I went to Powell’s Books the other night, where Jennie Shortridge gave a talk about “If I’d known then what I know now”; tricks of the trade.  She has had two books published and was pushing her latest:  “Eating Heaven.”

When I got online to read about her I got confused.  Does trade paper mean paperback?  And does the publisher get anything for having it online?  That is who has the rights to the book, right?  I see all these Ebooks.  I thought people who couldn’t get published put their books online, themselves.

Riding with the Queen Jennie Shortridge   Trade paper    Sale $10.50 (List Price: $12.95 — You Save: $2.45)   AVAILABLE IN: New Trade Paper Used Trade Paper

Eating Heaven Jennie Shortridge   Trade paper    Used $8.95 (List Price: $12.95 — You Save: $4.00)   AVAILABLE IN: Adobe Reader Ebooks Microsoft Reader Ebooks Palm Reader Ebooks New Trade Paper

I asked her whether it’s easier to get a book published if you have had a short story published.  And how long I should stick with magazines before I get back to the books. 

I wasn’t going to say anything until I knew more about it but remember Wingspan Quarterly?  They left me a comment one day suggesting I submit something.  So I did.  They Emailed to say they have accepted one of the three pieces I sent. 

The day before that my writing teacher Emailed me to say the piece I wrote about Florida, — We did this as a class.  Some of us submitted portions of a story, and my daughter took the pictures — it’s being published by Cafe Press.  I’ve been walking around in a cloud, looking for ideas on another short.  Is that what you call them?  Shorts?

Anyway, I totally bombed at NaNo, and applaud all of you dedicated writers for hanging in there, getting the job done.  It sure worked for me the first time; got me going.  I guess I’m just in a different place this year.

I was sitting in a breast cancer support group three years ago and there was this Japanese woman who was pissed that her husband had written all about her mastectomy in their Christmas letter, without asking her first.  I remember, in broken English, her feeling of betrayal.  Today I found out the whole story. 

S.K. had moved here from Tokyo when her husband decided he wanted to retire and come back home.  He was there working in Foreign Affairs.  She quit her job and moved here, barely knowing English.  When she found out six months later she had breast cancer, she was on her own.  He didn’t want any part of it.  I don’t know how long they had been married but today she said he was 75.  I think she is close to my age.

The second time I saw her I had joined the Breast Cancer Outreach Program and was attending my first meeting.  There she was again, but in a suit and a perm.  Very odd hair but she spoke with a new command of the language and tackled intense genetic material with our guest speaker.  Again I was impressed. 

The third time I saw her was at a party.  It was summer and we both offered to bring in the food when the mosquitos got bad.  I remember standing out in the grass talking about something, feeling familiar with each other.

I still didn’t know her name until she wrote me an email.  I had written an article that moved her.  She identified and we moved from email to the phone over the next months.  Then last month she started volunteering at the hospital every other Wednesday and today I ended up going over to see her new house.  She is my neighbor.  If you knew where I lived you’d know how incredible this was. 

We have been discovering the many ways our lives are parallel and as I listened to her talk about the work she’s had done, getting her new house ready to move into, I realized she was going to be an important part of my life.  Her contractor is someone I want to know.  And S.K. can get me flooring, wholesale. 

I have been cleaning for two weeks in anticipation of her visit.  I went over there today to see where she was going to live.  She showed me around and I was not surprised to see she was listening to the same classical music I had been.  After the tour we sat down at a desk with two chairs.  That’s when she told me about her husband and how they’d been living in two houses but that this, being a split level, was going to be a way to live together.  It’s like all the big deals in my life, she has lived them too.  Only she’s going about her marriage differently.  She gave him two options:  a divorce with the price tag or separate dwellings.  He picked the separate dwellings but it was getting too expensive so she found this house.

She went to Home Depot and took all the classes so that she would be able to communicate with the contractor about what she wanted. She wanted to make sure the job was done right. Because her English was lacking she would grab the book off the rack, find the page and point to the parts she needed.  But then she got hooked and started doing her own plumbing and tiling and whatever else she needed done.  That’s why she can get flooring for me, because she’s getting her contractor’s license.

Then we came over here and Bridget was really into her.  Turns out she has three dogs.  I’m not sure what exactly her reaction was but I could tell she was having one.  I mean about the house.  She got excited about me painting my cabinets and she thinks I should go look at some new kind of flooring that she’s getting for her place.  I’m a little intimidated by her now.  Once she got over here she really came on strong.  She is one intense woman.  Lots of anger, lots of pride.  She’s a very strong woman.  When we were up in my bedroom she saw the picture of me dancing and she stared at it a really long time.  It’s the only picture I’ve ever taken where my power is visible, at least to my eye.  Anyway, she saw it.

Hmmm, I had an interesting conversation with the middle daughter.  She’s the one who has been in S.F. at the Academy of Art.  She’d found a picture of Henry with a big smile on his face, taken at the beach.  She showed me the picture a couple weeks ago because she had done a portrait of him, using the snapshot. The 8 by 10 was just like the snapshot except that she had captured the maniacal essence of him.  And she didn’t even see it.  She was so focused on the big grin, which is uncharacteristic of him.  He hates his picture taken, or at least he used to,  and she told me it meant so much to see him smile [read he never smiled when you were together].

So, anyway, the middle daughter has this idea that she’s going to do one of K…., you know matching portraits for over the mantle when he moves into her place next year.  Feel free now to give me shit over having issues because I can see that it’s starting to get to me a little.  The middle daughter goes over to K’s this morning to look at pictures she might use.  And that’s when she remembers who K is.  Henry used to work for her husband before the guy cheated on her and she left him.  And now that I think about it she might have gotten even.  Over the years he would take the girls into Nordstrom, where she worked.  And we would have her to our Christmas parties.  I thought all this was innocent but the last time I bought a pair of shoes from her she acted pretty weird.  That was in 1995. 

The middle daughter is looking at her old pictures and says, “Oh, I remember you.”  And on the phone with me I could tell by the long pauses that she was putting two and two together as she remembered all the times she’d been around K, without me there.  Then she wanted me to pinpoint the years that would have been.  The odd thing is that I don’t care.  Maybe he was in love with her all these years.  Maybe they slept together.  For some weird reason it doesn’t bother me.  Marcie’s reading this and she knows why.  He loved me like he’ll never love her.  But he’ll have a much better relationship with her.  He’ll be smiling.

I have nobody to gossip with.  I mean I guess I could call some friends but then it looks like I have issues with the engagement. 

So I was talking with the middle daughter this morning and I guess my ex’s brother walked into the kitchen and the girlfriend said something that made him walk back into the living room and announce they were leaving.  My ex-mother-in-law, who can’t stand the girlfriend was said to have her fake grin on as she got her coat. 

“What did K…. say that would make him leave like that?”

“I can’t remember exactly but it was like at the bar when they are closing up.”

“What did J…. say?”  (that’s my ex-sister-in-law)  I left but she became an alcoholic.  This was a darling girl who did everything right.  She devoted her whole life to her husband and two boys.  You talk about boring.  She’s got nothing of her own, no friendships, no hobbies)

“She was so drunk I was afraid she wouldn’t make it down the stairs.  She just patted my head and P….. took her arm.”  (P is their oldest son who turned 15 and, thank God, can drive them home now.)

      I heard all this and was surprised my daughter sided with K….

“Dad worked so hard to make a nice Thanksgiving for everyone and then he pulls that.  How rude.”

I thought the rude part was K in the kitchen but I kept my mouth shut.  And I know K well enough to know she anticipated him coming in the kitchen, looking for another drink.  I’m sure she decided what she’d say,  weighing the effect it would have on Henry’s mother, who was riding with them.  All I’ve got to say is that woman’s got balls. 

Geez, it’s been so long and I’m really tired but I just wanted to say “hey.”  It’s been one good thing after the next over here.  I took the girls to get their eyes checked so when they were done they all had sunglasses on because their eyes were so dilated.  I’ll never forget the sight of them:  three abreast, arm-in-arm walking down the middle of 13th in the Pearl.  All dressed up, takin’ the town by storm.  It’s not because I’m their mom, either.  I know I’ve said this before but these girls, especially together, make passers-by stop and stare.

They were all happy about getting along.  We just kept doing more stuff because it was going so well.  I took them to the place where I get my glasses, those cute ones for $20.  But they need prescription ones I guess.  Then we were hungry so we went for lunch.  The Daily Cafe was the perfect choice and I marvelled at my luck in remembering it.  After that we went back to the apartment the oldest one is letting the middle one use.  The youngest wanted to try one of their coats on.  You should see the collection of coats the two of them have.  Now they are all the same size so everyone was trying stuff on.  It was better than old times.  Marcie, if you’re reading this.  A…… tried on the coat I got in New York with you.  It was too big for her and the color was wrong but that coat is still great looking.

So the big news is that my middle sister is actually divorcing her weirdo husband.  And their church has banned her from playing cello.  She was designing a pamphlet for them,too, working on the board to come up with advertising.  She is not to attend church there again. 

This was the first year my youngest sister has done Thanksgiving.  The soon-to-be divorced sister walked her through it and we all had a great time.  We had none of my children and none of hers.  The youngest never married.  Her gay best friend was there, a guy I really like.  So, besides my horrible mother, who actually was a riot she is getting so obnoxious,  I liked everyone there, for the first time in 28 years.  I drove home happy and full.

I have all kinds of cool stuff to tell you about but I gotta get some sleep.

Last night my middle daughter and I went to another lecture.  It was supposed to be on relieving stress.  This woman has to be one of the strangest people I’ve ever met and, I suspect, the smartest.

And, MyKi_Whatzerface, she did something with her nose that involved sound.  Her lips twitched, too.  It was sort of transitional, like how people clear their throats. 

The other bizarre thing was her speech pattern.  I wouldn’t say it was monotone as much as it was evenly metered.  At one point I raised my hand and told her she was speaking 260 words a minute.  From all those years in court reporting school I can hear when someone’s going over 240 ’cause that’s what I top out at.  I was trying to write to her in my head. 

Here’s why I think she’s a genius.  She started out as a blacksmith, and I may have the order wrong but I believe she then moved to theater.  She was teaching art and that’s when she got into origami.  But she discovered Chinese medicine and took up acupuncture.  I don’t think she’s much over 30, either. 

If I got her drift, it’s about experiencing the different mediums, the five elements:  fire, water, metal, wood, and earth.  The amazing thing, to me, is that she’d worked her way through most of them before she knew anything about the five elements. 

And before she knew how those elements correspond with the body (wood/liver, water/kidney, etc) – I studied with a Chinese master for five years so I quit focusing on her weird facial twinges here and started paying attention — she discovered her relationship with each medium induced a different version of her creative self.  The blacksmith and the acupuncturist may wear a different hat but the creative energy is the same.  It manifests differently and changed her greatly but she believes we wake up a new person each morning.  Since I am so scattered lately and trying to pull it all together I found it validating to hear this kind of reasoning.

She learned about being still and quiet and allowing energy from earth and heaven to ignite the passion, allowing you to attract what you should pay attention to (eleven-day workshop where you sit in silence.  My daughter and I laughed all the way to the car imagining her trying to shut up the first day).  Through that divine connection you find your way.  This is how I see it and pretty much where she was coming from.

Because she taught art she said she sees everything as a metaphor.  And this was where my daughter connected with her, having just returned from three years at the Academy of Art.  We went out after and talked about it all.  I had Coke and no Jack.  Who needs it, I have my tincture and tea now. 

Life’s been crazy.  I was on my way to another herb thing, this time at Powells, and my car broke down.  I don’t have the kind of car that suddenly breaks down.  I’ve never had a car just up and die on me.  Fortunately I was two miles from my oldest daughter’s apartment because when I called Triple A I was told it would be at least 2 hours.  But they said they could pick me up at my daughter’s. 

The minute I got inside her warm apartment — Man that was a chilly walk, I hadn’t dressed for a hike — my phone rang and they said I could get out of the car now; they were there.  I was polite and they said they’d be right there.  I waited outside since I figured how long does it take to drive two miles.  Fifteen minutes later, when I called to say WTF, I was told they’d gone to change someone’s tire.  ????????????

It got worse.  I went back inside her apartment and waited and the guy eventually showed up.  But after he was done hitching up my car he got on the radio and said the dolly — I think that’s what he called it – had a flat tire.  We limped along with him looking in the rear view like it was touch and go, until we came to a gas station.

I won’t bore you with the rest of the details but the garage was closed so I had to resume with them this morning.  I still have no car.  The mechanic thinks it’s the alternator.

One a good note I am stuck at home so I got some writing done.  And it’s kind of been fun.  I reached the part where I had to choose what size implants I was going to have so Henry took me to the local topless place and I inspected all the boob jobs.  And I was going to say from a distance but we sort of got a lap dance because I explained I was getting implants and wanted to see what they looked like so she was REALLY helpful.  That’s a night I’ll never forget.  Candy was her name.

I did a protected post, which requires some background, but you newer readers aren’t missing anything.

Hi, just popped in for a sec.  I feel so guilty, like when you don’t have time to call someone back.  But I gotta get back out there before the rain comes.  I’m looking for mushrooms in my back yard.  I saw a show about truffles and I think I might have some.  It was like everything else that’s come flooding my way since I signed up for NaNoWriMo.  I’m in the mood for a silly movie so I click on theater or whatever it is and the only listings that come up are for later.  I try twice.  I thought I must be crazy and spent probably ten minutes trying to figure out the problem.  The only thing I could manage to get was to this cooking show.  All about truffles in Oregon.  Weird, huh. 

I’m on a fast track with the herbal scene.  I keep attending more and more lectures with my daughter.  And now we’re cooking with herbs.  Last night we tucked lavendar inside the skin of a whole chicken and put whole lemons inside the cavity along with more lavendar.  We made a soup, too, but I gotta go.  Oh, and if you haven’t already guessed, I’m a complete failure this go-around.  I lay in bed at night and think of something and that get’s written down, and I carry my notebook all over the place and write things on the run but that’s about the extent of it.  I haven’t played with the blue bar once.  I have a really strong sense that I should be out in my yard gathering up roots and berries.  I’m still learning about what’s out there and what I’m supposed to do with it all. 

I’m out.  I can’t remember who says that but I always like it.