Under and Over with Denise Rossetti

Who is this “average woman” anyway? You ever met her? I’m sure haven’t! I think she’s a mythical creature, like the Loch Ness monster, or Big Foot. Oh no, wait a sec, she can’t be Big Foot, ‘cos she wouldn’t be able to find shoes to fit her.

Okay, I admit it - this is a vent,  pure and simple. But honest to god, it drives me nuts that I can’t buy shoes or clothes because I’m not “average”. Hell’s bells, I don’t know anyone average, do you?

I’m not even going to talk about bra sizes. Grrr…

But shoes? Aaaargh! You all know how much I love shoes, but I have small feet. Not impossibly small, mind you, a size 5, or a 35 European. I know other women with the same size feet. My mother’s are a whole size smaller.

Over the years, I’ve developed a kind of slide-over-’em gaze, specially for shoe shops.  I give the place a quick once over, never focusing on any one pair, because I mustn’t fall in love and risk a broken heart.  Then I brace myself, buttonhole an assistant and ask, “What do you have in a five? Do you have anything in a five? At all?”

In my naivety, when we went to the US, I thought there’d be hundreds of pairs of beautiful shoes, all size five, all jostling on the shelves, competing to come home with me. The hard part was going to be selecting from among the multitudes. I even had my heart set of a pair of cowboy boots - red ones.

Nope. NOPE!

My Beloved bought a faaabulous pair of cowboy boots. Mark Nason, on a sale. They are just gorgeous. *whimper*

But for me? Same old story. *sigh* Yes, I did buy a couple of pairs on a sale, useful, but not special, you know? I saw shelf after shelf of beauties, not a one in my size.

Next time, I’m going to Hong Kong, or Singapore - somewhere where women have small feet!

Your turn. Wanna vent? Be my guest! Go for it!

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Today, a good friend of mine, let’s call her R.,  goes to hospital to have a breast removed. This is a woman who has defined what courage is all her life, right from the time she was a little girl and life kicked her in the teeth. True courage is feeling the fear, but doing what you have to do, day after day, year after year. She’s done that.

R. has gained so much in this life, all that is precious - a loving, supportive husband, truly a man for the long haul, three grown children with successful lives of their own. A wide circle of friends.

Is she scared? Of course, she is.  Are we scared for her? Of course, we are.

Will she get through this? Of course, she will. The prognosis is excellent. Unfortunately, the time before it comes true is pretty shitty.

Can I ask you to keep her in your thoughts today? Pray, send healing light, positive vibes. Whatever you can do. We are all interconnected, I truly believe that. It all helps.

Thank you.

I recall Sesame Street with tremendous fondness.  I always had an especially soft spot for Ze Count (”vun bat, two bats!”), but I loved Cookie Monster too, and the gentle Mr Snuffleupagus. Mind you, I’d have to love a beastie with such a wonderfully onomatopoeic name. Don’t worry, I had to use the spell check for that one. *blush*

I was reminded of those days of sticky little fingers when I came across this online interview with Cookie Monster. Go and watch, it’s the sweetest thing. Persevere through the short ad beforehand. The interviewer asks Cookie Monster a number of questions from the “Proust Questionnaire” and I got the strongest sense of deja vue when I heard them.

Then I remembered. Not long after I first signed with Ellora’s Cave, I did an interview with Just Erotic Romance Reviews and they asked a couple of the Proust questions. Here are all the questions Cookie Monster was asked and I’ve included my answers to ones from the JERR interview. The whole JERR interview is here on my website if you’re curious about the rest of it. Seems a long time ago now…

1. What is your favourite word?

2. What is your least favourite word?

3. What sound do you love?

An operatic baritone like Bryn Terfel reduces me to a puddle. Gotta love a man who can sing! Then there’s that chirrup of greeting cats offer to a beloved human. So sweet.

4. What sound do you hate?

Angry shouting - and it’s worse if the combatants are drunk.

5. What is your favourite curse word?

[I must admit, I thought long and hard about how to answer this one. So does Cookie Monster.]

Aussies aren’t known for being mealy-mouthed, so I’m afraid I let rip with all the usual obscenities, but my favorite cussword is “Pox!” You can say it in almost any company and it has a lovely virulent edge to it. Muttering “pox-rotted trollop” at some idiot (don’t care about gender) always relieves my feelings. Very eighteenth century.

6. Who would you like to see on a new dollar bill?

7. What profession other than your own, would you least like to do?

8. If you were reincarnated as some other animal or plant, what would it be?

9. If Heaven exists, what would you like God to say to you as you arrive at the Pearly Gates?

I hope She’ll say something like - “Not bad for a first try, little one. Want another go?”

I’d love to hear your responses to any or all of these questions. They’re interesting, aren’t they? And quite revealing too.Clever guy, that Proust.

You know, some people are verrrry strange.

Remember the old days when your mother warned you never to accept candy from a strange man…

This is the guy she was talking about!!!  

Sorry I’ve been AWOL. I’ve been busy over at the Maverick Authors’ blog, building the biggest, wobbliest TBR mountain you’ve seen in your life. [http://maverickauthors.com]

There’s still time if you wanna play for book prizes, but you’ll need to hurry!

Safe places worry the hell outta me. Let’s face it, I worry the hell outta me.

Before we left for Foreign Parts, My Beloved and I discussed where we should leave all those incredibly-important, but frequently-used type things. You know, like the spare set of car keys. DD doesn’t drive and we certainly didn’t want a burglar to find them.

Fine. Dandy.

I do recall, quite distinctly, that the process involved lugging the stepladder upstairs. Unfortunately, after that my memory fails me.

I’ve done this so often, all my life in fact. I can’t even claim galloping senility, I just have a brain like a sieve. I put something in a Safe Place - a place so damn safe that the object is never seen again - or turns up years later, somewhere decidedly peculiar. Much to my bemusement.

We still haven’t found those car keys. Hell’s bells, they must be around somewhere - they must be. But where? My Beloved clambered manfully up the ladder to inspect the high cupboard.

Nope. Grrrrrump!

I just hope we don’t need them before we have to turn the house upside down.

Do you belong to the “I’d forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on” sisterhood? I’m a founding member.

Have you ever left something in a place so safe you never found it again? What’s your own very best “safe place”? What’s the strangest “safe place” you’ve heard of?

What would you do if you had more money than God? More money than you could ever spend, no matter what you did with it? So much money that it just kept making more of itself?

What William Randolph Hearst did (among other things) was to build the house to end all houses, with every luxury imaginable (and more!). He then invited everyone entertaining, beautiful or important - Cary Grant, Charlie Chaplin, Joan Crawford, Winston Churchill, Charles Lindbergh, Greta Garbo, Errol Flynn. Even George Bernard Shaw. And lots of others.

Hearst Castle is at San Simeon, near Cambria, overlooking the Big Sur coast of California. Hearst was one of the first great media moguls, but he also inherited a mining fortune. The film Citizen Kane, starring Orson Welles, was loosely based on his life.

First thing to say is - I’m not posting any pictures. Why? you may ask. It’s not permitted, that’s why. *sigh* But I found this short film on Youtube. Just spend a few moments with it. The weather we had was very similar. Or go to the official website for Hearst Castle. The Wikipedia entry is also excellent and it has a great photo gallery. (Scroll down.)

But just to give you some idea. The house/s took almost 30 years to build. Architect Julia Morgan (that’s right, a woman) travelled by train and car down to the site from San Francisco every weekend from the beginning. Casa Grande, the main house, was modelled on a Spanish cathedral. It has 38 bedrooms and 30 fireplaces. The whole concept (there are two guest houses as well) was intended to be Mediterranean Renaissance in feel. To this end, Hearst purchased antiquities like there was no tomorrow - there are coffered ceilings, medieval tapestries, paintings and statues ranging from classical Greek and Roman to Renaissance and Egyptian. Where you see gold gilding, it’s real gold. The gardens are exquisite and impeccably maintained.

I didn’t much care for the bedrooms, too heavy and dark for my taste. But I loved the two pools - the outdoor Neptune Pool and the indoor Roman Pool. Johnny Weissmuller (probably the most famous Tarzan) is supposed to have swum laps there.

What my writerly mind found most intriguing was the insights into the character of William Randolph Hearst. He was a workaholic, a man of tremendous energy, vision and focus. He was involved in every facet of the building project, right down to the design of teeny-tiny tiles and his word was law. He also changed his mind a lot. Projects were continually modified and some abandoned.

He had very definite ideas of how he wanted his guests to behave. No drunkenness - and no bed-hopping either! Everyone was to be bright, happy and energetic - horse-riding, playing tennis, swimming etc. In the big dining room or refectory, where guests gathered for meals, was a long table. As you fell further from favour, or new guests arrived, your place card was moved further and further away from the centre of the table, where Hearst and his mistress, Marion Davies, sat. After a while, you realised it was time to go!

Immediately, I could see a character like that in a book, a strong, driving personality blessed with both money and power. Don’t you think someone like that would end up with an “emperor complex”? Imagine where that could take a character! Oooh, from good guy to villain, one slip at a time. A villain we could understand. Not psychotic, not a serial killer or a sociopath, but spoiled in a particular kind of way. Like Orson Welles, I’m inspired by the whole concept of a “Hearst” character.

In complete contrast, we visited the beach that afternoon and watched the adolescent elephant seals snoozing on the beach. Huge piles of mouldy blubber - they come at this time of year to moult and to practise their huffing and puffing.

You can see that this one hasn’t grown his nose properly yet. But they were already ginormous! And these were just the teenage boys! I couldn’t imagine the size of a full grown male. Sheesh! A dose of reality from Mother Nature.

So - what would you do if you had as much money as William Randolph Hearst? Build? Donate? Travel? Buy?

I know I’d love to travel and to have homes in several different places. Somewhere near Florence, in London, maybe Vancouver Island, here in Oz, of course. And I’d love to be able to donate to support the arts. I love glass and textile arts and I adore opera, but it’s such an expensive art form. Then there are literacy programs and libraries and education programs. Oh yes, and archaeological digs. And goddess, what about animals? And medical research? It would be totally involving. Plus, I admit I’d love to be able to afford handmade underwear and shoes. Ah…

What about you?

Mountains are amazing.

Sound dumb? I guess it does, but remember I’m from a land so ancient it’s worn right down to a nub. We don’t have mountains - well, real mountains - in Australia. Not compared with the Rockies at any rate. I’ve always wanted to see soaring peaks, ones that fill the sky all the way to the clouds and beyond. Now I have. And that’s not all…

Two days ago, I walked on a glacier. Isn’t that incredible? It was more than a trifle chilly for my thin sub-tropical blood. As you see on the right.

We travelled by shuttle bus and then by special snow mobile trucks onto the toe of Athabasca Glacier. Each of the trucks is custom built and costs #1 million. They have huge fat, wide tyres, and six-wheel drive.

Yesterday evening, I lay on my hotel bed and looked out of the window at the exquisitely beautiful Lake Louise - all the way to the ice of the Victoria Glacier. It was an equally amazing experience, but much more comfortable. There are a squillion pictures of Lake Louise out there, but none of them can truly capture its beauty. It’s almost too lovely to be real. So here’s mine - you get two Lake Louises, plus the vivid enthusiasm on the face of the ranger who was giving us a talk. A man who truly loved his job.

So here are a few random observations about mountains and about Canada -

1. You need to treat the mountain gods with respect. Also the weather gods. Two days before we hit Lake Louise, which looks so idyllic here, a vicious storm blew up. Twenty two canoes on the lake capsized. (The water is 4C even in summer!) One person had to be air lifted to hospital with hypothermia. In a neighbouring lake, some poor soul drowned. All they were doing was enjoying themselves on a summer’s day.

2. You treat the animals with respect too.

A member of our tour party was feeding a squirrel chocolate (which is not only stupid, but illegal - for very good reasons.) The squirrel became either excited or confused and mistook the guy’s thumb for the choccy.

Today, My Beloved and I went for a walk in the marshland near Banff. We saw a girl elk munching bushes on the other side of the river. So we stopped to watch in great delight. We were safe enough - there was a river between us, right? Wrong! Ms Elk walked right into the water and began heading straight for us. Erk! Rapid retreat of two concerned Aussies. The elk was completely unperturbed by the encounter, but you never know. It’s still a wild animal.

3. It ain’t easy keeping the people-animal balance, it’s an ecological tight-rope walk. But the Canadian parks people really do try. This overpass on the highway for bears (and other animals) cost almost $2 million dollars and at first, the bears wouldn’t use it!

4. Never in my life have I seen so many people doing so many outdoorsy things with such determination - muddy mountain bikers, hikers, climbers, canoeists, kayakers, cross-country roller bladers (or something like that anyway).

5. All the resorts in Canada are full of young Australians on working holidays. They’re nice.

6. I like Canada and I like Canadians. And I now know more about the Canadian Olympic team than I’d dreamed was possible for an Aussie!

7. But I don’t think I want to spend a winter here! It sounds absolutely dreadful. Especially the bit where your breath freezes.

Sorry there’s been a gap in communications, BTW. Net access has been a bit - ahem - fugitive. I also find that long days spent admiring snow-clad peaks, followed by souvenir buying and huge dinners, lead to early collapses in comfortable hotel beds. *sigh* I’m hoping it’s the mountain air that’s shrunk my jeans, but I don’t theenk so…

It’s been an extraordinary couple of days. Travel is absolutely marvellous - new places, new ideas, new scenery. Fascinating. But it’s also incredibly nerve-wracking, especially if you have a nervous disposition. *Ahem* Raises hand.

In Australia, if you book a plane ticket, you get your seat allocation when you check-in. After that, it’s just a question of waiting to board. I have never - never - seen anything like the madhouse at the United Airlines desk in San Francisco. There were people waiting for standby, arguing, shouting, pleading. I have no idea of how the staff cope, it must be the most stressful job in the entire world. They made all sorts of offers to confirmed passengers to give up their tickets and take a later flight - cash, food vouchers, first class. There was one woman with a baby who had actually booked, but only managed to get on the plane because she threw an impressive tantrum.

We went to the gate number on the ticket. It was the wrong number. The Customer Service people couldn’t help and didn’t seem to want to. We found the right gate ourselves and then sat around in a stew of nerves waiting for seat allocation, which came at the absolute last minute. Our poor little Aussie eyes got very wide, let me tell you! By the time we sank into our seats, I felt like I’d been put through a wringer.

On the other hand, Vancouver is simply beautiful. I had thought I could happily live in San Francisco (I still do), but now I believe living in Vancouver would make me ecstatic. The weather is gorgeous, warm, light breeze, blue skies - and yes, I know that is pretty rare. We’ve just been blessed, I suppose. I’ve been trying to imagine it locked in the chill of winter, or miserable with rain, but it’s hard. Today, we went to Chinatown, and to the tranquil Sun Yat Sen Garden, then to Stanley Park and then up to Grouse Mountain, where we sat and ate a lovely dinner as the sun set over Vancouver. It was extraordinarily beautiful. My Beloved was very brave in the cable car up and down the mountain. He doesn’t deal well with heights. They had tandem paragliding over the forest and the mountain and the sea. It looked wonderful and he wouldn’t let me go. Rats!

Here’s my favourite photo of the day. You can see beautiful scenery any time. The shops in Vancouver Chinatown sell every kind of produce you can possibly imagine - and some you can’t. This shop was selling dried geckoes. The mind absolutely boggles. How on earth do you cook them? What sort of dish would they go into? They looked like teeny-weeny pterodactyls on sticks.

I know I wouldn’t be brave enough to eat them. Would you? Have you? Eaten something extraordinary, that is?

Americans do some things Very Well - lots of things, I’ve discovered. Making a decent cup of tea isn’t one of them, but plumbing is. America gets the Gold Medal in the Restroom Olympics, as far as I’m concerned. Because I have a bladder the size of a pea, I have already made an extensive study, on both continents.

The only problem is, American plumbing is so incredibly sophisticated, I’m totally bemused by it - also confused, and occasionally, seriously startled.

I have never - ever- seen such a bewildering array of levers, knobs and dials. And that includes taps (faucets), showers and toilets. What’s worse is that no two of them are alike.

It requires a degree in engineering to take a shower. Which bit do you pull, or twist or press - and in which direction? Clockwise or anti? Ouch! One night, I decided I deserved a hot bath, but I couldn’t work out how to keep the plug in, so there I was, trying to relax with one heel jammed on top of the recalcitrant plug. Humpf! Not conducive.

Faucet-wise, my most inglorious moment was having a ten year old explain to me that you wave your hands under the tap to start the water flowing. Duh! Dumb Aussie! Oh, and the water is warm! I can’t get over it.

As for the toilets! OMG! The first time one of them flushed all by itself when it detected daylight past my rising derrière, I just about ricocheted off the ceiling. Just as well I’d already done what I went there for. Even the compost loos in Yosemite weren’t too bad. And there’s always paper. I was so impressed.

So in scatological conclusion, here’s some highly significant bear poop, recorded on location in Yosemite. Note that the bear had a real blow-out on wild raspberries. Looks like happy bear poop to me. We did see a mama bear and cub, BTW, in the distance. Very exciting!

To improve the tone a trifle, here are a couple more Yosemite pics - a better one of Mirror Lake and one of me about to die partway up the almost-vertical stone staircase to the top of Vernal Falls, the Mist Trail. A “once in a lifetime experience” - as in, NEVER, EVER AGAIN! I swear it. A gradient of 1 in 8. (Note charm bracelet, BTW)

Back to San Francisco tomorrow, to see if I can find another romance writer to squeal hello to. Think I might get lucky? More later about Monterey, Hearst Castle, crappy Mustangs and elephant seals.

I’ve seen the Eyrie of the Aetherii, the high place that is the centre of their civilization.

Strangely enough, it looks a lot like Yosemite National Park where the mountain ramparts rear so high and sheer into the blue they made me feel like an ant - and a particularly insignificant one at that.

We had three days at Yosemite and it’s been wonderful, memories to last for a lifetime. You see, for someone from such an ancient , worn-down country as Australia, the Sierra Nevada mountains are a revelation. The sheer bulk of all that stone and the way it’s been scoured and polished by glaciation is almost beyond belief.

On our first day there, we took an easy walk out to Mirror Lake. I just stood there like a stunned mullet (an Aussie-ism) staring and staring. In the end, I was so moved, I cried. (You will recall our discussion about being a watering pot.) Photos can’t d it justice, especially my amateur efforts, but I tried.

What gave me the biggest rush though, was that I could see my Aetherii, up there in the sky, so strong and graceful, wheeling against the blue, their wings spread to catch the updrafts. So many colours, so much beauty. Their dwellings are almost impossible to detect from the ground, of course, because the rock is hollowed like honeycomb with their wide tunnels and gracious chambers.

People often ask writers where they get their ideas from. Well, here’s one answer - from physical places. The moment I saw the cliffs looming over exquisite Mirror Lake, I could “see” Liseriel the Gray brooding up there on a high crag, while Michael (her master thief lover) fumes far below, refusing to give her up, to let her run and hide from him in the high reaches. I wonder what he’ll do?

In the meantime, while I was thinking romantically angsty thoughts, a mule deer walked daintily out of the brush, and into the middle of the stream. There it proceeded to do the most enormous poop into the crystal clear water, all with perfect serenity and grace. Nauture, gotta love her!