Book Groupies, we are…

BACKGROUND:Nory in creamy turtleneck; Pearson, seated and signing; a library helper: and, me in dark red and scarf …down by the station. FOREGROUND:That’s Grandma just to the left, also snapping a picture. Photo by HM and his crackberry.

Last week, on a rare sunny day, we went to the Train Station in Kirkwood, yes, a veritable station, rather large, very old, all of wood and windows and benches, yet somehow cozy inside.

It was sunny as I mentioned and it was freezing outside so that everything was crisp, including the sunlight. Inside, we sat on a folding chairs at one end of the station. There were as many children as adults (as wranglers/parents of said children.) While HM was on my right, on my left was a tiny little girl named Sophie. She had worn her favorite shirt with glitter on it for this event, she said. “You have more books than I do,” she said, looking at my stack of the Starcatcher series on my lap. “Just one more,” I assured her. Nory had given me all of them for Christmas.  Sophie nodded. She was also buy eating a little snack pack of crackers and cheese and was being careful not to get cheese on her glittery shirt. Her parents and I began chatting. Grandma was chatting with another grandmother who had brought her grandchildren. HM and Nory were chatting about business (they work together). The place had a certain buzz, not nervous, not rock concert crazy, just pleasant. We were all children, waiting to hear more stories.

Author Ridley Pearson was there to speak. His Peter and the Starcatchers series was discreetly for sale on one side of the room prior to his speaking. I had all four of the series to date on my lap. Nory had the first Kingdom Keepers book (based on escapades in DisneyWorld)on her lap. HM and Grandma both came along; the prior as chauffeur, the latter out of sheer curiosity, having read one of his mysteries for which he most noted.

I rambled on about Pearson in a post sometime last fall, after hearing him speak at a club luncheon. He was to prove as dynamic and entertaining and well structured a speaker this time as last. Though he repeated one or two anecdotes HM and I had heard before, this time, there were tales of his youth, to draw in the children in the crowd. And we all laughed and sometimes clapped. Sophie was delighted. So was Nory! And I found we were able to piece together just as much of the “who” of this author as the “what he writes” author. Which is intriguing. (Suffice it to say that I am a succor for a story well told and while many will say that in prior lives they were queens or ladies in waiting or somewhere in magical medieval England, I would have to guess that I was, back in time, seated as much as possible around a fire, listening to tales of bravery, adventure, of other people…)

Pearson grew up in Connecticut, in a huge Victorian house, an only child. For his 13th birthday, he was given a spider monkey (and  a glorious cage in which it lived.)  He and the monkey would watch TV together. The monkey learned to open doors by wrenching the knob and leaning back with enough monkey weight to twist it and could therefore get out of the kitchen where it was usually kept  would often let itself into Pearson’s room to watch a blank TV even when Pearson wasn’t home. 

We learn that at one time, he kept a wounded pigeon ’til it healed and during that time, he would talk with the pigeon, “learned pigeon,” as he puts it and then he demonstrated his coo-ing abilities and absolutely, he sounded right on. We learn that he was a Boy Scout.

Why mention these things? Because they come up, they become useful when one is a writer. Yes, there’s a monkey in Peter and the Starcatchers. Not just because. No, he is indeed a character with a point.  And yes, Ridley’s ability to speak pigeon translates into his abilities to “speak porpoise” which also comes up, very importantly in the Starcatcher series.

Wait, what? Not sure of these books? Pearson and Dave Barry teamed up to write Peter and the Starcatchers, the prequels in essence, to the story of Peter Pan. Because Pearson’s daughter asked him how Peter Pan could fly.

Harumph, you say, sounds rather packaged, maybe like cheating with a story to already lean on. Oh, no, I answer. Though intended for young readers, it is entrancing, well done, and with Barry’s humor and Pearson’s ability to create suspense and dramatic tension, you have a delightful read, no, you have a really good read, an adventure – dare I say a page-turner?  With illustrations (in case the kid in you still loves a picture or two.)

Pearson’s talk was, on the surface, for the kids. And they were agog. Here was a man not afraid to imitate a pigeon, act out how his monkey learned to open doors, pretend he was climbing a tree (Pearson loves tree-climbing) and when a train when whistling loudly right past the station while he was talking to us, Pearson stopped talking and “hooo -hoooed” right along with it, and this, too, brought shouts of delight from the kids.

It’s not every day an author can tell a story out loud as well as on paper. It was a rollicking 60 minutes. Perhaps best of all, Pearson talked about how two authors, (he and Barry), collaborated to write their Starcatcher Trilogy. Which now has four books! and there’s one more to come. But “writing advice” from Pearson is for another entry.

And after all, don’t you want to know what’s up with Tinkerbelle and where she came from?

Into sugarland … and back again … somewhat unscathed

at Buena Vista Cuban restaurant, Miami

Me: Dessert?
HM: Yes, sure.
Me:  OK, wanna share? 

I don’t really like  want to share food. I’m not one of those who, when at a restaurant, is all excited about trying what’s on other people’s plates and offering up mine.  I order what I like.  And then build a sort of wall around it. But for HM, love of my life…(and for my waistline!) I’m trying to “kick” sugar. Not easy. Even writing about it doesn’t help. It  makes it worse. I am lusting for some of the chocolate-covered pretzels in the kitchen right now as I type.

The waitress brings us one flan, as we requested. I am grateful for the way it’s plated. I have something to look at, to exclaim over, to praise, before digging in – gently, gently!

HM: Go ahead, you go first.
Me: You sure? (He nods.) Thanks. 

Proceed slowly. Suddenly I stop the fork action and get out my camera to take a picture. HM raises an eyebrow. 

OK, now, for a taste.I take a small forkful. In truth, I could have pulled the plate closer, built my “traditional” don’t-touch-it wall and been done, fork rattling on empty  plate in less than three or four completely non-conversational minutes. But I take only enough of a bit of the flan to engage only two prongs of the four-pronged fork. Just a whisper of the flan. Not even enough to fall off the fork!

HM: Well?
Me: Mmmmmm
HM: Oh, that’s your highest praise, that smiling “mmmm.”Have it all. Enjoy it!
Me: (waving my fork) No! No! Don’t leave it to me. Please! Come on, taste!
HM: Are you sure? I can order something else, maybe just a coffee.
Me: waving a fully loaded fork in front of him, hypnotizing him, smiling: Taste it. Come on, love, it’s bliss on a fork.

(Did you ever notice that when you could have only a tiny little bit, how rich and delightful that tiny bit is? omg.)
He leans in to take the offered “dolce.”

HM: Oh, yeah. Surprisingly good. He leans back in his chair.

We are tango-ing with our appetites. We both could polish off this flashy flan easily if the other turned his/her head away for even a half second. Yup, we know that. But we’re enjoying this little dance, tasting it bit by bit like some kind of professional tasters or judges in a contest. I am impressed by our reserve. It’s a new kind of enjoyment for us both.

Me: Whaddya’ think? A 10?
HM: Yeah, I’d give it a 10.
Me: Good thing we can’t get to this bistro on a regular basis.
HM: You’ve never made flan, have you? You could try it. Bet you could do  a really fine flan!

(Ah, I recognize that train of thought…he’s throwing down the culinary gauntlet. Will I rise to the occasion and promise to make a flan as soon as we get home?
Me: I shrug. We’ll see.
HM: Playing it cool, eh? This from the woman who can eat ice cream so quickly that the spoon melts…let’s see what you make first when we get home – dinner or a flan dessert. Two weeks later…
I haven’t made any flan yet. Why? Because I’ll have to lick the bowl, if there is one during the making of it, and  I’ll have to taste  the final flan when it’s done, the “cook’s taste,” you know. And then have it again when I offer it to the family for dessert, erring, calorically and in terms of “sweet stuff” all over the place.

Ah, the trials of a person searching to sack her sugar love.

Fairy Tale Trees, Part 2

In my prior post, “Fairy Tale Trees,” it was mentioned that banyan trees were fairy tale-esque yet I gave no real feel for that fairy tale magic, either photographic or in prose, other than the banal two photos I snapped through the window of a tour bus. 

So, dear readers, I tranformed both photos (from the prior blog)  and re-produced each in a storybook style, that is, the way I really saw the banyan trees that day and why, after all, I find them fit for a story.

(and herein a shout-out and thank you to my MS Digital Image software, for helping me make my pictures  closer to my vision, using my original images. But egads, I grumbled and truly argued my way through the software to get the effects I wanted! Oh, a techie I am not!!!!!!!!!)

This version of the original photograph I snapped will be nice for the fairy tale written in longhand and printed in script. What fairy tale? you ask.
I dunno. I’m working on it. Stay tuned.

And this one, with the gate in the background, would be nice in a larger-print, large format version of the above- mentioned fairty-tale-in-the-making.
Note: Yeah, if you go back to the prior blog entry, you’ll see these as my camera saw them, but here, as they really should show up!

Fairy Tale Trees

There are amazing and wonderful pictures (elsewhere) of the banyan tree. Still and all, to be slogging nonchalantly around the southern streets and suddenly see these arbory monoliths, well, some of us slip immediately into a mythical world, a fantasy of living stuff that makes one go right up and touch tthe tree, it doesn’t flinch and fortunately doesn’t mind yet oddly when photographing them (as amateur), they don’t translate. It would take time, methinks, to circle the tree and just keep shooting and shooting with a delicate smart camera. But then, the photographer is completely distracted to see an avenue of these mighty wood structures, and boom, here comes the plot of a fairy tale again.  Perhaps to sit amongst its roots while writing…! 

These don’t grow in Missouri, oh no, they prefer consistently warmer climes who won’t trick them with the occasional icy wind or some errant blast of strangled strange weather.

So I had to learn a little about them, and share a few things remarkable enough to be remembered and repeated.  You never know when you might need to wax a wee bit knowledgeable about the mighty banyan. 

My thanks and a shoutout to the quirky-not-100-percent-right-on Wikipedia for the following slight info:
“The seeds of banyans are dispersed by fruit-eating birds. The seeds germinate and send down roots towards the ground, and may envelope part of the host tree or building structure with their roots, giving them the casual name of “strangler fig.” Older banyan trees are characterized by their aerial prop roots which grow into thick woody trunks which, with age, can become indistinguishable from the main trunk. Old trees can spread out laterally using these prop roots to cover a wide area.

The largest such tree is now found in Kolkata in India.
Another famous banyan tree was planted in 1873 in Lahaina’s Courthouse Square in Hawai’i, and has now grown to cover two-thirds of an acre.

Like other Fig species (which includes the common edible fig Ficus carica), banyans have unique fruit structures and are dependent on fig wasps for reproduction.

Buddha is believed to have achieved enlightenment in Bodhgaya in India while meditating under a banyan tree of the species Sacred Fig. The tree is known as Bodhi Tree.
The first banyan tree in the U.S. was planted by Thomas Alva Edison in Fort Myers, Florida. The tree, originally only 4 feet (1.2 m) tall, now covers 400 feet (120 m).”

*BFFs on the roof, looking around – (*best friends of a feather)

KOO:  What are they doin’ down their on the sidewalk?
CLAE:  I dunno. Looks to me like they’re just walking and talking.
KOO:  Ya’ think? what kind of a pasttime is that anyway?
CLAE:  I dunno.. It’s just kinda what humans do, I guess.
KOO: They’re not hunters, are they? You don’t think they’re hunters, do ya’? Ya’ know, with guns, wherein they might mistake us for clay pigeons or something?
CLAE: Pigeons? PIGEONS? Us? Ha.  Nope, those are not hunters; those are tourists.   You know, I keep forgetting this is your first time ‘goin’ south.’
KOO:  Yeah? Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you – do you think we came too far south?
CLAE: (clucks and shakes her head)   What do you mean “too far south?!.” Honey, my wings love this sunshine and my down feathers never felt less a hindrance.
KOO:  I don’t know. I kinda miss the snowline, I miss the clear crisp days.
CLAE:  Crisp? CRISP? did you ever see such sun as this? when’s the last time you took a picture in this daylight? honestly, this is the best light ever. This is crisp, girlfriend. This is gorgeous!
KOO:  Mmmm…speaking of taking pictures, I lost my camera.
CLAE:  What? you lost it?
KOO:  Yeah, I did. It was on the last leg of the journey. We were sitting on that wire in Georgia, remember that day? It was kinda windy, kinda like something strange was going to happen. Then along comes that silvery gull from I don’t know where. Oh, he was a looker, he was. And he said, “Hey you want me to take a picture of you and your friend….remember? And he kinda winked or whistled, and I went all swan-y and  said “sure” and he took my camera and took our picture, remember? and then he took my camera, , I mean he took it, and flew off.
CLAE: What? really? why didn’t you say anything?
KOO:  Why? what would you have done? chased him through the air, swatting at him with your umbrella?  Besides you were doing so well talking to that big blackbird and I thought, well, I don’t want to bother her and then it was time to leave – the flock was flying off and I thought, ah, well, I don’t do so well with a camera anyway, you know, we don’t have thumbs and all, so, I just let it go.
CLAE:  Harumph.
KOO:  Life goes on. Here we are on a roof in one of the hottest hippest coolest places in the universe.
CLAE:  And you don’t have the camera to get pictures for us to take back north.
KOO:  Perhaps we won’t go back north. Maybe we’ll just stay and soak up the Miami heat while our ankles get big and we’ll just take it easy. Who knows? For now, let’s just be in the moment. Hey, look at that cute bird over there, the one standing there, kinda staring off. Let’s go chat him up, see where he’s from. See where he’s going.

And so they did.
And if you should  see a bird of a very sweet demeanor, not too big, not too small, flying back north with a camera strapped around her neck, it just might be Koo. She’s a bird of very clever means. Because once a bird has had a camera, even for a little while and snaps photos in mid-air, and sells even just one to the Bird press,well, there’s just no going back.

color, calor

“color, calor” sort of means”warm color”  …
…and though I know it’s not expressed correctly, isn’t it a wordsmith’s job to play with words?

It’s winter dark and dank here in the Gateway and such weather is an oddity really as we all standing around waiting for enough sunlight to see our shadows…

…for now, a little warm color to warm the eye… and the heart.

ocean zen …

Swoooooosssshhhhh

Miami Nights…

All the energy on South Beach’s Ocean Drive blurs the picture…

The waiters and cigarette girls line up, chittering and whispering about their food, their restaurant as you walk by: “eat here, best service ever, food you’ll never forget, we’ll make your dinner an eating experience…”  But we had eaten dinner already, at Lario’s, Gloria Estefan’s restaurant. It did not disappoint. And so after a raucous dinner – there were 25 of us! – HM and I melted outdoors into the Beach crowd and walked the Drive, headed east toward the ocean and in search of the Adrian Hotel where we had stayed about a decade ago. It was right across the street from Versace’s mansion. Which is still there.

The Adrian is not. 
It  has morphed from hotel to apt lease property. It has colored from maroon and pink to soft white.
It’s still lovely, though.
We looked up at the windows of the rooms where we stayed.
Lots of light. It was someone’s apartment now.

HM turns off Ocean Drive and down the sidestreet, flanking the old Adrian.

Miami is a kaleidoscope. We enjoyed having a look and staying in its oceanic embrace.

Miami nice …

Cafe cubano
Cuban espresso
Cafecito
Cuban shot…
Call it what you will, but a coffee anywhere on North, Mid- or South Beach is bliss in a cup.
Specially if one had given up caffeine early in December. Yes, purposely.
But HM ordered the Cuban coffee (pictured).
And wooed me with it. I broke down and tilted the tiny cup to my lips, and sipped. One sip. Mmmm…Not the most intellectual response, I know, but oh baby, luscious coffee laced with caffeine. And yet I demured. One sip and one sip it was. 
 Sheer luxury.

So what’s the big deal with Cuban espresso? 
I’ll leave a bit of that to irrepressible Wikipedia:

“Cuban-style espresso is made by adding sugar to the container into which the espresso will drip, allowing the espresso to mix with the sugar as it is brewed. Some people believe that this results in a smooth, sweet espresso. A method commonly used to prepare a café cubano is to initially add only the first few drops of espresso to the sugar and mix vigorously. This results in a creamy, light brown paste. The remaining espresso is then added to this paste and mixed, creating a light brown foam layer, espumita, atop the coffee. A proper cafecito can be made using either an espresso machine or an Italian moka pot, macchinetta.”

Going south? Along with all the rest of the magic to be found in Miami, have yourself a Cuban cuppa jo.

Puzzle fuss-le, post-holiday bustle

We bought the puzzle pre-Christmas and oh, the family was going to sit around and puzzle ’til it was done. Ah, yes, but sitting around to puzzle for the pre-christmas days is a pipe dream. Everyone is shopping, working, wrapping, planning and partying.

And there it sat, ye olde puzzle.
Unwilling to give it up though and as “little Christmas” neared, Nory got it in her head that could and would finish. And there we were, after the first days back at work, rushing home to cook, clean up, be quickly witty at the table and then dash off to the dining room to “puzzle.”

HM and Snarl would walk in and watch and cheer us on, then return to their tech toys. When Nory sets a goal, that’s all there is to it. She finished in triumph on our third night of ”getting it done.” (In the last few hours of it, I feigned being busy elsewhere not being fond of piecing the sky together.)

It deserved being photographed.
Note that two pieces are missing and here’s why:
1)  Jack (Nory’s dog) had a hankering to chew up one piece (bottom, just left of center by the “fence”)
2) One piece went missing. It’s up there, on the left, a border piece. We were most careful but given that it moved two tables from the one where it started, lucky we just “misplaced” the one.

And from this, we went to Soduku and games of Apples to Apples. If you haven’t given that one a whirl with friends and/or family, I recommend it. Also great to kickstart conversation.

Now, what will kickstart this evening’s writing? I’ve no idea…yet.