francesca Archives – Lisa Scottoline

Keeping it Real

October 19, 2025

By Lisa Scottoline

I need to get a Real ID.

And it’s giving me an identity crisis.

Let me explain.

I don’t know who made this decision or why, but we can no longer use a driver’s license to fly or do God-knows-what-else.

By the way, I just looked it up and God-knows-what else includes entering a nuclear power plant.

So keep that in mind, the next time you stop by your local nuclear power plant.

Bring your real ID and your last will and testament.

Leave your ovaries at home.

To return to point, you can still use a passport to fly, but that worries me because I had my passport pickpocketed in Sicily and it was a pain in the neck to replace.

On second thought, it wasn’t that bad to replace. I had to make a side trip to Naples and rewarded myself with the best pizza in the world.

You know the old saying: Just a spoonful of carbohydrates makes the medicine go down.

For what it’s worth, I understand why it’s not a great idea to link identity to a driver’s license, because not everybody drives or can afford a car.

But I don’t know why we can’t have an either/or system, so you can fly with a driver’s license or Real ID.

But lately we’re not a country that deals with nuance.

We’re all-or-nothing now.

And lately it looks we’re in a lot of All.

But I digress.

So I looked up to see what I need to get a Real ID, and one thing was my Social Security card.

Ruh-roh.

I have no idea where that is.

I seem to remember it was a little piece of white paper even smaller than a credit card, which was its first problem. If it were plastic like a credit card, I would have kept it. I still have credit cards from stores that went bankrupt decades ago.

If Wanamakers comes back to life, I’m ready.

That was a joke for Philly people.

Everyone else will have to insert their own defunct-but-beloved department store.

By the way, department stores were something that existed before Amazon.

Try to play along, young people.

Humor us olds.

The rules for Real ID say that you can use your tax form for your social security number but my tax form has my number redacted, evidently to protect my identity.

Great idea, every week I get a notice that my online identity has been compromised by one website or another.

Hackers have my Social Security card, but I don’t.

The notices I get all ask me if I want to reset my passwords.

Answer, no.

I’m taking my chances.

There are few things worse than resetting all your passwords.

Maybe wearing a bra.

Which resets your breasts.

But I would rather wear a bra 24/7 than reset my passwords.

But I did luck out in my document search because by some incredible miracle, I found my original birth certificate.

Wow!

I have no idea why I saved it because it’s a piece of paper and not a credit card. But it is supercute, and actually filled out in something called a fountain pen.

Pens are something that existed before keyboards.

I know, this is the old-timiest column ever.

Because I was born seventy years ago, and my birth certificate is a seventy-year-old document.

Which makes it the oldest document in my house.

It’s on yellowed paper and measures 5 by 7, which may be why it survived in the bottom drawer of my jewelry box, with Daughter Francesca’s baby teeth.

Please tell me I’m not the only mother who keeps baby teeth.

Or has a jewelry box of biohazards.

Look, if I’m not throwing away a Wanamaker’s card, you know I’m hanging on to those teeth.

Plus the Tooth Fairy bought them, fair and square.

I think Francesca got a buck a tooth.

More for buck teeth.

Sorry.

I keep them wrapped in ancient Kleenex with a rubber band, like a do-it-yourself mummy.

Or Mommy.

And I have to tell you, when I found my daughter’s baby teeth, it reminded me of who I am.

Francesca’s mother.

That’s my Real ID.

By the way, I also save two dog teeth and several cat toenails.

So pet mothers count as mommies, too.

That’s called nuance.

Mileage

October 12, 2025

By Lisa Scottoline

Well, the weather has turned cold, and I’m back to my old habits.

I’m sleeping in my clothes.

I don’t regard this as a bad habit.

I actually think it’s a good habit.

Hear me out.

It’s fall now so that means I’m in a long sleeve T-shirt, a sweater, and sweatpants.

Francesca calls them my teddybear clothes.

You cannot imagine how happy I am to be a teddybear.

I walk around feeling huggable.

And even hugged.

Who knew clothes could do such good?

At night I’m nice and warm in bed, and the next morning when I wake up, I’m ready for the day.

Obviously, no bras are involved.

I’m not braless, I’m bra-free.

If I have to go out for some reason, whether to walk the dogs or ride a pony, I put on a bra then take it off as soon as I get in.

As we all know, home is where you hang your bra.

You’re probably wondering how often I change my clothes/pajamas.

When I feel shame.

Shame is key to my life.

Or when I take a shower, which is also shame-based.

Mainly three days.

This was a good system until last weekend, because I went to Boston for work and also saw my old friend Sandy, whom I’ve known since tenth grade.

That makes it a 55-year friendship.

Do you have any friends for 55 years?

If you do, you’re very lucky.

Sandy and I don’t see each other as much as we did in French II. She lives in Vermont and I live in Pennsylvania, so we stay in light touch through text and zooms, but when we see each other, we finish each other sentences.

Except Sandy is a psychiatrist so she’s a better listener than I am.

So, you know who gets to finish her sentences.

When I first saw Sandy, she looked terrific in a long-sleeved T-shirt, jeans with a leopard print, and matching sneakers.

When I told her how cute she looked, she told me something remarkable: “I made this whole outfit, even the sneakers.”

Now, I don’t know what to tell you.

Sandy and I are a lot alike, but 55 years has changed us.

She makes sneakers, and I can’t be bothered to make dinner.

I don’t know how this happened.

It struck me that having a girlfriend is something of a miracle, especially when you’ve had one for a long time.

Even if you don’t see them or talk to them, very often, they are a constant throughline in your life. And if you have lived long enough, you know that there are precious few throughlines in life.

I myself have had two divorces, several different cars, and even more dogs. I’ve changed careers. As an author, I’ve even written different types of novels. My weight has gone up and down. My hair has gone from mousy brown to fictional blonde.

That is the only thing that will never change on me.

My fake hair color.

But a girlfriend like Sandy is a constant, like an operating system on a computer. Like any good support system, she makes things run, but invisibly so. I just know she’s there for me, and I will always be there for her.

We sat down over lunch and talked about our parents, because I knew her wonderful mother and father the way she knew Mother Mary and my father. We talked about our siblings, our children, and our dogs because she is as big a dog lover as I am.

And we walked all over Boston, where I did plenty of shopping and she did none, and she taught me what upcycling is, which means making old clothes into new clothes instead of throwing them away.

I thought that we were upcycling ourselves.

Sandy is my own personal history on two homemade sneakers, and I am hers, in Hokas.

And when I spend time with her, I feel it fulfilling my soul, in a way that being with someone who knows you completely and loved you even when you had braces, glasses, and hair that was still its natural color.

Because that stuff is just superficial, like the clothes we put on and take off.

And we shared a hotel room, in which she slept in actual pajamas while I slept in the same outfit that I had worn that day.

She didn’t say anything.

There’s no judgment in an old friend.

There’s no shame with an old friend.

There’s only love.

And the miles you put on the relationship, no matter what shoes you wear.

Or make.

Column Classic: Love Boat

June 29, 2025

By Lisa Scottoline

I’m getting ready to launch THE UNRAVELING OF JULIA on book tour, so I’ll be running Classic Columns for a month.

Details about my signings are on my website, and I hope you’ll come see me on the road! Thanks so much for the love and support! I’m grateful for each and every one of you!

It’s everybody’s favorite time of year again.

My birthday!

That’s how I feel about my birthday, and that’s how I feel about yours, too.

I celebrate your birthday in my head, so I hope you’re celebrating mine your head.

It’s cheaper that way.

Also we don’t get drunk.

Well, maybe I do.

But this birthday felt different to me, in a good way.

I feel super happy just to be alive.

Let’s pause a moment.

I know that sounds kind of Splenda, but it’s really true. And the fact is, absolutely nothing has changed from last year.

In fact that’s exactly what is making me happy.

It really is a good thing to be grateful sometimes that you’re still living.

I get constant reminders of this, and I had one just this weekend, with Francesca. We were scheduled to give a speech about our collections of funny stories like these, the newest of which is out this July 11, entitled I NEED A LIFEGUARD EVERYWHERE BUT THE POOL.

Actually I need a lifeguard at the pool, too.

But that’s another story.

Literally.

Anyway we were supposed to speak at the American Library Association conference in Chicago, and we were both excited because we love librarians.

Hug your librarian the next time you see him or her.

They don’t get enough hugs.

Nobody does.

See what I mean?

Splenda!

Anyway, when I go on a business trip, I fly out, do my gig, and fly right back. I don’t do anything other than the gig, because it’s business.

But Francesca had a different idea. “Mom, I’ve never been to Chicago,” she said. “Why don’t we go sightseeing and leave later that night?”

I rolled my eyes. Inwardly.

Don’t roll your eyes outwardly if you’re a mother.

You’ll get in a lot of trouble.

But I said yes, and Francesca went online, researching the things you could do in Chicago, which I heard about with an inward eyeroll.

Because I didn’t think you were supposed to have fun on a business trip.

And before I knew it, we were in Chicago, we did our gig, talked about our book, and gave a lot of hugs, then we woke up the next day, ready for tourist fun in the sun.

What did we do?

We saw the cool bean statue at Millennium Park.

Cool beans!

And we went to the gorgeous Buckingham Fountain, which is next to a body of water they say is a lake but anybody from Philly would call an ocean.

But the best thing we did was take a boat ride with a billion other tourists down the Chicago River, with a volunteer telling us the architectural history of the skyscrapers.

Inward eyeroll?

Same here, but I was wrong.

It was awesome.

Because this amazing volunteer knew everything about architecture and gave us almost two hours of her time simply because she loves architecture and her city.

And because we learned everything about the brilliant architects and engineers who imagined and then built a slew of incredible buildings, each of them a tribute to human ingenuity and hard work.

And even because people on the bank waved to our boat as we floated by, and Francesca and I waved back, even though we had no idea who they were, or they us.

In fact, we waved at people on the riverbanks the whole damn boat trip, and people on the riverbanks waved back, and that made Francesca and I tear up, unaccountably.

Okay, accountably, since we’re Italian-American.

We cry all the time.

That’s how you know we’re happy.

The boat trip was a reminder of the simple truth that we’re all just human beings, floating down some river, waving at each other as we go by.

And when I thought of the architects, the engineers, the volunteers, and the librarians, I felt awed by all of us, just normal people, filled with so much vision and heart, following whichever endeavor we choose, our passion or our job and sometimes both. With just ourselves, we build communities, cities, and even countries.

Like this one.

And by the end of the day, I remembered I was happy to be alive.

You probably already know this lesson, but in my life, I need to teach it to myself from time to time.

Which is to go slower.

Enjoy yourself.

Feel the sun on your face.

Wave.

And do really touristy things, because there’s a reason so many people like to do the same things, wherever they go.

Because people are basically the same, everywhere you go.

We’re all tourists in this life, aren’t we?

None of us is from here.

And none of us is staying.

And so my biggest birthday present was that I got another year on my trip.

I pray that will be your present, too.

Happy birthday to us.

And of course, to America.

Happy Mother’s Day

April 27, 2025

By Lisa Scottoline

Mother’s Day is almost here.

I’m already lactating.

Why?

Because I’m having a mommy-type moment that I wanted to share with you. Not only because it’s a cool thing that’s happening to me, but because it’s a little reminder that wonderful things can happen in a woman’s lifetime.

We begin way back when Daughter Francesca was born, and I quit my job as a lawyer because I really enjoyed being home with her. Lawyering didn’t work for me part time, and the months after her birth made me realize that raising her was simply the most important, and fun, thing I could do.

This all sounds great until you realize I was getting divorced and had zero money. So I decided to be a writer, and then followed five years living on credit cards while writing and getting rejected.

But meanwhile I got to stay home with Francesca, and I remember those early days so well, because the lack of money was beside the point. I was doing something I loved, being with this curly-haired, blue-eyed, baby, and watching her grow.

I remember after I’d put her down at night, she’d be in her crib, talking away.

I would stand outside her bedroom, listening, but I couldn’t make out any of the words. She was just yakking up a storm, in an extremely animated way.

This would last for hours.

So one day, when she was about four years old, I asked her, “Who are you talking to in your room at night?”

And she answered, “I’m telling myself my stories.”

Fast-forward a couple of decades later, when she actually becomes an author, and this summer, something remarkable is happening. Namely, my storyteller daughter has a novel coming out in August, entitled Full Bloom.

Plus I have a novel coming out in July, entitled The Unraveling of Julia.

This is a harmonic convergence for our tiny two-person family.

This summer, mother and daughter will be blooming and unraveling together.

You can pre-order our books now, and we’d be delighted if you would!

We’re even doing events together, and I can only imagine how proud my mother would be. She would curse with happiness, her highest form of self-expression.

For what it’s worth, I never pushed Francesca to be an author.

I pushed her to become a veterinarian.

I need a vet very badly.

Nor do I take any credit for her becoming an author, because the best storyteller in our family was Mother Mary. She could turn anything into a story, and she knew to keep it short, punchy and funny, just like her.

The day of her funeral, there was such a heavy rainstorm that my entrance hall flooded for the first and the last time ever. Francesca was sure it was a sign from her, and I agree.

Somehow, I know that my mother will show up at one of our signings this summer, heckle us, and/or do something vaguely obscene.

I can’t wait.

It reminds me of the saying that everything will be alright in the end, and if it’s not alright yet, then it’s not the end.

Well, this might be the end because everything’s alright.

And this author’s getting her own happy ending.

Thanks, Mom.

And thanks, Francesca

Happy Mother’s Day!

Sign Up for Lisa's Newsletters!