La Maison et Le Chat
“Kate, I have to read this to you.”
Putting my book down, I looked up at Dawn, who sat reading at the other end of the couch. “Go for it.”
“I’m still reading the Julia Childs's memoir.” She held it up so I could see the cover. “There’s this quote that’s great, but it’s in French so I’m going to mangle it.”
The princess herself.
“Thanks for the warning.”
“I didn’t want your ears to bleed or anything.”
“So…” I smiled encouragingly. “The quote?”
“Right.” Resettling her glasses on her nose, she read very carefully, “An may son sens chat set lavvy sens so lay.”
It took me a moment, but I got it. “Ah. Une maison sans chat, c'est la vie sans soleil. A house without a cat is like life without sun.”
“Exactly.” Dawn beamed at her cat, who was crouched on the floor in front of me. “I feel that way about Tinkerbell. She’s like a ray of light in my world.”
Tinkerbell lifted her head and hissed at me—the kind of hissing that makes you want to back away really slowly.
“Um. Yeah.” I pulled my feet up onto the couch, just in case. Because I’m sure they look better with all my toes in tact. “Tinkerbell’s something, all right.”
“I don’t know why she’s been so strange the past few days.”
“She doesn’t normally freak out and attack her own tail?”
“No, she does that. She just doesn’t usually lay in wait for guests and try to trip them. She’s been talking to you a lot and following you around all over. That’s not normal.” Dawn frowned at the wee beastie little princess. “I think she’s trying to tell you something.”
“Maybe she has a message from the fairies.” I glanced at the cat, who stared steadily at me, obviously waiting. I breathed a sigh of relief when she huffed, as though disgusted with my telepathic shortcomings, and sauntered away. "Next time I visit, I'll bring a cat-to-English translator."
The princess herself.
Going Home... Again
Peeps, hear my cry!
Me this morning, with my perfect hair and perfect skin. And perfect clothes with goddamn matching shoes. (That was a line from a movie that no one but me and one other person in the world saw. Two points if you guess which one.)
Okay, that may have been a little dramatic, but I just wanted to make sure you were paying attention. Not that I'm going to make some kind of monumental statement or anything. Really I've got nothing to say, except...
I'm on my way home!
(Insert shrill whistling and bugle calls here.)
At least in theory I'll be on my way home. I'm publishing the blog early, because I'll be traveling Monday and all of Tuesday. With some luck, I'll actually be let out of Joburg to hurtle my way through space back to San Francisco. It's been sketchy here—anything can still happen.
Will I ever come back? Hell no. Maybe to South Africa—there are things to see—but never to Joburg. That's not to say there weren't great things about my visit here.
- The hotel staff rocked. I'm not sure I'll be able to cook for myself when I return home, or make my own bed. On top of it all, they made me feel at home.
- Something about the air must have agreed with me, because my skin and hair looked awesome. I'm talking the kind of shiny and luminous that could grace a Cosmo cover.
- I finished the book I was working on. If you're under deadline, I highly recommend being confined in an enclosed compound without any distractions.
- I got to fly on a plane with unlimited free booze and movies. Twice. (Hopefully.)
So what's next, Kate?
A career as a cagedancer for a rock band. And perhaps another book or two. Stay posted.
International Intrigue
I’ve embarked on a journey full of mystery, laced with a soupçon of danger. To Johannesburg.
Yeah—that Johannesburg, in South Africa. All the way on the other side of the world.
What the heck? you wonder. Why South Africa??
Frankly, I’m not sure why South Africa. That’s where the mystery comes into play. I’m remarkably short on the backstory of this tale. I’m not even certain I know all the characters involved.
Not having all the details makes me uncomfortable, which means I’ve had a bad attitude regarding this sudden trip from the beginning. (Insert sigh here.) But as I’ve been sitting here on the first leg of my trip (to Atlanta, if you need to know), I’ve decided I’m going to change my outlook on this whole thing. I am Joan Wilder, gone off to help a family member. This is an adventure, where I’ll get to see a land I normally wouldn’t have and order room service from my cushy hotel room. If anything, it’s given me good fodder for a future book.
Always look the bright side, my friends.
And to those of you who have recently commented about how my life is becoming more and more like a novel: you’re right. I’ve become one of my own heroines—earnest but slightly clueless, wandering through the maze of life and men, trying to find my place in the world, ready to kick ass. Who knows—maybe I’ll meet a deliciously accented tycoon who’ll whisk me off in his private plane to an exotic destination.
Stranger things have happened, right?
Last Days in Arkansas
I spent my last few days in Arkansas in grand style, and I have pictures to prove it. That’s right—it’s photojournalism time.
Exciting Thing #1: The Drive Through Wilderness Safari
For the past two years Julie’s been threatening promising to take me to the drive through animal safari. This year she delivered.
I know what you’re thinking: a safari in Arkansas? What the heck kind of animals will it have? Goats and armadillos?
Well, yeah, it did.
But in addition to the regular farm animals and assortment of mangy cats, they had black bears, wolves, peacocks, and real jungle cats (tigers as well as lions). I even touched a baby tiger.
Here’s Chloe the monkey. She’s a klepto. We were warned that she’d try to steal anything shiny, so I put my earrings in Julie’s pocket for safekeeping. It turned out that it was futile—Chloe pick-pocketed Julie. That was after the monkey jumped on my head from behind. Three times.
We had a Jurassic Park moment on the drive through portion of our visit, except instead of dinosaurs we were inundated with ostriches. Demon ostriches (note the glowing eyes).
Then Julie introduced me to my new boyfriend. He’s a rock star. He’s got style.
Exciting Thing #2: Box Suite at the Game
Last weekend, we went to see the Naturals (a minor league team) play. From a luxury suite, of course, because that’s how we roll.
At the game, I realized having a rock star boyfriend was overrated. He never stuck around and was always chasing other chicks. So I threw him over for…
It was love at first sight. Don’t worry—Sasquatch promised he’d groom his eyebrows and nose hairs for me.
Goodbyes, and Other Incidents
First, meet Jasper:
Jasper was determined to get my attention. I resisted, so he finally resorted to extreme measures: stealing my flip flop. He looks innocent, doesn’t he? Don’t believe it. He's a thief. He and Chloe should hook up.
And now...
I’m headed back to San Francisco—just for a few days before I’m off on another Big Adventure. I have mixed feelings about it. On one hand, I’m looking forward to walking my beach. On the other, I already miss Julie, her daughter, and the other friends I have here. But I’ll be back.*
* Note to Julie: that wasn’t meant to sound as threatening as it did.
Mad Cow Running, and Other Tales of the South
Last night I asked my sister what I should blog about today. She said, "Blog about me. I'm always an interesting blog topic."
And she's modest too.
But enough about her.
And on to me. I'm in Arkansas, making my annual trip to visit to my friend Julie Linker. As of this moment, I have not
- shot anything;
- seen a scorpion;
- gone night fishing;
- eaten catfish and hush puppies;
- or shared moonshine with a redneck.
But give me time—I still have a couple weeks here.
Julie and I have babysat a mad cow though. Yesterday, Gary (Julie's husband) was at a friend's house helping him move some cows into a different pasture. Julie, her daughter, and I decided to join them, not to herd but to sit by the pool and read. We have our priorities straight.
Except we got put on mad cow duty. One of the steers was supremely pissed to be penned away and was doing its best to get out. Gary and his friend went out to buy fence reinforcing materials, instructing us to keep an eye on the cow.
After the men left, I turned to Julie. "So we're supposed to watch to make sure the cow doesn't escape?"
"Yes." She calmly flipped the page of her book.
I listened to the cow furiously kicking the barn door. "And what are we supposed to do if it does?"
"I don't know about you, but I'm going to run."
Fortunately, it didn't escape until after our watch.
Next...
Julie and I are headed to Orlando this week for the RWA National conference, which means we've been plotting our wardrobe over the past few days. Somehow, she decided I'm going to wear a silver sequined dress to the Rita Awards (the romance industry's equivalent to the Oscar Awards). Picture the shortest, most blinding dress you can and you'll have an accurate image of the dress. If you're going, you won't be able to miss me. I'll be the walking disco ball—walking because the dress is too tight to sit in.
In other news...
Those of you who follow me on Twitter know I've been painting. If you aren't following me on TWITTER, shame on you.
Anyway, yeah—watercolors. I'm not sure what possessed me. I haven't painted in a coon's age, since I was knee high to a tick. (I'm in the South and have to say things like that or I'll have my Visa revoked.) I love it. Today I should be writing, but I'm tempted to take my paints to the café instead of my laptop.
Don't worry. I'm not giving up the day job. McLovin and I are headed to work right now. A girl cannot live by paint alone. At least not this girl.
Taking Care of Business
Do you know how many blog posts I've written in the past week? A whole heck of a lot. I've been asked to guest blog during the month of July, and I'm cranking out the posts to turn in. Don't worry—I'll post details when I know the whens and wheres of the event.
You know where I'm going with this, don't you? Can you blame me? I've written so many blogs, I don't have it in me to write this one. But as tempted as I am to post a Gone Fishing graphic and flake out, I can't bring myself to let you down. That's love. Except it's the vague and shallow kind of love that only merits random miscellanea (see below).
So long, Madrid.
I'm back in San Francisco, and I feel pretty good about it. Yes, I miss Madrid—and New York, for that matter. But there's something refreshing about having the ocean and the fog again. It's good to be back.
I'd rather clean the toilet.
A few days ago, I got the proofs for my next book, TEMPTED BY FATE. Don't tell my editor this, but proofs are my least favorite part of the publishing process. (Translation: it's utter torture.)
Picture this: you get a copy of your book, formatted for printing. Your job is to go through and make sure the pages are set properly and that everything is in order (no typos, that all the copyedits were inputted, etc). Sound easy? It is. But it's freaking tedious, especially after you've already read the book several times in the previous few weeks.
A blast from the past.
I'm getting together with my best friend from high school today, and I'm beyond excited. It's been twenty years since I've seen her. Life tore us asunder. (Insert dramatic sob here.) But several weeks ago while I was in Madrid she emailed me, and we're seeing each other for lunch. I have no expectations, but I know it'll be lovely regardless of the outcome.
Vamos Argentina!
Argentina is advancing to the next round of the World Cup. They play Germany on Saturday, a game which may cause a rift between me and my sister. She has a crush on one of the German players but—dude—the Argentinians are way hotter. Especially the goalie. And Messi is a futbol god. There really shouldn't be any question of who to root for.
Disney World, here I come.
At the end of July, I'm headed to Orlando for the RWA National conference. Why should you care? Because I'll be signing books at the RWA literacy event on July 28th (I think). Stop by Disney World's Dolphin and Swan Resort if you're in the area, say hi, and buy a book for a good cause.
Sneakiness.
Did you notice how I just slipped a little bit of World Cuppiness into this post? I'm sly that way.
Speaking of posting...
I haven't written a craft post in forever. Anyone want one? And what would you want? Character stuff? Plotting? A discussion on scene? Pacing? Dialogue? Let me know if you've got things you want to discuss.
PC vs. Mac
I was going to write about the World Cup today, but I'm going to spare you for a number of reasons. Like the fact that most of you probably don't care about men chasing a ball back and forth across a field (although you would if you realized how hot said men were). Another reason is that I plague—um, entertain you with World Cup adventures every time it comes around, so maybe this year I'll give you a break.*
So what does that leaves me to write about? Computers, of course.
Specifically my sister's computer, Tartine. Tartine has been sick lately—alternately sluggish and feverish—so Parisa decided it was time to do open-motherboard surgery. She downloaded a Dell manual to my laptop, found the right sized screwdrivers, and began to perform the operation. Because I'm fascinated by all things technical I sat and observed, impressed by the way she methodically laid out each piece in order. Then she paused.
P, staring at Tartine's keyboard: This part makes me nervous.
Me: When I took Rodrigo apart, this part made me nervous too. I was afraid the plastic was going to snap in two.
P: You took Rodrigo apart?
Me: A couple times.
P: Have you taken McLovin apart yet?
Me, looking aghast: One doesn't take a Mac apart. One takes a Mac to a Mac store and let's them deal with it.
P, with a thoughtful look on her face: I wonder if it's because of the unicorns.
Me, wondering if she's inhaled too much dust from the motherboard: Unicorns?
P: I believe that if you opened one up, you'd find unicorns and fairies running around doing your bidding. And magical waterfalls. Think about it. Why else would people be so fanatical about Macs if they weren't magical? Which would be why they wouldn't want you to open the case yourself.
Me: You may be right.
So I've been watching McLovin really closely, hoping to catch a glimpse of the magic in action. I'll let you know when I discover anything concrete. I did sneeze a couple times as I wrote this post. Fairy dust perhaps?** We shall see.
* Note: there are still weeks of games, so I may totally backpedal and post about the games anyway. Especially if Argentina makes it to the finals.
** Note to the Mac fairies: if you read this, maybe you can sprinkle some fairy dust on the Argentinian team? You know, if you're not busy.
Complicated Stuff
"You called me your gentleman caller?" he asked the second I answered the Skype call. On video, he looked as indignant as he sounded. "Did old man sound too spry?"
I shifted the webcam so half my face wasn't cut off. "Gentleman caller didn't seem so bad."
"Can a gentleman caller and the Kama Sutra coexist in the same post?" His brow furrowed. "Does a gentleman caller even get to see your ankles?"
"Not in a blog that his mother reads. Besides, I can't call you my boyfriend." I wrinkled my nose as I tasted the word. "I just can't. It doesn't feel right. You're not a boy. You're all man."
He sat up taller in his office chair. "That's right, I am."
"I haven't found the right word for you yet." Pursing my lips, I reviewed the options. "I like beau."
He looked contemplative, like he was rolling the word around in his head. "Beau has promise."
"I wonder if any of my blog readers have suggestions."
A wary look entered his eyes.
Prodded by my shoulder devil, I rubbed my chin like I was in deep thought. "Maybe I should ask them."
"Um..."
"You don't mind if I blog about you from time to time, right? It comes with the territory." Because I'm truly evil, I added, "I'll try not to talk about the type of underwear you prefer or anything."
"We're going to have to set boundaries, aren't we?"
Oh, you can try, I answered in my head. But in the interest of keeping the peace, I nodded. "I would be open to such discussions."
His gaze narrowed. "Why do I feel like you're just humoring me?"
I blinked innocently. "I have no idea."
Adventuring
Yesterday morning I woke up and decided I needed adventure. So I got dressed, walked to the panadería to get a sandwich for the road, and then headed to the train station. Next stop: Segovia.
When I came to Spain, I thought I'd check out Granada, maybe Malaga and Toledo, but Segovia wasn't on my radar. But then I mentioned visiting Toledo to one of my new (Spanish) friends, and she said (somewhat wistfully), "I quite enjoy Segovia."
So there you go. And there I went. Lucky for you, I took pictures, so it'll almost be like you went along with me—only you didn't have to slather sunblock all over yourself.
The aqueduct. For those of you unfamiliar with Roman innovation, it's a fancy bridge that transported water. Segovia is in the background.
The cathedral. It was the biggest cathedral I've ever been in—I'm pretty sure. Things I noted about the interior: it was at least thirty degrees cooler than outside; there were more than a dozen small chapels circling the main nave; and it was all freakin' big.
I got whistled at by a construction worker inside the cathedral. WTH? That's just wrong, or sacrilegious, or something. Maybe he thought he was in tight enough with the Big Guy that he could get away with lascivious thoughts in a holy place.
Me, outside the cathedral. Aren't I cute, despite my lack of makeup? I love those earrings too. My sunglasses make me look like an insect-superhero though.
Approaching Alcázar, the big-ass castle in Segovia. If you were here for a history lesson, I'd tell you it was an Arab fort back in the 12th century, and a Roman one way before then (or so one infers), until it became a favorite place for royalty to chill.
But you're not here for a history lesson, so I'll tell you that there was a lot white fluffy stuff floating in the air. Pollen, anyone? And the moat was empty—I was minorly disappointed by that, but the suits of armor they had standing all over the place made up for it a little.
For two euros extra, you could climb up 152 steps to the top of Juan II's tower (hidden behind the trees). And to think I was paying eighty bucks a month to go to the gym to use the StairMaster.
The restaurant where I had my two hour lunch. Although the sign is false advertisement, because my fork was never lonely. It was always accompanied with at least a knife and sometimes a spoon.
New friends! I was sitting at the bus kiosk, waiting to go back to the train station, when this blonde accosted me. It turned out they were awesome, and fun, and from New York. So we met up for tapas and drinks later that night in Madrid. Craziness ensued, as it does when I'm involved. Sorry—can't give you details, because what happens in Spain stays in Spain. Let's just say it involved peanuts, Mui Mui slippers, and a very cute Argentinian guy.
Stay tuned for my next adventure, which may or may not include flamenco dancing and pigs. See you next week.
Hakuna Matata!
I just felt like exclaiming that. This post doesn't have anything to do with The Lion King, Africa, Elton John, or even Swahili. Although that's a language I've always wanted to learn.
Ahem.
Anyway, while my sister steals babysits MY SHOES in New York, I'm wandering around Madrid. I freakin' love it here. The people are awesome, the city is lovely, and the booze is plentiful. What more could you ask for?
That's right—pictures!
Did I mention how beautiful it is here? The city is peppered with plazas full of outdoor cafés and public gardens like this one (Jardines de Sabatini). I've spent part of every day sitting on a bench here, reading or writing or watching German tourists jump into the fountain.
Because we're all about books on this site, I thought I'd include this picture of a charming old bookstore I stumbled across. (Although your store is obviously superior, Bradley. And less dusty.)
Meet Oscar, el bombero (the fireman). We met in a park—he was running and I was contemplating the clouds. He sat with me, and we chatted for the next half hour. He was a bright light in my day, with his smile and lightness of being.
Aren't these purses awesome? I don't need one. I'm positive I don't need one. Nor do I need the pair of the rockin' wedge sandals I saw in the next store window.
The only thing wrong with Madrid...
The dearth of coffee houses. WTF? So far I've found two options: the smoky café down the street, which is awesome but (like I said) smoky; and Starbucks. In desperation, I went to the fancy Starbucks on Paseo del Prado yesterday. I sat on the terrace outside and was hit on by cologne-drenched Eastern European tourists who thought I was a Madrileña.
Don't forget!
Brenda Novak's diabetes auction is going on, and I'm being offered up like the proverbial lamb. You can either get a critique by me or, if you need a gentler option, have COCKTAILS WITH ME at the RWA National conference. Do it. It's for a good cause.