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Cora's Heart

First of all: There's a new book out in Australia and New Zealand! The fourth Cypress Hollow! Oh, my goodness! I would jump up and down, but I'm in my office, and you wouldn't be able to see me, and then the dogs would start barking at me and I'd trip over a cat or two, so I'm going to skip all that and just show you before I hurt myself. 

Cora, a farm-girl who's been hurt too much in the past, safeguards everything–except her heart. Mac is a large-animal veterinarian who has already risked it all and lost everything that mattered. When a secret is revealed, Cora has to decide whether Mac is a safe bet . . . or the worst gamble of her life. 

Available at book retailers in Australia and New Zealand, Random House Australia and e-book link here. (Good New Zealand link HERE.)  It will be available in other countries including the US, but I don't have a date yet. I'll keep you posted (I'm as impatient as you are to get it into your hands, I promise). 

A Life in Stitches

 My memoir! You know, the one blurbed by Josh Kilmer-Purcell, winner of the most recent Amazing Race? (Dude. I love him, and his writing is lovely if you haven't checked him out.)  

It's only $1.99 for the whole month of March on Kindle! (If you don't have a Kindle, you can use their free app on your phone, notebook, or computer.) And if you like anything about my blog, you'll find 20 essays in there which are WAY more thought-out and funny and smart than these rambles over here ever turn out to be. I hope you'll like it. The Amazon reviews are wonderful and completely humbling. Available HERE. Canada, it's here for you.

 And from my last post, the winners of the drawing for Sophie's amazing boook, Garden of Stones:  

From the blog comments: Darling Maggi! From my subscriber list (I love my list): Hmkaup! You've both been emailed. 

Thanks, all of you. Britain and all other places left out of this post, I promise you something more exciting soon. Pinky swear. MWAH! 

I'm better, and thank you for all the well-wishes! I had all the -itis's in slow, painful succession– bronchitis, laryngitis, tonsillitis…

I'm just gonna let you reread that last word again.

TONSILS. I HAZ THEM.

AGAIN.

I had them out when I was thirty. And again when I was thirty-five. Five years later, guess what? They're back!

I went to the doctor last week. Now, I normally wouldn't go to the doctor with the flu.I know you just have to get over it. But do you know how quickly I dialed the phone for an appointment when I saw the white spots that looked exactly like strep on something that looked tonsils in the back of my throat? People dial 911 slower than I dialed the appointment line.

I said to the doc, "It looks like strep."

Doc, to whom people say this all day, said, "Mmmm. Open wide." Pause. Impressed, "That does look like strep." [It wasn't, actually, just a nasty case of tonsillitis which mimics it well.]

"Those look like tonsils, am I right?" I said. "Please tell me I'm overreacting."

She got a brighter light and shook her head as if to clear it. She peered in. Then she said in the smallest voice a doctor can possibly have, "They…do…look like tonsils."

"Could they be anything else?"

"Given their location, probably not."

So that's exciting! I'm a regrower of things that are really quite useless! I expect to grow parsley next. That or those painted wooden ducks whose wings spin when you stick them in a flower box.

In other news: I spilled this much —->   .       water on my MacBook Air and it stopped working. Just fitzzlettz and nothing comes on but the fan. Yes, I'm drying it out. Yes, I'll leave it for a week to dry before trying to turn it on again (I did try again after two days and no dice). I'm kind of feeling like my tiny little friend might never wheeze back into life.

And dude, I was panicked over this. I spent nine days (!) in bed with the Itis's and never opened my laptop once. Then I spilled the water the day I went back to the desk and felt as if I couldn't live another hour without my computer. Lala very rationally pointed out that I could work on any of the other computers we are so lucky to have littered about the house (her iPad, her laptop, the Mac Mini in the living room (which I kind of forgot was a computer because I only watch TV on it)). So I did work, but I tell you what, it's weird writing fiction on a big flat-screen television. THE DIALOGUE WAS SO BIG. IT FELT VERY LOUD.

So I bought an iPad Mini to fill in the gap while I'm waiting to see what will happen with the computer. I'm writing this blog on it now, and I really like it. I'd forgotten how nicely the iPad does just one thing at a time. Sure, I can check Twitter, but it takes actively moving away from this writing screen, and it slows me down. I'll probably return it when I get the computer fixed or if it turns back on.

Probably.

Oh! I'm so chatty  today I almost forgot to tell you (but I told Twitter): I finished a sweater! I love it.

Lady Marple, details at Ravelry.

Aside – Did I ever tell you about the surgeon I mortally offended when I joked that I could cut off a finger, no problem, because I'd just grow it back? He held up the four (total) fingers of his right hand and said, "It's not funny. I almost lost my profession when I lost this." (I hadn't noticed his missing finger, and I probably never would have. I did feel awful and apologized profusely.)

I found myself very inspired and moved by this short TED talk by Karen Walrond on seeing the beauty and finding connection in other people. (I totally have a crush on her now. She's crush-worthy.) 

Her 1000 Faces project, showing the uncommon beauty of regular people, is worth some time, too.

I was on BART the other day, coming back from San Francisco at 6pm, right at rush hour. I followed a woman onto the packed train, and a flower dropped from her hair. I picked it up and gave it back to her, and we had that moment. You know that one? Where you talk to someone, just for a few minutes, and you get them, and they get you too. I'm pretty convinced we could all find more of these, if we looked. In the fifteen minutes we spent speeding under the bay, we talked gardening and shoes. We compared her kids to my cats (her kids buy her more birthday presents than Digit buys me, I tell you what). We bonded over tuberoses and gardenias, burying our noses in the flowers she was carrying. She gave me a sprig of jasmine from her hair and wished that her plant was in bloom already, as ours is. She touched me on the arm at least five times, that You know? Right? touch, and it was so lovely, as she was. 

Of course, people on the train (the ones not wearing earbuds) stared. We were obviously strangers, but we were laughing out loud at each other's jokes, grinning at each other in delight. Those who weren't staring at us kept their eyes on the devices they were holding. 

I'm usually a device-holder, too. I hate being that guy, but I like to read a book on my phone on the train. I like to check Twitter. I like to send texts. I really like to not have to eavesdrop on annoying half-conversations people have on their phones (I'd rather eavesdrop on both sides if possible). But how many flower ladies do I not chat up? How much light am I not seeing? How many conversations between stations (converstations?) am I missing? 

Food for thought. Tell me your most recent nice random encounter? 

New Orleans was better than I expected, and I'd had pretty high hopes to begin with. 

What I expected: a Disney-fied city full of lights and magic and people who only cared about making a tourist buck. 

What we found: a working city full of lights and magic and people who cared about their city and the people visiting it. 

We stayed at the Hotel Villa Convento in the French Quarter on Ursulines. I'd just finished reading Heads in Beds (which was awesome, by the way, plus being half-set in New Orleans and written by someone who loves the city), and I was obsessed by this advice: Always tip the front desk clerk. 

Now, I was a front desk clerk for years. I worked a tiny hotel in San Luis Obispo, a sweet place where I made four loaves of bread every night before going to bed (we shut the desk from 11pm-7am, and I slept in a back dorm, staying from Friday night until Monday morning) so that the guests had fresh bread when they woke up. Every once in a while, I got a tip, and to that person I was grateful though I was sometimes confused. 

In the book, Tomsky says that you should always tip the desk. What's a twenty going to get you? Maybe nothing, but then you're only out twenty bucks. But hey, you might get an upgrade, or an extra perk, like a bottle of wine. I wanted to try it, but I was nervous. What if the clerk carefully picked up the bill between two fingers and sneered, "Is this a bribe, madam?" (Tomsky said this never happens.)

So as soon as we got to the small desk at the very old hotel, I said, "Hi, checking in, and uh, this is for you." I slid the bill across the old, scarred wood.

The darling man behind the counter said, "What's this?" (Worst nightmare.) 

I said, even more nervous, "It's for whatever you can do for us. [Stammering] You know, for a nice room, maybe?" 

"You're the last one in, and the only other room I have is the budget room." 

"Okay, then. That's just for you. I used to work front desk and I know how people can be." 

Oh, my friends. The look on his face! He just melted. "Oh! I NEEDED this. It's been SUCH a day, you have no idea!" 

I wasn't trying to buy a friend, and I know we would have made fast friends with Vincenzo anyway. But that just made it faster, right? Twenty bucks very well spent. I will absolutely do this on all my future trips. 

So our new bestie Vincenzo sent us down the block for a drink (I'd been up for literally 48 hours at that point, but really wanted to see a little of the city before we went to bed) to his favorite place, Pravda. At Pravda, we had a wonderful cocktail waitress named Lucy, who was so friendly it was unreal (we're from Northern California. We do politely disinterested, at best). She said, "Oh, you're not from here? Can I tell you some places to eat?" We expected her to return with a printed list of recommended restaurants. Instead, she brought us this. 

Dante's Kitchen, best meal we've had in memory

And then she proceeded to take the time to tell us what she liked at each place and how to get to each one. ("Well, you could take a cab, but it would be better to take the streetcar. What you do is…")  This was Friday night after Mardi Gras season had just started. (Lala and I kept looking at each other and saying, "What? Are we in Canada or something? People are so nice.") 

Speaking of Mardi Gras, we NEVER would have booked a trip had I known that Mardi Gras is not a day or even a week, but apparently a month or so of crazy-pants-time. But we were innocently clueless. Lala had an old friend there, and we met up with him and friends (awesome friends! Adopting them!) and did a local's night, watching the Petit Rex parade. A whole parade of little tiny floats! Plus bands! Jayzus! 

And, oh, oh! We did a bike tour with Bob of Big Easy Bike Tours. This cannot be highly stressed enough: if you go to NOLA, go on a bike tour with him. Read his reviews there on Yelp. The man knows everything, and is passionate about the city.

Bob, at the cemetery, talking about how the crypts are built. 

Three hours, pedaling through the (mercifully flat) town, we got miles and miles of information. The stories he told us about Congo Square in Armstrong Park made me teary, and I'll always think of that as the spiritual center of the town.

His excitement was contagious, and the most important part was that he told us about THE DOG PARADE which was happening on Sunday. 

The Dog Parade (Barkus)! With New Orleans jazz bands? What? HEAVEN. 

You know that game you play at the bar? "Who would you go home with?" We played "Who would you adopt?" This was the one I'd have taken home.

She was very small, very short like a French bulldog with a head like a pittie and legs splayed like a cowboy long months on the trail. I fell in love with her joyous waddle. 

Dachshunds are natural peacocks, after all.

Her sign says "Show us your ticks!"

Mr. Smartypants here would like Miss Idaho.

We saw Bob!! He gave us a football for Clara.

There is a very cute moment when Lala gives herself over to something. Example: She's going to LA. Fine. That'll be fun, she thinks. Then, when she's there, she's all, "DID YOU KNOW ABOUT HOLLYWOOD? THE STARS! THEY'RE AMAZING!" There's hand-flapping, friends. It's awesome. At the dog parade, at first she said, "Nah, no beads, no worries. Don't need 'em. Just here for the dogs, thanks." And as the children continued to throw them at us from their dog-mobiles, she turned to me and said, "THIS IS AMAZING. I LOVE THIS SO MUCH. I WANT MOAR BEADS MOAR." In the above picture, she was finally (regretfully) culling her Mr. T. stash. 

It was the best freaking parade ever. 

I also got a very funny shirt while there: 

If you don't get it, that's okay. 

New Orleans, it turns out, is Lala's Venice. She wandered at night, long after I'd gone back to the hotel, jamming on the banjo with some punk kids, losing herself in the streets. She's in love. (And in a particular way, New Orleans reminded me very much of Venice. A city that runs on tourist dollars yet still retains stubborn civic pride; a city falling down, crumbling at the edges but still beautiful; a city that smells of diesel and stagnant water and pastries; a city gorgeous in its unapologetic debauchery.)

We packed so much wunnerful stuff into a single weekend. And I adore the fact the fact that we'll be back.