A Seasonal Perspective

Fall…is there anything more enchanting? The colors and scents are a charismatic feast for the senses, captivating every age with equal magnitude.

I never had seasons growing up, I had perfect Southern California weather. I know what you’re thinking. Oh, poor Britt! That must have been unbearable.

Honestly, in many ways…without seasons I missed out.

I didn’t get to crash into a pile of leaves, fashion snow angels, or smell flowers come back to life. My wardrobe was the same year-round–no fun boots, coats, or other toasty accessories.

Profoundly in tune with the seasons, our bodies are cyclical. Even if the climate reflects idyllic conditions in the form of sunshine and clear skies, the absence of seasons can be strangely unsettling. Year after year, the comfort of the holidays is muted and the excitement for summer is ho-hum.

Post-Cali I spent seven cranky years in the sweltering heat of Texas. I’m a hot-natured person—big surprise—so boiling temps are definitely not my bag, baby.

Since moving to Wisconsin a few years ago, I have participated in all of the previously mentioned seasonal activities, fulfilling my childish wishes at long last.

Now that the seasons are mine to cherish, I could never live without them. By and large, fall is my favorite and I used my newly discovered infatuation to enhance the setting in Everything’s Not Bigger.

The main character, Jaye Davis, spends her childhood in Arizona and early adulthood in Texas, making her the catalyst for unearthing this overlooked notion, a missing link in her life. Upon traveling to Prague in October, she marvels at the basic nature she has always been denied.

An excerpt from Everything’s Not Bigger…

She halted on the sidewalk to soak in the beautiful tree-lined street. Prague in autumn was a breathtaking sight: striking mothers pushed strollers across gold, leaf-littered sidewalks; fat, daredevil squirrels darted between cars stockpiling nuts for winter; picturesque schoolchildren in plaid uniforms played hopscotch after school.

Every crunchy step she took over the brilliant leaves was a relishing moment. A stealthy breeze lifted the bottom of her coat, sending a tiny chill up her body. Everywhere it smelled like crisp foliage with the slightest hint of cinnamon.

Disrupting the magic, her stomach rudely reminded her of its incessant need for nourishment. Jaye opted to grab a bite at a street vendor, so she could spend the remaining daylight wisely, taking in the magical city at a snail’s pace.

And there at the street vendor, her exquisite autumn fantasy came to a bitter end. The mobile shed housed an impatient college kid, decorated with multiple facial piercings. Jaye investigated the menu bordering the top of the little window, and fidgeted with the strap of her handbag.

Jaye regarded the numbered images skeptically, head moving left to right, then right to left. Each bowl of goulash looked the same as its neighbor, and there were five choices. None looked edible.

After only one day, she felt homesick. Food had been the trigger.

Just as her grandmother and aunt had in their kitchen, Texas had one redeeming quality—the food was to die for. Tex-Mex, barbeque, and spicy brunches were available on every corner of Dallas. Due to deliciously fond memories of her grandmother’s cooking, she hadn’t thought much about Czech cuisine. Now that she discovered this goulash street buffet, Jaye realized her childhood menu was a Tex-Czech fusion—unfairly savory, and unavailable elsewhere.

Customers ignored her as she stood dumbly on the sidewalk. She crept away.

Out of nowhere she saw a godsend—Weasel Wich, a familiar American sandwich chain, its boring facade standing out like a hooker in a fancy museum. Surrounded on all sides by historic architectural gems, the cheesy signage was a little piece of home. She made a beeline for the doors, licking her lips at the thought of mediocre sandwich fare.

I promise this is the last book snippet I will bombard you all with. Thank you for obliging me and sharing your comments and feedback.

Everything’s Not Bigger releases this Saturday the 10th!

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Scottsdale: A Bruised Tale

Once upon a time there was a girl named Britt
She was always busy, she would never sit.
She wrote, she danced, she bounced up and down
Until she chanced upon a journey to a far away town.

To a castle in the desert, surrounded by palm trees and sand
The Fairmount Scottsdale Princess Resort, the fairest in all the land.
She left her midwest village and all that she knew
Twitter, Facebook, even her little blog, too.

Her knight would gather at the boisterous round table
Thus fidgety Britt must play princess in this curious fable.
She tasted many things she previously thought foe
Lobster, oysters, crab legs, even escargot.

Now you’re probably thinking these creatures are not from near
But armadillos and rattlesnakes do not to royalty standards adhere.
But the manners and servants were not to her liking
Best of all was an afternoon the court spent hiking.

Beyond the castle, she felt more comfortable in her skin
Though the lizards shunned her, she did her best to fit in.
Alas, a feast of all feasts was planned for that night
And she said farewell to the gallant sight.

Though you would think the bruised tale happened out here
On the dry treacherous landscape, Britt had no fear.
Instead in her silken gown and heels so high
Two steps before a fountain sent everything awry.


The pain made Britt swoon but she tried to save face
Little did she know she would soon need an ankle brace.
Britt’s knight in shining armor carried her in his arms
A damsel rescued from herself and her clumsy charms.

A bad sprain yes it was, a swollen shield so bruised
Laziness was forced upon her, she was not amused.
Hence the girl who would never sit now had no other choice
Propped up on a mountain of pillows, she did not rejoice.


The pina coladas did not console her on her poolside throne
She yearned for her simple life, to regain honor back home.
For who wants to be elsewhere when all is not well?
Vacation transforms into the cruel dungeon from hell.


Britt found solace in words, her chivalrous friends she could trust
She edited her book with her mighty sword pen, kicking up the dust.
Perhaps a jester is more fitting for a girl of this decree
For a princess of the desert, Britt shall never be.

P.S. For those who participated in the bobby pin poll last week, the correct answer is…drumroll please…88! Thanks for playing.

Cacti…here I come!

Tomorrow I leave the vibrant Milwaukee fall to travel to an arid land far, far away. Oozing with desolation and adventure, a treacherous desert–a no man’s land–awaits me, anxious to stifle my last breath without mercy.

It will take courage…more courage than I have to surrender. I may never escape this vast blanket of dryness.

Ha! Had you fooled, didn’t I?

I’m just joining my husband on his business trip to Scottsdale, Arizona for a week. It won’t take much courage to lounge around the pool, catching up on some reading and getting tipsy at a luxury resort.

It’ll take sunscreen.

I’ll be back on Friday the 19th with a Scottsdale travel post. Be warned, there may not be much to say. My goal is to do a whole lot of nothing.

But, you never know…exciting stories may be hiding behind the unassuming cacti. I’ll explore and report back.

See you in a week!

Absinthe Trepidation

You know me. I’m usually on a health kick—carrots are the new chips, Yoga’s for everyone–you’ve even seen me hugging a water bottle.

But forget all that…let’s talk about absinthe!

Now I think of beer as my steady even though I engage in the occasional red wine flirtation. By no means am I an expert on absinthe, but I have always been intrigued by the Green Fairy. Haven’t we all?

For my second novel, Everything’s Not Bigger, Prague served as a primary setting. “Absinthe Trepidation” is one of the chapter titles.

When I was studying abroad in Germany many summers ago, a visit to the City of a Hundred Spires was imperative.

If you’re ever stumbled over my last name “Skrabanek”, know you are one of many, and you have my Czech heritage to blame for it. In elementary school, my principal called me “Brittney S.” during awards assemblies, because he just gave up.

An easy pronunciation trick—it sounds similar to “bubonic” as in Bubonic Plague. Forevermore may you remember me when you think of a catastrophic illness. Wait…please don’t do that.

Furthermore, Eastern Europe was one of my areas of concentration in college. And one of my professors said he would only give a recommendation for my study abroad application if I swore to go to Prague.

He called me “the proud daughter of the Czech Republic” in class all the time. So, I went.

Prague is certainly one of the most enchanting cities in the world. Miraculously unscathed during World War II, it boasts historic wonders like you wouldn’t believe.

Back in 2004, absinthe was illegal in a good portion of the world. As such, it was heavily marketed to curious American tourists like myself visiting the Czech Republic.

Too apprehensive to drink it on my own, my fiance (present day hubby) and I had the bright idea to smuggle it back to the States in a Listerine bottle, so we could try it together.

I know, I know. Bad, Britt!

I sweated bullets at Stuttgart Airport security, believe me. I’m one of those people who often gets caught, but it doesn’t always stop me from participating in crazy shenanigans.

But, I made it home with the forbidden loot.

Even though I had washed out the mouth wash bottle a thousand times, the absinthe and spearmint had morphed into one. Needless to say, trying a shot was deeply unpleasant.

We knew nothing about the rituals of absinthe preparation. Now I am aware of the calculated art to drinking the beverage…and we absolutely disgraced it. Hey, we were pups!

Knowing my shameful stint wasn’t much to work with, I decided to do some book research on the drink by watching Absinthe the documentary.

Automatically absinthe stirs the imagination, embedding visions of mad painters and conniving fairies dancing in circles with bulging, iridescent eyes.

Lo and behold that’s all a bunch of boohockey—early twentieth century propaganda. It was a formidable scheme cooked up by the green drink’s competitors of the time–the wine and beer merchants whose businesses had floundered during absinthe’s peak.

I’m mesmerized by the care absinthe lovers show to the rebellious drink, appreciating it for its rarity. More than anything, I applaud absinthe for its sustainability against all the odds, resurrecting after bans, enticing still to this day.

Absinthe has been said to bring out one’s inner poet.

I think it carries a romantic notion, a feeling of the past when Bohemian artists created zealously and lived with abandon. There is no other drink quite as controversial or mysterious. Even though the myths have been widely debunked, I think the elusiveness will continue for centuries to come.

What about you readers out there…have you tried absinthe?

San Diego, Day 3: Like…Chill, Dude

6:00am…I’ve only been asleep for three hours and I’m wide awake. Damn you, time change! My head is cursing me for my self-induced, nocturnal debauchery.

Being chic in San Diego comes at a price.

Comparable to the aftermath of an earthquake, I’m disoriented and shaky. The past two days have been a ten on the entertainment Richter scale—great company, incredible food, and fun in the California sun.

I’m supposed to drive up to Los Angeles for my final day, but my exhausted body is revolting. Sometimes too much fun has a debilitating effect.

I think of Winston, one of the dogs my friend Devon babysat this weekend. Would Winston run around in circles chasing his tail until he collapsed for the sake of enjoyment?

Nah. He would take one look at my non-stop vacation itinerary, snort, and go back to sleep.

A legitimate Cali pooch, Winston would speak human just long enough to say, “Like…chill, dude.”

Hence, the fatiguing, back-and-forth Los Angeles voyage is scrapped. Today is all about doing nothing, something I rarely remember to do.

Devon stays behind to tend to her platform shoe wounds. Naeiry and I decide to make a downtown day of it, leisure style.

After downing a magical elixir in the form of carrot juice and a few hours of gabbing, we stroll to Hash House for a late afternoon brunch, figuring it was the only way to get in the place. There is always an absurd wait (a.k.a. severely tasty grub).

It’s about a two-mile walk in mid-eighty degree temps, and I’m sweating out various beers and chintzy champagne from the night before. It feels good to get around by foot, an everyday activity I’m used to at home.

California harbors a car culture. My traffic highlight for the weekend…it took us forty-five minutes to go eleven miles. It kindly reminded me of one of the SoCal cons I can definitely live without.

Even at closing, we wait a half hour to squeeze in for brunch at Hash House. The portions are ginormous here! We share the mushroom, artichoke, and spinach hash and leave our biscuit untouched.

A doll of a waitress brings us a free Bloody Mary. I don’t ask questions, I just enjoy.

Now that the kitchen is closed, tunes are pumped up and the wait staff is smiling and dancing. Oddly, there’s a bit of a soiree.

Seated in the back corner, we crane our necks to investigate the source of cheers and applause in the main dining area. And, look at the cuties we discovered…

On the way home, we make a pit stop at Cremolose for coffee. Reminiscent of European cafes, I can’t ignore the chocolate cream puff calling my name in the cheerful case.

I feel that the next photo merits an explanation. Naeiry and I got on the subject of lips, and I explained that having larger lips as a child was a traumatic experience.

The boys made fun of me constantly. So, I spent a good year or two sporting smaller lips by sucking them in. This is our small lips attempt…

I round off my non-scheduled day grilling back at Devon’s house with her and her hubby. Rosemary chicken, scallops, trusty beer, and lounging around are just the reset I need before my long flight home, clear across the country.

Finally I’m relaxing on my vacation and wouldn’t you know it—it’s time to leave.

How many of us do this every time we travel? Museums, excursions, bar-hopping, restaurants, attractions…phew! Guess that’s why we feel we need a vacation from the vacation.

I miss my new home and must say goodbye to my old one. So long humiliating waves, pretentious art, endless traffic, and city noise.

I’m ready to go back to my little, quiet Milwaukee, where I can look across icy Lake Michigan, pretend it’s my very own Midwest ocean, and have my favorite piece of SoCal.