I had a picnic at Folsom Lake on Sunday. Who would believe we’re still having sunny days to enjoy our beautiful lake. We walked in at the levee entrance at Sophia Parkway and GreenValley Road in El Dorado Hills and found we weren’t the only ones with the same idea. Boaters, families, individuals with dogs, Whipperwils, Seagulls, Geese and a lone Loon populated the lake. Hikers, Cyclists, Equestrians, and nature enthusiasts alike enjoy the many trails. One of the popular trails leads to Brown’s Ravine in Folsom Lake State Recreation Area that is home to the Folsom Lake Yacht Club and Folsom lake Marina, also located on Green Valley Road in El Dorado Hills. Although only the brave would g

I began to grieve in earnest on a Thursday morning. It was windy, cold; I was sitting in a chair next to my grandmother’s bed in a convalescent hospital. She had fallen, tripped over her cat and fractured her hip, and was now recovering—doing well according to those who claimed to know—in a dimly lit room that smelled of everything you shouldn’t talk about at the dinner table. She was wearing a faded hospital gown, the flaccid skin of her right calf sneaking unnoticed out from under an unexpectedly magenta blanket. Gram told me that every night now she prayed for God to take her away. To let it end. I nodded. I said things, endearing, compassionate, empathetic, supportive things. I didn’t

For most people, being told they were officially crazy might be a little frightening, a little offensive, or just plain fighting words! I was tremendously relieved. Since right around sixth grade, I had felt as though I was, to borrow from Kurt Vonnegut, becoming “unstuck.” It was, in the grand scheme of things, a subtle process. It became difficult to fall asleep (hence the late night calls to radio stations). It became equally difficult to stay asleep. I became fixated on unfathomable concepts like mortality, and the idea that we are all floating on a planet in space. I could no longer stand to watch Star Trek. I could no longer stand to watch anything that reminded me that we we

Lewis Black had high expectations for the 21st Century. They have not come anywhere close to being met, and he is not amused. He is, however, quite amusing. Although he claims to be disappointed by the direction the world is taking, he also admits to being swept up in the inevitable pull of progress. He started a web site; every performer needs a web site. But then he found out he needed a Facebook page to promote his web site! It all came to a head when one morning he woke up after a drunk and discovered he was now on Twitter! All this, he laments, and not a single flying car. Not what he had hoped for at all. The Community Center Theater was respectably full on Saturday night when

The truth is, I have trouble letting go of people I care about, and Facebook is like a little cyber-room where we can visit every day without time consuming phone calls or awkward letters.   My first online date is one of my Facebook friends. I invited him over the first time with virtually no thought because it was his birthday, and I hated the idea of him spending it alone. It was one of the rare times I behaved maturely and had my girlfriend there to chaperone, lest he turn out to be a psychopath.   She made biscuits, I think.   She is also my Facebook Friend and former HR Manager, now married to my second online boyfriend. Seriously.   He is not my Facebook Friend.   There are a

With the recent dry weather and warmer temperatures, Sacramento-area residents might be tempted to ramp up their landscape irrigation. But, the Regional Water Authority and local water providers are recommending restraint. "Plants don't need as much water this time of year, even without rain," said Linda Yager, Regional Water Efficiency Program Manager. Lower temperatures, shorter daylight hours and moisture from fog and rain all combine to reduce the water demands of a typical landscape. Edible gardens and fruit bearing trees have special water requirements, so please consult with a landscape professional or your local Master Gardeners for more information. The Regional Water Authority

There were a lot of memorable moments in 2011. It began with the foreclosure of my house, not unexpectedly. In fact, by the time it actually happened and we could pack boxes and exit, Stage Right, it was a tremendous relief. Hot on the tail of that, my boyfriend of a year and a half finally broadcast his true colors and walked out without do much as an ”I won’t be back,” in the midst of the furniture move, after breaking two pieces of furniture and flooding my new condo without telling me. He later went on to hit on my sister and a friend of mine on Match.com, and as of a few weeks ago, was still using a fake name to try to get on FB friend lists of my friends to get music gigs. (Fortuna

I have 131 “friends” on Facebook. Twelve of them are not people. Sixty-five of them are not women. Of those 65, I have not kissed 50 of them—sometime in the past thirty years, give or take. I have acquired an eclectic and devoted group of friends over the years, and I have come to accept that, for whatever reason, most of them are male. It might be that, being one of few women working in radio in the 1980’s, I naturally met, worked with, and befriended a greater percentage of men than women. It might be that a lot of the women I did work with were bitchy and competitive and difficult to bond with. The same could not be said of me; I was never competitive. Many of the women I met in

There was a time when just hearing certain Christmas carols would cause tears to begin seeping from my eyes. And not in a good way. To this day, I have no idea why, but the disturbance seems to have receded somewhat. Perhaps I’ve grown past it, or, more likely, the fact that I stopped listening to Christmas carols of my own volition has created less opportunity. Holidays can be tricky. No one is more aware of that than someone like me who works with people in recovery from substance abuse and people who live with mental health issues. Holidays heighten financial issues; relationship issues; loss of loved ones; religious differences. Family issues. You could create an entire library o

I love Facebook. I didn’t think I would, but I do. Ironically, the person who dragged me kicking and screaming onto the site with promises of more frequent communication as the incentive is one of the people who appears there the least. But, no matter. Within a week of creating my page I found a friend from high school (I wasn’t interested in even looking for very many of them, actually) who had been living in Australia since graduation, and I was hooked! Facebook is my Cheers and I want to go where everyone knows my name. Facebook has become the place I can drop in throughout the week where someone is glad to see me, pretends to be amused by my every witty status update, and offers ch

Online dating became exasperating. The real proof of that was when I pulled my profile even though I had to continue to pay for it for two more months; it just wasn’t worth seeing that same rotation of hiking, grilling, great outdoorsman with stellar senses of humor continue to taunt me, day after day, week after week! I had decided I ‘d try it “old school”—just talk to men in bars and restaurants like the old days—and see how that worked in 2011. It did. Almost too well. I went to Sweetwater Bar and Restaurant hoping to chat some folks up for this column, and ended up in conversation with a charming young lawyer. It wasn’t—I swear!—until we were standing outside on the sidewalk, having

Occasionally it has been whispered that I complain (whine) about things in my adopted hometown, so I decided to share some of my impressions of the place I've called home for almost forty years. The writing spans a bit of time and perspective, as well. Before I was a columnist, I was a poet...   Saturday Night SacTown (Circa 1978) Pregnant girls with basketball bellies    and bigger bad bangs tarantula lashes purple lips colored inside the lines Not dressed for the weather Hanging out by the Discount Store Worrying their gum Waiting At the bar on K Street, gay men Sucked in by the stereotype Puppy dog eyes Leather baseball caps and cowboy boots Leather vests, Pearly buff chests Eyes l

I went downtown on Thanksgiving morning and saw people feeding the homeless and it really pissed me off. It seems to me that feeding the homeless once a year on Thanksgiving is a little like only going to church on Christmas Eve. But, yes, there is more to this than what you may initially perceive as my Mother Superiority complex. I need people to stop feeding the homeless on my block. Period. I work at Quinn Cottages, a program that provides housing for homeless people who are ready to change their lives, to move from the streets and become self-sustaining. Many of them are in recovery from drug and/or alcohol addiction. Many have mental health issues. All of them are committed to ch

In doing research to better understand the Occupy Wall Street movement, I have come to realize a few things. One is that though I feel the movement may not be as organized and direct as other movements, their cause is respectable. Two, it is still early for our brothers and sisters taking to the streets, so only time will tell whether or not the movement did anything more than cause some chaos. And three, there is at least one guy who stands firmly behind the OWS movement with his mind, body, and penis. That's right. Billy D. (if I had to guess that is not his legal name nor his Christian name) claims to have had at least 5 sexual encounters that were facilitated by OWS demonstrations. He

A year and a half ago, give or take, I was unemployed. For seven months. Long, terrifying, faith-shaking months. A period of time that began optimistically with the idea that I would give myself until after the first of the year (I was fired at the end of November—the most wonderful time of the year; the hap-happiest season of all!) before I panicked, and spiraled into a cold sweaty pool of disbelief, when my father died unexpectedly just before my birthday in May. I am fortunate to have terrific friends, some of whom came quite unexpectedly out of long ago created nooks and crannied to offer tremendous comfort and support. I also learned that I have amazing colleagues, some of whom ar

It was supposed to be cathartic. Healing. To bring a sense of peace and closure to a difficult experience. Instead it was like opening the wound all over again. Grief is complicated. Father/daughter relationships are complicated. At least mine is. Was. Is. See what I mean? When I saw the announcement for this year’s Panteón Sacramento, put on by La Raza Galería Posada, I saw it as an opportunity for my sister and my son and me to do something that we hadn’t been allowed to do properly: memorialize my father. He died unexpectedly over just a couple of days in May of 2010. He was 68. His third wife took charge of the memorial, which was a sort of open house, and the obituary, whi

My dog died and I signed back on to Match.com. Make of that what you will; it’s the way it happened, and I assume there’s a correlation (That’s me showing off all the stuff I learned in my accelerated Statistics class over the past eight weeks, too). The thing about Match, for those of you not in the know, is that if you drop your subscription, they don’t automatically delete your profile. Prospective dates can still see you and contact you, you just can’t respond. Cruel, right? You can, of course, delete your profile, but it’s a pain in the butt to create the thing, so if you have any intention of re-upping, it’s much easier to just lie dormant. The first thing waiting for me was a m

Sign on the reception desk in my Mercy Ob-Gyn office: “Medical does not cover annual exams or birth control. Birth control pills are available for $9.00 at…” My first thought: Seriously? My second thought: Seriously?? Followed closely by thoughts that are mostly made up of pointless obscenities unnecessary to print. Of all the things that ought to be covered by Medi-cal, this would be top of my list. I am not a political person, meaning, I don’t follow politics closely enough to have an intelligent discussion about who is doing what at any given time. If I’m not informed, I don’t feel I have a right to weigh in—from that perspective. But I work with people on Medi-cal every day, and

Blue Thumb Neighbors (BTN) is offering a special workshop to provide Witter Ranch (Natomas) residents with a hands-on opportunity to apply sustainable landscape practices to a neighbor’s yard. Working with the host, the BTN team will develop an action plan for transforming one ornamental planting area with beautiful, low-water use plants and upgrading sprinkler heads in one turf area. BTN instructors, participants and volunteers will then dig in and implement those plans during the Garden Party. The Garden Party will include both instruction and hands-on application on the following topics: Soil and Soil Amendments: Discuss soil health, use of compost and how the site was prepared Hydr

Is your kid being hit on by her teacher? Would you know if she was? Would she tell you?* The first inappropriate attention I can remember receiving from teachers was in seventh grade. Comments about classmates’ breasts; rides home from school; calls on my private phone. Shoulder massages. By high school I had a more complete understanding of how flirtation could work to my advantage. Hall passes, excuses from class, little bits of padding here and there, as long as I could remain in classes with certain malleable male instructors. Occasionally I hit a bump, the odd required class, but it wasn’t as though I couldn’t pass; I was bright and capable, just attention starved and increasin