gifts after midnight, and I'm dead tired.
Besides, I don't do crack of dawn too well.

"I'm on it, Mom!" I hear Mickey tromping down the steps to push the button on the coffeemaker.

Olivia flies down the steps, too. "Wait for me! WAIT! . . . Oh! It's bee-U-ti-ful!"
The tree, she means.
Well, more honestly, the field of dreams that surrounds it.

Tanner, too old and too cool for such a show of unfettered giddiness, growls from his room for everyone to shut up. "I'm an atheist! I don't believe in Santa, so shut up!"

"Santa is secular, you moron!" Mickey yells from the kitchen.

I know, though, the minute Tanner hears Ted and me stirring, he'll be right on our heels.

"Are you up?" I nudge Ted because he looks as if he's falling back asleep.

"Hell yeah. You know that Christmas always gives me a woody." He reaches for me and pulls me close. "So does the thought of more office sex, by the way."

"I'll remember that. Only next time let's wait until everyone leaves for the day. I didn't like the fact that Vanna couldn't look me in the eye when I left."

"I'll make it part of her job description." He stretches as he rises from the bed. "Alright! Showtime . . ."

Copyright © 2010 by Josie Brown

SLHW fauxsmall  Josie' s Next Book: Secret Lives of Husbands and Wives

Simon & Schuster/Downtown Press

(ISBN: 9781439173176)

Look for it in bookstores June 1, 2010

From Amazon

From Barnes & Noble

From Books a Million

From Borders

From Copperfield's

From Your Local Independent Bookstore

From Powell's