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Searching for Paradise in Parker, PA [NOOK Book]

Overview

From the bestselling author of The Sunday List of Dreams and Annie Freeman’s Fabulous Traveling Funeral comes a poignant, funny, and uplifting novel of a woman at midlife whose search for happiness within her marriage—and within herself—turns a whole town upside down.

After twenty-eight years of marriage to her husband Lucky, Addy Lipton feels anything but happily married. In fact, just thinking of their garage, filled to the brim with Lucky’s...
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Searching for Paradise in Parker, PA

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Overview

From the bestselling author of The Sunday List of Dreams and Annie Freeman’s Fabulous Traveling Funeral comes a poignant, funny, and uplifting novel of a woman at midlife whose search for happiness within her marriage—and within herself—turns a whole town upside down.

After twenty-eight years of marriage to her husband Lucky, Addy Lipton feels anything but happily married. In fact, just thinking of their garage, filled to the brim with Lucky’s useless junk collection, drives Addy dangerously close to plowing her car through it. But when Lucky wins a trip to paradise—aka Costa Rica—Addy has a faint hope they may be able to turn things around. Or maybe they won’t. Either way, Addy never gets the chance to find out.

On the morning of their departure, Lucky fractures his back tossing their luggage into his truck. Now, with the man she feels she barely knows anymore parked indefinitely on her couch, Addy can’t see their already shaky relationship surviving much longer. It’s time to make some big changes—and some drastic choices.

With the love and support of her devoutly single sister Hell and her workout friends, the Sweat-hers, Addy begins a crusade to revive her dreams—and she takes the women of Parker along for the ride. Soon the men will realize they’ll have to step up to the plate to keep their wives and lovers happy. And Addy will have to decide if the paradise she’s creating in Parker is big enough for two....

Filled with small-town characters and big-time soul searching, this sparkling and inspirational tale will hit you where you live—and show you that just as happiness can get buried beneath the jumble of years, it can be rediscovered…if you look hard enough for it within your heart.


From the Hardcover edition.
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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly

Radish's latest warm-fuzzy (after The Sunday List of Dreams) tracks the troubled marriage of Lucky and Addy Lipton. Lucky's Kingdom of Krap-the garage littered with dismantled appliances, an old car and every other project Lucky never finished-has brought Addy nearly to the breaking point in her stale marriage, but it's the last straw when their planned trip to Costa Rica (with its possibilities for romantic rejuvenation) doesn't happen. What ensues is a summer of separation, discovering personal desires and strong female friendships (it is, after all, a Radish book). As the summer gives way to fall, Lucky tries to win his wife back, while Addy is torn between living alone or giving the marriage another go. Girl-power readers will get a kick out of the hokey girl get-togethers, and women will surely connect with Radish's empowered femmes. (Apr.)

Copyright 2007 Reed Business Information
Publishers Weekly
Radish's novel suffers in the transition to audio. Her constant detailed analyses of the main character's emotions, her endless descriptions and her numerous similar scenes of women friends bonding and bashing the men in their lives becomes tedious and repetitive when read aloud on audio and slows the pace to a snail's crawl. This is an audiobook that cries out for abridgment. Barbara McCulloh reads with expression, and her tone conveys sympathy and compassion for the characters' situations, but she does little to differentiate the voices of the female characters, so they all blur together in the listeners' mind, indistinguishable from each other. This is a novel better enjoyed in print than on audio. Simultaneous release with the Bantam hardcover (Reviews, Jan. 21).
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
From the Publisher
“Kris Radish sings the praises of sisterhood by creating an enticing world of women helping women to become the empowered individuals they were meant to be.”—Booklist
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780553904758
  • Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
  • Publication date: 4/1/2008
  • Sold by: Random House
  • Format: eBook
  • Pages: 352
  • Sales rank: 515,727
  • File size: 519 KB

Meet the Author

Kris Radish
Kris Radish is the bestselling author of four novels, The Elegant Gathering of White Snows, Dancing Naked at the Edge of Dawn, Annie Freeman’s Fabulous Traveling Funeral, and The Sunday List of Dreams. She lives in Wisconsin, where she writes two nationally syndicated columns each week and is at work on her sixth novel, The Poetry of Emma’s Salvation.


From the Hardcover edition.

Biography

Nationally syndicated columnist Kris Radish has taken a somewhat winding road to her current status as bestselling feminist novelist, although a strong love of fiction has been in her blood since childhood. "I fell in love with words when I was a little girl (and yes I was short once) and discovered the joy of reading and hanging out with Nancy Drew," she explains on her web site. "By the beginning of eighth grade I had read every book in St. Joseph's Grade School library and knew I was going to be a writer."

Radish did not start out writing the kinds of tales she loved as a girl. She began in the more practical realm of journalism, which lead her to write her first book. Run, Bambi, Run is the true story of Laurie Bombenek, an ex-cop/ex-Playboy bunny who was sentenced to life in prison for murder. Bombenek's fascinating story—which included a daring prison break and her subsequent recapture—was adapted into an equally riveting and critically acclaimed true-crime book by Radish.

Now with her first taste of the publishing world, Radish began work on her second book. The Birth Order Effect was quite different from her debut and miles away from the fiction she would eventually pen. Instead, it is a serious but lively discussion of birth-order and how it affects human psychology and development. Ultimately, The Birth Order Effect would take ten years to see publication, putting Radish's publishing career on hold for that length of time. By the time it finally hit bookstore shelves in 2002, Radish had shifted gears again and would never suffer such a hiatus again. The same year that The Birth Order Effect saw publication, Radish published her breakthrough work of fiction The Elegant Gathering of White Snows, the mysterious, hypnotic story of eight Wisconsin women who embark upon a pilgrimage. As they travel, each woman's story is revealed and the bonds between them strengthen. The Elegant Gathering of White Snows established Radish as an important new voice in feminist fiction and there would be no turning back from there.

Dancing Naked at the Edge of Dawn, the story of a wife and mother who sets upon her own journey toward self-actualization after finding her husband in bed with another woman, followed. Next up was Annie Freeman's Fabulous Traveling Funeral, another road novel in the vein of The Elegant Gathering of White Snows. By this point, Radish had gathered quite a following of devoted readers, all of her novels having found their ways onto bestseller lists throughout the United States. The Sunday List of Dreams, her next effort, was no different. It is a funny, moving, sometimes ribald tale of a woman who reconnects with her estranged daughter, who now runs a successful sex shop in New York City.

After the somewhat tentative journey toward her current success, Radish promises that she has many more stories to tell. "I write full-time because I never, not once, let go of the dream I had to do this," she says. "To put all my manic words into sentences and then string the sentences into paragraphs so that they could become chapters and then a book."

Good To Know

Even though Radish is enjoying tremendous success as a novelist, she still writes "two nationally syndicated columns each week—for DBR Media, Inc. and a regionally syndicated column in southeastern Wisconsin for Community Newspapers," as she explains on her web site.

Along with her many literary and journalistic accomplishments, Radish is an accomplished motorcycle rider.

While getting her career in journalism started, Radish worked a huge number of odd jobs. By her own account, she worked as a "professional Girl Scout, waitress, bartender, journalist, bureau chief, columnist, window washer, factory worker, bowling alley attendant and once, honest, I crawled on my belly through a Utah mountain field to harvest night crawlers."

Some fun and fascinating outtakes from our interview with Radish:

"I've skied with Robert Redford, been shot at while flying over Bosnia, almost drowned in a flash flood in the middle of a desert, worked undercover, interviewed murderers, and covered a national disaster that buried a town."

"Once I really did crawl through a mountain field to pick night crawlers for extra money…actually it was more than once."

"When I was a working journalist someone was stalking me for a very long period of time. It was terrifying. To end it, I worked with the local police and I still have tape recordings of this person's voice."

"I answer all my own emails—which often takes hours but I do this because I have such a fabulous group of readers and if they honor me with a note—with their own stories—with something from their heart…well, I have to answer them. I just have to."

"Here are some of the things I love to do: Yoga and biking and I have recently rediscovered my passion for golf—honest—watch for the Kris Radish Open. I swim, and following a severe back injury am living with a ruptured L-5 but am kicking it in the rear end by working out at least five days a week and have recently—well, over the past five months—lost almost 20 pounds."

"I love to hike and often get some great inspiration when I am out hiking with my notebook. I adore the sounds of the outdoors and would live outside if I could—sleep with the window open year round."

"Three years ago I got my motorcycle license and after two years on a put-put bought a new Yamaha. Hope to put some more miles on it in between deadlines and books and kids and hitting the golf ball and…"

"Laughter is the key to everything. I love to laugh and drink wine and walk in the rain and I find kindness and intelligence two of the most attractive traits on earth."

"I need a glass of wine now—maybe two."

"Read Radish and live your list of dreams—just go for it, baby."

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    1. Hometown:
      Oconomowoc, Wisconsin
    1. Date of Birth:
      September 18, 1953
    2. Place of Birth:
      Milwaukee, Wisconsin
    1. Education:
      B.A., University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, 1975
    2. Website:

Read an Excerpt

Chapter One


Addy hits the wall . . . Addy Lipton has been nurturing a wild desire for a good twenty-two months to drive her 1988 dark blue Toyota Corolla right through the closed garage door of the lovely two-story white brick and cedar home she shares with a man she vaguely remembers marrying a very long time ago.

The Toyota has not been inside of the garage since 1992, and the last time she opened the kitchen door leading into the garage and stepped inside of what she now calls The Kingdom of Krap was just days before her milestone fiftieth birthday and very close to two years ago. Addy had opened the door to set a bottle of wine in the cool garage so it would chill before her sister showed up to help her celebrate. She placed it next to the bag of dog food left over from Barney the black lab (who had passed without a doubt into doggie heaven in 2001), and then dared to look into the bowels of the garage where she had not bothered to gaze for a very long time.

“What the hell,” she said out loud as she raised her eyes and wondered if she had suddenly been transported to a used- appliance store.

The garage, totally her husband Lucky’s disgusting domain, was filled to high tide with partially dismantled refrigerators, washing machines, dryers, microwaves, and various other machines that must have been something workable at one time when they could actually be plugged in and turned on.

“Lucky, Lucky, Lucky,” she said through a jaw that was as tight as a rusted dishwasher bolt, scanning past the machines and having a moment. A moment of desperation, wonderment, tepid fury, and astonishment at what not only her assumed half of the garage but also her entire life in halves and quarters and eighths and sixteenths had become.

“A garage stuffed with crap that my husband will use with his goofyass friends, not to fix, but to spread across each other’s lawns like teenagers,” Addy told herself, turning slightly in the kitchen doorway to see two piles of old bowling balls, a stack of wire coat hangers, a lawnmower that she knew for a fact did not mow, and the back end of a 1951 Chevy that Lucky had been working on since he found its decaying hulk sticking out of his uncle’s old shed and dragged it home when their son was a baby. Nineteen years. The car had not moved, or turned over, or gravitated to the local antique car parade, in nineteen years.

Addy reached over and picked up the wine bottle. She told herself that she would not now wait for her sister, that she would open the bottle immediately and drink it warm. Warm like everything else in her life. Nothing hot or cold or spicy but every damn thing seeming to sit right in the middle as if waiting for something, someone, anything to push it off to one side.

Later, after that bottle was empty and her sister Helen—Hell, as she was aptly nicknamed—stole her away for a birthday dinner where Lucky managed to show up on time, after she was back home, Addy could not stop thinking about the damn garage, which as a birthday gift to herself she began calling The Kingdom of Krap.

And the garage drove her crazy with wondering.

Wondering what else might be stored behind ragged cardboard boxes and the assorted stacks of junk Lucky and his ridiculous friends scavenged from behind stores and each other’s garbage piles.

Wondering how a section of the house and her life had gotten so out of control.

Wondering what would happen if Lucky spent half as much time with her as he did with his obsessive collecting and make-believe restoration projects.

Wondering why she was somehow content to sit and simply observe as her marriage seemed to drift off to a place where she could barely see the outlines of what it used to be.

Wondering what happened to the sensitive, romantic, often wild and terribly lively man she had fallen in love with when he’d swept her off her feet and into his strong and stunningly passionate arms.

Wondering if she was really prepared to spend the next thirty years lurking at the edge of her garage, and her life, if the family genes held up and she made it that far.

And that’s when she started wondering what it might feel like to drive the car right through the door.

She imagined it first as an accident. Something that she did as she bent down to the back seat to grab the papers and books and piles of third-grade projects that she needed to examine for school the following day. Addy would close her eyes during recess duty or a staff meeting and see herself reaching backwards just as her foot slipped off the brake and hit the gas pedal while the car was in first gear.

The car would lurch forward like a large stone that had been pried loose after much pushing. It would jump just as she turned to see the front end of the little Toyota crash an inch below the handle in the middle of the garage door. And then she would see the old Chevy buckle, the dishwashers spread as if Moses were driving the car, and coat hangers fly like thin birds who have just spotted a large dog at the side of the house.

Sometimes this vision got her through a particularly tough day. One of those days when a sick third grader would vomit first on himself, then on the girl in front of him, and then, on the way out the door, on Addy. A day when the principal would drag a mother into the room who didn’t like a comment on a paper composed by one of Addy’s students, a paper that was obviously written by the mother, who had forgotten that third graders do not usually know how to spell words that she herself had to look up in the dictionary. A day when Addy’s son might call her from his college dorm room and whine about money, or the pressures of his measly part-time job, or the fact that his mother would not give him five hundred dollars to go on a spring break trip to Florida so he could drink cheap booze until his brain pickled.

More times than she cared to remember, Addy had actually edged the car inch by inch up the driveway until she felt the front bumper touch the garage door. She’d put the car in neutral and then imagine the whole scene all over again—flying pieces of the wooden door diving past her window, rocketing wedges of metal, years of precious scavenging being pummeled by the foreign car Lucky sold parts for as part of his job but hated to recognize as a superior model.

But she never did it.

She never did more than nudge the door. Never bothered to tell Lucky she had harbored an overwhelming desire to flatten his hobbies, his haven, his krappy land of fun and freedom. Never told her sister, never mentioned it during the after-work pizza-and-beer gatherings, never told her friends at the YWCA, never asked her son Mitchell what he thought of the garage, never did more than think—just think—about ramming her car from the edge of her world right into the center of her husband’s.

Until today.

It is April 1 in Parker, Pennsylvania, and everywhere else on Addy’s side of the international date line, and Addy thinks that if she did it today she would have an excuse. She would plow through the door in second gear, which she has also imagined during the past twenty-two months, and try hard to make it through the krap and straight through into the backyard. She could blame it on the date. “I was just going to dent it a little and say April Fool’s,” she’d tell Lucky. Lucky, she imagined, would either laugh or rush to check on the fate of his favorite bowling ball.

There is also the menopause excuse, which would be a lie because she is dancing lightly on the brim of menopause—that joints-aching, two-periods-in-one-month, fifteen-extra-pounds-last-year, occasionally-crying-when-she-looks-at-Mitchell’s-baby-photos place—but not in real menopause, which of course, would be all of the above times one thousand. She is thinking of saying it had been a hot flash or a fast-beating heart or the ridiculous urge to shift with her elbow instead of her hand. Lucky, she knew, was terrified of the word “menopause” and so to simply say it out loud might just be enough to throw him into an instant state of forgiveness.

It is 6:48 p.m. and Addy has plunged into the place of wanting so badly that she has her hand on the gearshift and her mind set on ramming through the door. Addy is exhausted from the pre–spring break tests, from her college son’s absent but seemingly ever-present presence, from a marriage that has not so suddenly turned into something that feels and looks and tastes more like a business partnership than a union of two people in love and lust forever and ever.

Sitting in the car, with the tires hovering over the long cracks in the asphalt driveway, Addy this very moment wants lots of things.

She wants to ride a pony and to sleep in.

She wants to do tequila shots with her sister. In Mexico.

She wants to spend the rest of Mitchell’s college money on a total house makeover.

She wants to make people laugh—really, really hard and for a very long time.

She wants to go to Italy before she needs to wear trifocals, which is one focal away.

She wants Lucky to initiate a conversation that has nothing to do with “stuff” and everything to do with “them.”

She wants to come home, swing open the garage door, and be able to pull her car inside.

She wants to lie in bed naked with all the magazines and books and television clickers on the floor and talk, just talk, with Lucky, only Lucky, for hours and hours and hours.

Addy has one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gearshift and the car is in first gear. She is trying to decide if she should back up so she can start the garage-door-bashing procedure from the back side of the curb or from where she is right this moment. Her mind is as light as a third-grade song. She pauses to place her right hand over her heart because she is surprised she is so calm, so ready, so eager, and when she feels her heart beating softly, true, regular, and as it always has, she decides that she would like to back up about twenty-five feet, shift into second, and then hit the door with a fresh burst of speed.

She turns her head to make certain some unseen object has not bounced into the driveway while she has been idling at the lip of her decision. As Addy turns, she feels the smooth seat next to her under her right hand, notices the last glow of an early spring sunset between the two houses at the end of the cul-de-sac, thinks that her training class at the Y is paying off because her neck no longer aches when she turns sideways, and then as she is backing down she stops at the back end of the basketball hoop, which is halfway down the driveway.


From the Hardcover edition.
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Reading Group Guide

A wonderful, rejuvenating novel from the bestselling author of The Sunday List of Dreams and Annie Freeman’s Fabulous Traveling Funeral, this is the story of Addy Lipton and her extraordinary midlife revival–of her dreams, her body, and (most important) her true self. Married to Lucky for nearly thirty years, she’s put up with his junk collection, his bowling-ball addiction, and his tight-lipped way of pretending to communicate with her. Even after Lucky wins a trip for two to Costa Rica, she dreads the prospect of having to try to reignite their love on a tropical shore. But when Lucky fractures his back while tossing their luggage into his truck, he and Addy soon find themselves stumbling down a very different road to Paradise–one that will bring drastic changes to their marriage, and to the lives of everyone they know in Parker, PA.

The questions and discussion topics that follow are intended to enhance your reading of Kris Radish’s Searching for Paradise in Parker, PA. We hope they will enrich your experience of this novel.

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Customer Reviews

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Sort by: Showing all of 6 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted February 20, 2010

    Really good read about marriage and all its twists and turns.

    Addy lives where I do - in a world where youthful dreams and aspirations smack up against the brick wall of reality that is middle age. What should be her time of growing and rebuilding from everyday disappointments to the romance and spontaniety of her youth becomes a time of searching, as well as hiding from, her innermost emotions, a tenuous dance at best. Like many women, she longs for the past while making the best she can of her present. The author does a good job of character building, but leaves it a little shy on the male side of the equation, never allowing the reader to truly know his character. Maybe that is a reflection of a relationship, a difficult journey toward the real person inside the body of the person we thought someone to be. I had to read this in small bites because it hit very close to home for me. I found myself picking up the mood of the moment, as it were, and having to put the book down to decide how I would have responded in like circumstances. A good read with some entertaining, quirky supporting characters.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted December 9, 2008

    more from this reviewer

    fascinating character study

    Addy Lipton is unhappy with her spouse of twenty-eight years Lucky. Her feelings about her husband and their marriage are symbolized by the garage that she calls Lucky's Kingdom of Krap. Inside are gadgets, gizmos, other paraphernalia and a car that represent their almost three decades of marriage. All these items are projects he started, but never finished. --- Addy wants to reinvigorate their relationship she persuades Lucky they should go to Costa Rica on a honeymoon. They plan the trip, but he fails her as they do not go. Addy has had feeling unlucky in love. She leaves him to pursue her dreams bringing along her single sister and her workout friends, the Parker, Pennsylvania Sweat-Hers. Lucky feels lonely and guilty as he knows he neglected his wife treating her like an unfinished project to discard in some dusty corner. He vows to change because he needs Addy in his life she remains uncommitted between returning to him or bachelorhood. --- This is a fascinating character study that looks closely at what happens over time to a loving relationship when dreams are unfulfilled and somewhat discarded. Fans of female power now will enjoy the sisterhood rallies though they feel somewhat gimmicky. Still Addy¿s revolution in her summer of her discontent makes for a fine tale of friendship, bonding, and dysfunctional relationships as the Sweat-Hers Pennsylvania (not Virginia) Slims know ¿we¿ve come a long way baby¿. --- Harriet Klausner

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 2, 2008

    Wow, is she angry

    Addy is one angry lady. She needs to take a look in the mirror instead of blaming her husband for everything.

    1 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 6, 2012

    Wonderful

    I read this book about three years ago and i still recomend it. It was really great, what my friend Andy called a palet cleanser. Puts me in mind of Ermma bombeck. Truely funny laugh out loud moments

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 4, 2010

    No text was provided for this review.

  • Anonymous

    Posted December 1, 2008

    No text was provided for this review.

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