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I’ve had a lot of Carrie Bradshaw moments over the last few years: walking away from the wrong man at the right time, falling for the wrong man at the right time and an amazing rescue by my Café Girls when I returned home from a disastrous foreign love affair – on Valentine’s Day with nothing but the clothes in my suitcase. They were there with food, shelter and friendship. What more could a girl ask for?

Carrie and I have the great good fortune to live in magical cities that we love – she in New York, me in Montreal. Writing is our shared passion. Carrie writes a column and I write regular posts on a variety of topics including sex in a few cities, travel, relationships, careers and cultural commentary for this blog which has steadily grown in readership over the last year.

And now I too have my own book, Any Color but Beige: Living Life in Color. In season five, Carrie agonizes over her image on the book’s front cover appropriately titled Sex and the City. It was all about what she should wear, how she should dress. For me it was about the shoes, and the challenge of securing permission to use the beautiful red soled Christian Louboutin shoes on my cover. We both succeeded in creating memorable book covers.

We each attended our respective book launches solo – but in my case, one was the luckiest number and not the loneliest number. While an eleventh hour rescue by Jack Burger gives her the plus one she’s been looking for. Stuff like that only happens in TV.

We’re both lucky to have loyal readers who support our efforts and show up at launches and public readings. Last week, I gave my first public reading at a The Munich Readery which is run by Lisa Yarger and her husband John. It was an especially fitting place for my first reading because I had read a few chapters of the then untitled and unfinished manuscript to some of the same people the year before.

An intimate group of friends and fans of the book and the blog attended. This official first reading ranked right up there with my book launch and my recent Girls’ Nights In cocktails moments pressed into the scrapbook of my memory. 

Lisa did a thorough job publicizing the event through the store’s e-mailing list and the local English speaking online publications. She laid out a colorful counter of fancy cheeses, figs, beautiful German breads and jam and a variety wines. It’s times like this I like to step back and take in the scene as an observer of my own life. Sometimes I just have to pinch myself just to make sure I’m not dreaming. Friends and family have been enjoying the process as much as I have it seems.

Tucked in between floor to ceiling bookshelves (I thought I’d died and gone to heaven), I sat in an oversized chair surrounded by my own books, amidst the small group who listened attentively to two selections that Lisa had selected “Destination Paris” and “Chapter 12: Unfinished Business.”

I read Any Color but Beige aloud dozens of times during the proofreading process but this was the first time I “played” all of the people in each of the chapters. I had fun taking on different roles changing my voice, my accents and my tone to reflect the individuals in question. As I looked from face to face, I could see my audience as lost in my story as I was, laughing at the funny bits and growing quiet in the sad ones.

Moments like these made me feel like Carrie Bradshaw, with one huge difference for which I will always be grateful: all of my memorable moments are real.

Photo: © iStockphoto.com/digitalskillet

Many years ago, I stumbled headlong into an intense affair with a handsome but unavailable Swede. I clearly recall walking down Michigan Avenue arguing both sides of the debate with myself, the yes / no of it all. I still hadn’t made up my mind when later that day I bumped into a male friend, who, sensing my dilemma, offered the following advice, “It’s the things you don’t do that you end up regretting.”

Looking back over the years and weighing up the have done with the have not done, I can honestly say that I feel a greater sense of regret for those things left undone, i.e. not meeting the handsome and mysterious Frenchman in Paris. A little voice in the back of my head questioned that decision the minute he stepped off that train. And he wasn’t the first Frenchmen that I sometimes wonder about.

So what about the other side of the coin? When it comes to relationships, is it possible to still do something and regret it? If so, to what degree? Someone once asked me how many of the relationships that I talk about in my book do I regret? The answer is none. I had high hopes that those magical moments would last. And when they didn’t I felt sad, angry and disappointed.

And, so, I think my friend is only partly right. I believe the regret you feel in not having done something is in direct proportion to the desire we feel for the person, object, or activity.   As for regretting the things that I’ve done, with the healing benefit of time, I realize that in spite of the hurt and pain, given the opportunity I would still make the same choices.

Singer/songwriter Adele’s song “Someone like You” expresses it this way:

Regrets and mistakes they’re memories made

Who would have known how bittersweet this would taste?

Adele is right of course, memories are better bittersweet than bland, just like dark chocolate or the skin of a plum. And I am better for having tasted them.

No Regrets

People often ask me, “Why did you write a book?” If they are friends who know me well, I will often mischievously reply, “I did it for the party.” And there’s a grain of truth to that response. As months go by, there have been more celebrations. Who knew the ancillary benefit to all that hard work would be enjoying the fruits of your labors with friends?

It started simply enough with a family get together in August just before I launched Any Color but Beige. My large and loving family went out of its way to host a surprise barbeque complete with a heartfelt toast from my brother Jimmy, an endless buffet of homemade Italian and American specialties, and many desserts. They marked the occasion with a present meant to represent all the hard work I’d done: a framed pen and ink drawing of black and red dance shoes, just like the one that appears on the book’s cover. Their pride was palpable, and I felt like I had just been handed the Pulitzer Prize.

Further fetes included a couple of Girls’ Nights In (GNI), hosted by friends in two places so different from one another in geography – America and Africa – and yet so similar in the comfortable familiarity of female friendship.

At the first one, I partied with Judy and her friends in the wilds of a Wisconsin, so starkly beautiful in its winter’s dress that it

Wild in Wisconsin

took my breath away. Inside we moved between kitchen and living room, eating, drinking and talking. Judy had blown up an old high-school picture and used it as a buffet centerpiece. Bowls of brightly colored M&Ms added just the right amount of color to the event as did my colorful “tales told out of school” about Judy. (See Destination:  Chicago in the book for their significance.)

The second party had the lush green landscape of suburban Johannesburg as a backdrop. Julie had ordered bright yellow helium balloons and tied them to the mailbox ensuring that no one missed the house. We congregated in the kitchen, chatting and eating and were about to move from the kitchen to the living room when Julie asked me to leave the room for a second.

From the next room I had heard a gasp and wondered what had happened? Had someone spotted a scorpion or snake? I didn’t have to wait long before they called me back into the kitchen and I saw the most amazing the sight. Leana, another Café Girlfriend, had made a cake in the shape of a book – my book. It was a carrot cake and everything, from the colorful book cover to the beautifully fashioned dance shoes was edible. I didn’t want to cut it, but cut it and enjoy it we did.

After the cake, it was time for me to talk about the book. I could have done a reading but the setting in both cases didn’t lend itself to that; it was much too informal. And so I told the “back story” about how the book came to be. And I also talked about each of my respective hosts’ role in the book. (You can find more about Judy in Chapter 3 and Julie in Chapter 25 of the book.)

Like the American Café Girls, the African girls had lots of questions and lots of stories of their own to share. Some things are universal, and it looks like Café Girlfriends are the same the world over. We’re all united by our shared experiences in life and in love. And Any Color but Beige is chock full such experiences it seems we can all relate to.

The conversation and the wine flowed freely, and everyone was reluctant to call it a night until we all agreed that we would somehow, somewhere meet again to continue our stories. At both parties, some of the girls were meeting for the first time so we ended up not only celebrating the book but also friendships old and new. I said in an earlier post that to be successful in this self-publishing business you not only have to be talented you have to be lucky. The excitement, enthusiasm and thoughtfulness of my family and friends have showed me just how lucky I am. As for the rest, it’s just icing on the cake.

A Party that Takes the Cake!

Little did I know when I wrote my previous post, Bird in the Hand that my week in Johannesburg would be a real life variation on the same theme: birds. How strange is that? What was Mother Nature trying to tell me?

First there was my early morning wake-up call at 6:00 a.m. Somewhere in my jet lag induced unconsciousness I could hear honking. I’ve heard of cell phones that chirp but never hotel phones that honk. Now fully awake, I realized the noise was not coming from inside but rather outside on my window ledge.

A pair of bickering black-billed geese, husband and wife, no doubt, had pitched up on my window ledge high above Sandton City on the 14th Floor of the Sandton Sun Hotel. It was my own personal (wake-up) call of the wild.

Bird with a View

How in the world did they get there? And just what were they arguing about at this hour? And why had they picked my window ledge? I got up and went to the window and looked down the ledge to where they sat bickering.

I watched her walk off in a huff. (I guess some things are universal.) He followed her down the ledge honking as if he was trying to convince her of something. By now they had arrived in front of me. It certainly looked like I was in the middle of some domestic squabble. Geese may mate for life but they’re not necessarily faithful so maybe there was another goose – or gander – involved.

I pulled back the curtains slowly trying not to frighten them so I could get a better view of the unhappy couple. Sensing the presence of an intruder, they turned their ire on me. I was about as welcome as the paparazzi at a Hollywood marriage meltdown.

Determined to keep their argument private, he puffed up his chest and spread his wings in an attempt to intimidate me. And then united as a couple they began to peck at the window. I was impressed, and then I realized they weren’t attacking me. They were attacking their own reflections in the window. Having spent their anger on something other than each other, they waddled off to other end of the ledge and I heard nothing further from them. They were back to being lovebirds.

The next day I packed my bags and headed for the comforts of home – my friend Julie’s home in a city suburb – the same Julie whose thought-provoking comment was the genesis for my book, Any Color but Beige. (See Chapter 25) The same Julie who generously whisked me away to the Veld for some much needed downtime last year. The same Julie who hosted a Girls’ Night In to celebrate the launch of the book in South Africa. (More on that later).

I was content to sit in her garden and soak up the summer sun while I watched the brightly yellow-colored birds called weavers build their nests. That day there was one weaver who had just put the finishing touches on his new nest when a curious female alighted on a nearby branch.

(The females are a dull brown but that doesn’t bother the males. Oh to be as free as that female weaver and have the male of the species chase you in spite of your dull plumage. I mean really, ladies, try getting away with a mousy color on the top of your head or half an inch of regrowth showing at the roots.)

At last someone with whom he can share his love nest. The little male weaver wanted to strut his colorful stuff and so he hopped onto the branch next to her and started to make small talk. Like a good female, she studiously ignored him.

When another male tried to muscle in on his girl, our brave little weaver ran him off. When I second male moved in, our little guy ran him off too. How’s that for defending your home and your castle? I heard him chirp. When he returned to put the moves on the female, she failed to return his romantic overtures. He flew up to the nest to invite her in to see his etchings but no dice’ she wasn’t budging.

He looked dejected. The tree was full of nests and so maybe she was waiting for a better offer. Finally, tired of waiting, for what I’m not quite sure, she flew off. I felt sorry for the male but Julie told me that it just may have been a blessing in disguise. Had the lady accepted his offer and flew up to the nest she might have found it lacking and tore it apart bit by bit. He would have to start over and try again until it pleased her. How like life.

And so the little yellow weaver went back to decorating his pad and waiting for the next pretty bird to come along. It’s like his mother once told him, “There are plenty of fish in the sea and plenty of birds in the sky.” How like love.

So what was Mother Nature telling me this week? Life, like love, is for the birds.

Photo: © iStockphoto.com/amrishwad

I’ve been thinking a lot about old sayings –you know – the ones we use to help us make decisions.

For example, “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.”

I used to think that made sense until experience proved me wrong. It’s always better to keep both hands open.

Not too long ago I had a lovely golden bird in the hand. I was so happy and pleased that this golden bird chose to alight in my garden and stay awhile that I became oblivious to all of the other beautiful birds visiting my garden that summer.

One day the golden bird and I had plans to rendezvous at a little love nest in the south of France. I decided to take a day for myself in Paris prior to joining him in Nice. I stayed in the very posh neighborhood, at the lovely L’ Hôtel de Banville in the 17ieme. It was a beautiful summer’s day and I decided to take le Métro to the Les Tuileries and walk in the gardens.

The closest Métro stop was Porte de Champerret  in a well-to-do treed residential area  with small shops and restaurants. Thinking and smiling to myself about my upcoming tryst, I happened to glance up and catch the eye of a very attractive Frenchman.

He wasn’t too tall – I’d say about 5’10 – and dressed: very French in his summer slacks, form-fitting white Lacoste shirt, and a cardinal red sweater tossed carelessly over his shoulders, the sleeves looped in front of his chest. His eyes were the color of cornflowers.

He rested comfortably against the hood of a high-end performance sports car, his Gucci-clad feet crossed at his tanned ankles. He was talking on his cell phone.

He returned a smile that wasn’t intended for him. That caught me by surprise, and I smiled back. I guess you could say we had a “moment”. But what to do about it? I was not going to start a conversation with a total stranger, especially since I already had a man waiting for me. I didn’t need another devastatingly handsome, and charming (all Frenchmen are charming) European man.

And so I walked straight into le Métro and headed for the platform. Somehow I knew he would follow me. Sure enough, when I got to the platform and turned around, I saw him walking toward me, like he had every intention taking the Métro that morning. I walked farther down the platform curious to see if he’d get in the same car. I momentarily lost sight of him when the train pulled up. I walked into the car carrying my guidebook and, there he was, he came in right after me. He sat across from me and made eye contact, looking for some sign of encouragement from me. I smiled but I was determined to play it cool. If he was that interested, and he looked like he was, it was up to him to approach me. I was done doing the modern girl thing. Plus I was in France; I was determined to play the coquette – short of batting my lashes.

We continued to exchange meaningful glances all the way through the next stop but nothing happened. We rolled into a third stop and exchanged fleeting eye contact. I knew I should proffer something more than passing glances, but the golden bird was waiting for me so I was more than willing to let this one get away. Unless of course he came up with an introduction, a beau geste, that would make my heart skip a beat.

The fourth stop came and he rose to leave. Dejected, he glanced back over his shoulder as the doors closed and I shrugged as if to say, “It was your move, why didn’t you make it?” With a hint of unexplainable sadness, I waved goodbye.

A day later I was in Nice basking in the Mediterranean sunshine with the golden bird, and a month after that he flew the coop without so much as an email or tweet goodbye.

I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I had only been a bit more receptive to the mysterious French stranger. If I had given up the bird in the hand, or what I thought was a sure thing, for the potential of two in the bush. Had I made a cardinal mistake? I guess I’ll never know. He will forever remain the one that got away.

Photo: © iStockphoto.com/Johnny Greig

 

I subscribe to a fantastic site called WOW! – Women on Writing. According to its site, WOW!’s mission is “to support women’s creativity, energy, blood, sweat and tears, throughout all stages of the writing process.”

It’s a great resource for writers and authors covering everything from writing techniques and self-publishing tips to networking with an online community of other writers. Their vision is to create “a favorite watering hole for professionals, the up-and-coming, and the recipients of our labors–the avid readers.”

WOW! Also offers a blog tour to authors as a means of promoting your book to its extensive blogger network. The blog tour includes:

  • 12 – 15 stops on highly trafficked blogs customized to your book
  • An interview on WOW!’s own blog “The Muffin.”
  • An email announcement in WOW!’s Events Newsletters (21,000 subscribers)
  • Excellent Customer Service. My experience this far with Jodi Webb has been amazing.

What follows is a partial schedule for my own blog tour kicking off with my WOW! Interview on “The Muffin”* on November 14.   Stop by today and visit.*  Several of the blogs are running contests you can win a free copy of Any Color but Beige.

*I’m posting this from Munich, somewhat in advance of the post due to time zones,  so it may take a couple of hours for the Post to appear on today’s Muffin.  Overseas reader please check back later today to see it.

Photo: © iStockphoto.com/NRedmond

Date Title Blog
11/15/11 Recreating Yourself http://emptynest1.blogspot.com
11/16/11 Tips for Being a Great Speaker or “Dear God, Please don’t let me sound stupid.” http://blog.juliealindsey.com/
11/17/11 Book Review – nothing required www.misadventureswithandi.com
11/18/11 5 Things You Should Always Have in Your Suitcase www.misadventureswithandi.com
11/23/11 Five Things to See or Do In a New Place http://carolineclemmons.blogspot.com
11/29/11 Pod Cast http://www.momecentric.com
12/2/11 Interview http://jodiwebb.com/
12/6/11 Color Quiz http://cmashlovestoread.blogspot.com
12/7/11 Why We Write http://www.ingasilbergbooks.com
12/8/11 What Color Should Your Writing Room Be http://writerinspired.wordpress.com/
12/9/11 What Color Says About You http://www.krittersramblings.com
12/12/11 Baring Your Soul For a Memoir http://www.fromthetbrpile.blogspot.com
12/14/11 Interview – Laurie To Send Questions http://lauriehere.blogspot.com/
12/16/11 How Travel Can Improve Your Writing http://niinas-reading-and-reviewing.blogspot.com/
TBA Interview http://SellingBooks.com/

Mmmm muffins

When I mention to people that my book launch was the best night of my life, reactions vary from agreement to doubt. It’s interestingto note that only the men appear to doubt my claim. I find this puzzling because, given the differences between the sexes; I would have thought men would just get it. So this reaction surprised me.

Oh yeah?

Men, who by their very nature, are competitive beings, have played some sort of sport at least once in their lives or have “lived” an extraordinary moment: a game-saving tackle on the goal line, a home run in the bottom of the ninth, or a three pointer at the buzzer. Or maybe it was closing a million dollar deal, landing a new account, or cashing out a winner in poker. Whatever the event, it will go down in their memories as probably the best “moment” of their lives.

So why is it so hard for men to make the leap from pitch, playing field or boardroom, where the glad-handing and back-slapping of buddies is commonplace and where solo efforts of prowess are lauded, to the softer side of life where creation and not competition reigns supreme.

The cynic in me postulates that any achievement not involving at least the advice or counsel of a man is somehow lacking. How could she have done it without me? How dare she do it without me? It can’t possibly be the best without me. This last one may have a slight sexual undertone depending on whom I’m talking to. Wink, wink, nod, nod.

But the explanation is quite simple once I juxtapose it for them against a bigger picture –the marathon race we all run called “life.” People come and go and add and subtract from our lives (hopefully they add more than they subtract). And the memories created “a deux” can sometimes be tainted with sadness, despair and regret, should things end badly.

Our memorable solo moments, days, nights or seasons are the best because we own them. We are the sole architect of those pieces of happiness, achievement or glory. A moment, day or, in my case, night, is something, not even time, can take from us, nor memory taint. Savor them!

Photo: © iStockphoto.com/Ulvestad

Everything was ready, and well in advance. I had booked the caterer, selected the menu, purchased an assortment of wines (sparkling, red, white) picked the mood music, Pink Martini, and organized a surprise salsa lesson for my 45 guests. I had found the perfect dress – red of course. And the shoes? We’ll they’re the same shoes that appear on the cover of my book.

And then friends and family stepped in and took over. My friend Nadia, who has managed more than once to put a roof over my head, organized and decorated a beautiful venue. Nadia is a sculptor with a great eye for color, aesthetics and proportion so the room was awash in color – everything from the table cloths and cocktail napkins to the center pieces and the flowers.

My sister, Margaret Mary, with the precision skills that come with being a mother of four, ran a flawless event. She did everything from welcoming guests and selling books to giving direction to the people who staffed the event.

Pierre, who is an artist when it comes to taking candid pictures, created a digital photo album that captures everyone at his or her best.

Giacomo stepped in and set up an extraordinary bar as his gift to me. He engaged the services of a magical mixologist, Thomas, who conjured up a “Café Girl Martini” to commemorate the occasion. (I didn’t drink anything during the event – my adrenaline didn’t need any outside stimulation – but I’m told that once everyone left I had three martinis in rapid succession as well as my own bottle of Prosecco).

All I had to do was show up. And thanks to them, that’s exactly what I did.

Technically the event was a book launch, but the reality is that it was a party for my friends and family – for all those people that I love who supported me through the entire process. Some friends traveled great distances to be there and others who couldn’t make it sent flowers. It was a celebration of friendship. I was happy to bask in their unabashed pride in my efforts. Authors get a lot compliments and criticism about their work  but words I will prize most are those five little words that I heard from family, friends and even colleagues – “I’m so proud of you.”

It was a night of eating, drinking, dancing and the great conversation that only happens when friends are reunited to celebrate a happy occasion. They all waited patiently as I signed the books they bought – I wanted to give them away but they insisted on buying them. I  wrote a special message in each one.

Later I remarked to my mom, who couldn’t be there, that the event was just like a wedding without the complication of a groom. I reflected on that for a minute and jokingly said, “had I known that 25 years ago, I would written a book instead of getting married.”

To which my wise mother remarked, “Cat, if you hadn’t gotten married, you wouldn’t have written this book.”

And just like a wedding, to commemorate the occasion, here’s the launch video for my book: Any Color but Beige: Living Life in Color.

 

Lucky At Cards

There’s an old proverb that says, “Lucky at cards, unlucky at love.”  The Italians turn it around and say, “Sfortuna al gioco, fortuna in amore”.  Translation:  Unlucky at cards, lucky at love.  And they would know.

And then there’s me unlucky at cards and unlucky in love.  So what’s a Café Girl to do when she’s in Las Vegas?  Certainly not gamble. That would so be a waste of money. And certainly not flirt with that handsome stranger in the tuxedo at the baccarat table in the High Stakes Lounge. That would be a waste of time, especially since his name is Giancarlo. Tall, dark and dangerously handsome – you can just tell that he holds all the cards.

No, I kept my hands in my pockets and my heart in check as I walked back to my hotel.  No one was getting lucky tonight.  Then, as I was passing by the Trevi Fountain near the Forum Shops at Caesar’s Palace, I noticed a penny on the ground.  Oh what the heck! It was a small gamble and the only money Vegas would get off of this Café Girl. I gave it a toss … and made a wish.

Unlucky at cards? Usually. Unlucky at love? Most definitely!

But when it comes to adventure – all I can say is be careful what you wish for.

Photo: © iStockphoto.com/Juergen Sack

Hitting the road

Travel is in the cards for me this year

The year got off to slow start but I will be making up for it in spades this spring – starting with a trip to Las Vegas.  Look for posts from Amsterdam to  Zealand and points in between – coming soon.

Photo: © iStockphoto.com/tonyoquias