Smell, Starbucks, Hot Water, Auto Accident, Immigrant Children

Excuse Fio's odeur, but storm knocked out her hot water four days ago, and she hasn't gotten around to calling on the neighbors for help. Too many other things going on, and nobody's held their nose when she eneters the room yet.
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Speaking of "other things," Fiorella's baby car got winged in an auto accident Tuesday morning while she was on her way to Starbucks to meet up with some longtime friends. The damage was minor, but it wasn't a great way to begin the day, and, to make it worse, neither one of her friends showed up.
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Is your faithful correspondent obsessed with the immigrant children being locked up in prisons? Yes--of course she is. Fiorella is, first of all, a mother.

Dear Diary

What happened to you yesterday, Fiorella? Well, first I learned that friend Paula and brother Bill are sick. Then I accidently left my purse at home and had to bum my Starbucks cookie and milk off friend Evelyn, and when I got home, I learned that Husband had called our doctor about some disturbing symptoms and she'd told him to go to the ER. Three hours later, he was diagnosed with walking pneumonia. Oh, and when I was running around doing errands, I learned that the place my critique group usally meets in is being renovated and won't be available for at least a month.
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Fio sent the first 100 pages of Lolly's story off to a couple of friends to look at. She's especially concerned about anachronisms because this story was written six years ago and electronics have changed things a lot since then.
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She's also sending friend Evelyn a few excepts from the biblical book of Ruth to back up her reference to Ruth and Boaz. It's a Cinderella story, but Ruth has to make the first move.

Pant, Pant, Pant, Blood Pressure on the Rise!

Yesterday was an adventure. First Fiorella learned that she is on some kind of unopenable list Ford has, probably because she went ballistic when she discovered that the name of her late friend Sharon Kite had been used in Ford's Facebook adverstisement. (Mattress Firm used Sharon's name too, but Fio hasn't been able to find that ad again.) Then, as she finished off a couple of hours' work sorting through income tax stuff, Fio received a call from Discover regarding a student loan debt that Fio and Husband had paid off, lock, stock, and barrel, last week. Fio went into shock and lost most of her words, but managed to supply enough information that her caller is going to hold off on the robo-calls for a week while the situation is checked out. Then Fiorella leaped into her car and sped down to Starbucks to pick up her milk and chocoate chip cookies, secreting them it in her tote before joining friend Patricia because their meeting place of choice frowns on diners supplying their own fare. Of course, when Fio got to the table, she spilled the milk all over it and the floor. Friend Patricia whipped into action and saved the day with napkins and paper towels, and the woman running the cash register mopped the floor.

Fio hopes today won't be quite so adventuresome.

Explanation

If you looked at Fiorella first thing in the morning, you saw far more of what goes on behind the scenes than Fio ever wanted you to see--the jumbled notes, obscure references, and sheer gibberish that she shapes into her morning offering. Yes, as you probably guessed, the computers at la casa Fiorella went off-line last night, and it was an eye-opener. Not only was Fio blocked from writing a stunningly brilliant blog, but she couldn't check out her baby-steps attempts at Spanish sentences on Translater, contact friends on email, check out Google News or KEEP UP WITH FACEBOOK.

But now she's at Starbucks, every writer's home away from home, and has hooked onto their power, cleared her blog, and explained to you exactly what has happened. Except that she almost forgot to mention that she crashed a tall chair to the floor as she was trying to mount it, and the store was stunned into silence, then erupted into voices of concern. But that's your Fio--drama follows her wherever she goes.

Purely Fiorella

Fiorella grabbed a nice handful of servietas at Starbucks as she was heading out of la puerta, y ellas came in handy. El dia was blazing caliente and su automovil had been sitting en el sol por dos horas so her car seat and steering wheel were burning. Thinking fast, Fio stuck a servieta under each pierne and grasped una servieta in each mano before she pulled out of her parking space and headed a su casa.
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Yesterday was up and down. Way up and way down. Fio was ecstatic when Richard at Mazda called to tell her that baby car was all healed and ready to go home early--and that the bill turned out to be $500 less than expected. But her day started going downhill when she stopped by the post office on the way home and left her purse and keys in the car, then locked the door. A nice passerby let her use his cell phone and Fio called Husband, who arrived with Sonia dog in the back seat. About two hours later, the locksmith arrived. And to think, Fiorella thought she would get a lot of writing done because her lista amarilla was so lightweightfor the day.
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Fiorella has discovered a wonderful new rock bed (cama de rocas) behind the chainlink fence separating her back yard from the jungle beyond, and she's already pulled several of them up and tossed them over the fence, where she'll pack them into her little red wagon to tow up to the driveway to reinforce su mura pequena, but that's the only mura she'll ever contribute to

Not Fio's Day

Fiorella thought she had her day all laid out, but it went to pieces on her once she got to Austin. Her doctor's parking garage was dark as a dungeon, and it was hard to find a space for her Miata what with all the ocean liners squatting in the spaces marked compact. She was finally able to shoehorn herself into a narrow space between two SUVs, but then came the voyage to the medical building while toting a tote weighed down with her computadora, her bolsa, her celular, and her lista amarilla. She rode up to the third floor and trudged down the hall to the doctor's office, slung her tote on the counter and announced herself to the nurse.

Shock. Her appointment was until the afternoon. How had Fio messed up this appt for the second time arround. Are they gaslighting her?  No, Fio. Face it. You wrote down the the wrong date in su calendario.

Nothing to do but set up an appt for next week, reshoulder her tote and stagger back to the parking garage. Getting out was a lot easier than getting in. But what could she do with her time? She had to be back in Gtown for an INR appt at 1:00, but she didn't want to be half an hour early and sit  in the cardiologist's office twiddling her thumbs. Nothing to do but find a Starbucks in Austin and write a little. Of course, she had to purchase something to rent a table, though. No problem--she loves Starbucks' chocolate chip cookies. The day was saved!

Except that Starbucks was out of chocolate chip cookies. All she could do was indulge herself in a cup of milk.

Some days, you just can't win for losing.

Down to Austin and Back

Fio's said it before and she 'll say it again. There's nothing like busting thirty-some miles down the road to Austin to rev up her writing brain. She actually pulled off to the side a couple of times, both ways, to record her thoughts--well, actually, one of those times, she had the fortune to get caught at a red light.

On the way down, Fiorella thought about Trump and the way that every time it seeems like she's run dry of blog topics, he comes through with something dumb, mean, or obscene that she can comment on. She also thought about how FB responders, by doing such things as mistaking the Declaration of Independence for an anti-Trump rally call, reveal their low IQs and educational levels.

On the way back, Fio reflected about over-eating, probably because she had just dined on chocolate chip cookies with Friend Evelyn at Starbucks and a hamburger with Friend Paula at Dan's. The spices were still on her tongue and the warmth was still in her digestive tract, but she knew that in an hour or so, the taste would turn bitter, her stomach would feel bloated, and she'd never want to eat again. Yeah, sure. Once Fio has downed a couple of chocolate chippers, her brain turns into a ravening beast and it's only the prospect of total embarrassment that stop her from going up to the counter and buying a box of them. Certain foods are  like drugs to Fio, but if there's one thing she's has learned from "My 600-Pound Life," it's that over-eating is emtionally driven, and that instead of trying to smother one's emotions, one needs to investigate and understand them.

Besides, the more cookies she eats, the more GERD she'll have later on.

Ode to Napkins

I love the Starbucks napkins,
Pale brown and soft, yet strong
Enough to wipe up a latte spill
Or sketch a landscape on

I always grab some extras
When I leave the store
To blot my lipstick, swipe my nose
Once I am out the door

I like them for their texture
And durability
But most of all I like them 'cause
They're free, they're free, they're free!

Bounce-back

You can't keep a good girl down, especially when she has good friends like Evelyn Palfrey and Paula Marks. Fio met up with Evelyn at Starbucks today, then sped up the street to have lunch with Paula Marks at Dan's Hamburgers. By the time she headed home, she was giddy with love and laughter. There's nothing like having good friends. Nothing like sitting across the table from people who talk the same political language. Nothing like being in the company of people who are knowledgeable, literate, clever, sympathetic, and screamingly funny. 

Maybe Trump could have been a real person if he'd had friends like this. 

Catching Up on Fiorella

Fiorella wants a self-driving car. It would solve a lot of problems for her, especially since she can't drive at night anymore, especially since she has no central vision in her left eye, especially since it would have a built-in GPS.
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With frequent posts, daily responses, and four poems, your Fio has made something of a political splash on Facebook, And to think, the only reason she got on the site was because, four years ago, her literary agent told her to.
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Fio is having a great time watching El Color de la Pasion, a Spanish-language telenovela, not that she can understand mucho mas than the actores' facial expressions and tones of voice, but it helps that she knows most of the characters' names and familial relationships. However, she's still trying to figure out who Ligia is and why Amador killed her.
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Has Fio told you there's a FOURTH Starbucks in Georgetown? And that it is REALLY posh? Wow--if there are four Starbucks in Gtown, which isn't that big, how many are there in Austin?
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Fio and Husband are going to send their spittle off to Ancestry.com tomorrow. The results should be hilarious.

Manic Phase

Watch out, world!  Fiorella feels GOOD today! Two doctor visits yesterday, and both went well. Also, her cockamamie idea of buying a twelve foot long 4x5, having it cut into four-foot lengths so she could handle them and they would  fit into the back seat of Husband's car, then driving then home to use instead of rocks at strategic places along the driveway so the riding mower will have easy access (got all that?) looks like it will work. Also, when she and Husband accidentally locked themselves outside the house, she realized the only way they could get in was by removing the temporary guest-room air conditioner and climbing in the window--and since Husband's arm is still in a sling, she did the job, which was sort of thrilling. Her first break and enter!

Also, she accomplished everything on her lista yesterday (ayer), celebrated with two slices of Starbucks marble pound cake and a pint of Blue Bell without even have a twinge of GERD, slept like a baby all night, woke up today with the beginnings of a marketing plan for Phillipa's story, and feels Tony-the-Tiger G-R-R-R-E-A-T!

Carando to the Rescue

The rider on the white horse who rescued Fiorella?  None other than Patricia "T" Carando--again. She has been Fio's electronic savior too many times to count this past year, and your faithful correspondent is muy grateful.

What happened this time, you ask.  Fio's icons wouldn't open.  First she lost access to her email icon (again), and then she lost access to all her other programs except (whew) the one for the romance she is writing. Fiorella promptly sent out a panicked SOS to T and met with her at Starbucks, where all good writers meet.  The mighty T began by wrestling with Fio's email situation, which was caused by the failing mechanisms of Windows Live Mail (no longer supported by Microsoft), and which will necessitate Fio changing to gmail in the near future.  Then, while Fiorella raced back home to pick up her credit card so she could buy chocolate chunk cookies, T restored her other programs.

All is now well in Casa Fiorella, thanks to T Carando.  Well, T Carando and chocolate chunk cookies.

Odds and Ends

Fio's credit card and Husband's driving glasses are off somewhere together having a good time.  We can't find either of them.
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If Starbucks gets any healthier, I'm not meeting anyone there any more.
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The more wealth a person has, the more people he has to hire to take care of it.
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The hands, the feet, the eyes, the ears--driving is like playing the piano.
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The older women used to be the ones in dresses while the younger generation wore pants. Now it's reversed:  the older women are in pants and the young'ns are wearing dresses.

Endor

Another one of Fiorella's short stories.


As they did every new moon, the three elderly sisters met at Starbucks, reserved a table by depositing their dear mother's cookbook on it, and walked up to the counter to place their orders. In the few seconds it took for the barista to turn toward the back of the store and instruct her co-worker to add extra whipped cream to Glinda's hot chocolate and Irene's latte, an athletically built young man pushed Zelda aside and put in his  own order.

"Gimme the biggest cup of Dark Roast that you have and make it snappy!  I've got places to go and people to see!"

Hazel gave him a darkling look.  "Sir, perhaps you didn't realize it, but you cut in line.  Our sister was next."

"Too bad." The athletic young man shrugged and checked out the room for a table.

The three women exchanged hard-eyed glances, but knew better than to make a scene in public. Picking up their drinks, they turned to walk back to their table, then saw that the athletically-built young man had claimed it for himself.  Glinda bristled with anger.  "Sir, you're sitting at our table!  That is our dear mother's cookbook."

The athletic young man glared at her.  "Find another table. granny, and take your crazy book with you!  Damn thing tried to bite me! "

A table opened up, and the three sisters sat down together, put their mother 's book of recipes in the center of the table, then sipped their beverages, watching the athletic young man the whole time.  When he left without cleaning up the table, Glinda swooped down like a night owl sighting its prey, slipped his cup into a plastic bag. and stowed it in her purse. Then, their faces grim, the women drove over to Zelda's, consulted Mother's recipes, set the iron pot to boiling with the standard ingredients, smiled at each other, and tossed in the cup that the athletic young man had used.

Eye of newt and toe of frog work so much better with fresh DNA in the mix.

Starbucks, Snowmen, and Christmas Cups

What's going on with the stupid hullabaloo over Starbucks' red Christmas cups and delicious red-scarfed snowmen?  What is the source of all that negative publicity? A rival coffee shop, a red-and-green-only organization, a snowman-protective movement?

Fio, of course, has her own theory.  She thinks a Ku Klux Klan-type hate group has declared war on Starbucks because the coffee shop developed a social conscience a while back and tried to spread the good word with the rather innocuous "Race Together" message inscribed on its cups.

Therefore, Fio being Fio, she has decided to patronize Starbucks a couple of extra times this season to show her opposition to racism and her support of snowmen and red cups.

On the other hand, maybe Fio and her ilk are being maneuvered.  Maybe Starbucks itself is the source of the outcry.  As 'tis often said, there's no such thing as bad publicity.

In the Company of Laughing Women

Fiorella is a lady who lunches--and laughs and laughs and laughs.  There is nothing like meeting up with a friend at Dan's or Starbuck's or La  Madeleine or wherever and talking over each other's lives. Laughter is a release.  It keeps Fio sane.  Or at least as near to sane as Fio ever gets.

On the Run

Buckle your seat belts because Fiorella is about to take you on a harrowing ride--her own.

She woke up a little late and hurried to get herself ready to drive into Austin and have brunch with Friend Evelyn at 10:00, then lunch with Friend Paula at 11:00.  But halfway down the road, she realized that although she had her laptop and list-for-the-day with her, she'd left her purse at home. Her purse--the little clutch that contains a small Kleenex packet, her drivers' license, her credit card, her insurance cards, several pens, and extra cash.

But, pressed for time, she didn't turn back. Instead, Fio drove very carefully and prayed a lot and reached Starbucks at 10:05.  But where was Friend Evelyn?  Come to think of it, had they actually set that date and time?

Fifteen uncomfortable minutes later--remember, Fio couldn't buy anything--she departed Starbucks. Where to go?  Maybe Half Price Books.  She'd sit in one of their plushy chairs and read.

But the plushy chairs were no more.  In their place were long tables.  Fiorella sat down at one of them  and opened her laptop--which a nice Japanese man hooked into wi-fi for her--and started working on her novella. During a pause, she read the fine print on a placard on the table and learned that the tables were for customers to sit down and read at, for book clubs to meet at, and book signings to be held at.

BOOK SIGNINGS!  Maybe God had driven Fiorella to Half Price for a purpose!

PS:  Although Fio ran twenty minutes late because she got involved in her novella, she did make it to lunch with Friend Paula.

 

Brainstorm!

Fiorella has decided she needs to find an influential public figure or reviewer who will say good things about WHAT THE HEART WANTS.  Oprah?  Why not?

And, in regard to WHERE THE HEART LEADS, Fiorella got together with one of her beta readers, Denney Rodriquez, at Starbucks (where else?), and Denney was very kind to her--especially about the ranching details she herself had supplied.

And now for the next book.  Fiorella has three possibilities she's mulling over--writing a third Bosque Bend book, finishing Lolly's story, or writing a new book set somewhere else about a quilt artist who is the only survivor of a family massacre.

I know--all typical Fiorella.

Meanwhile, if you know of anyone who might be willing to endorse WHAT THE HEART WANTS, let Fio know and she'll send a book speeding that way.

Steppin' Out

Fiorella got out for the first time since she went into isolation to complete the book, and it was glorious.  She stopped by the bank to deposit a check for one of her books, then kept her appointment with her INR nurse, who has read WHAT THE HEART WANTS three times already.  After that, she drove over to Georgetown High School and asked to see the principals' office because she's using one in WHERE THE HEART LEADS and want her depiction to be real  The principal and his people at the school were very gracious and will get a nice than-you note from Fio.

Next, Fiorella dropped by Starbucks to buy gift cards for the RWA raffle baskets and to look the shop over for another scene in her book.  Then it was on to HEB for a list of groceries and Target for electrical tape and Walgreen's for hair spray.

Four hours of go, go, go.  The rest of her week will be spent writing, writing, writing.

Credit Card News

Good thing that Fiorella hadn't memorized the number on her new credit card, the one issued to her when Target was hacked, because now Home Depot has been hacked and Fio's getting another replacement card with yet another new number on it.

What's next?  Starbucks?  FedEx-Kinko's, Barnes and Noble?

Pretty soon the credit companies are gonna run out of numbers.