Bookclub in Manhattan Beach Sunday night, and The Sandoval
Sisters was the book. Trepidation, thy name is Sandra because this wasn't
any old bookclub, but the most fun, wild, and critical book club on earth where
for decades these women have read, and sipped wine, laughed uproariously, shared feelings, and opinions . . . on everything. We usually eat and drink and weave in and out of
our book discussions, and this was no different, although they seemed a bit in
awe of my work. Not sure if I should be insulted or complimented. I
guess I come off kooky (read: outrageous) sometimes, but with this book not
only is my inner nerd on display, but also my latent romanticism (tinged with
tragedy and irony, of course). They
seemed relieved that the sex in the book was palatable, and when it turned
edgy, they just rolled their eyes, and thought, “That’s our Sandra!” Our
hostess, who is an outstanding chef-mom-businesswoman, served spicy posole with
sweet potato, and stuffed peppers, and a pimiento cheese dip. Delicious!
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