Kingsburg Village

Is that lovely, or what? Plus, there’s always the chance you could bump into Calvin Trillin. Not that I or anyone I know out here has ever done so, but it could happen. Really.

This marks our 7th summer out here. And my first as a local literary celebrity.

Okay, so no one has yet voted to name a hill after me –all the local big-wigs have hills named after them. But our neighbor across the street told me that not only did she love my book — it saved her back, literally.

“I’ve been wearing bras to sleep,” she said, leaning in close to whisper her secret as we stood barefoot in the center of the road (it’s important to strike up conversations directly in the middle of the road, because on either side are noisy dogs who want attention). “My back ache has totally disappeared –it has completely changed my life. But I guess you hear that all the time.”

Umm, actually, no. But that’s no small badge of literary honour, no?

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Crazy.

Beside my feet, keeping me grounded, is a lovely 3-legged dog named NoLa–as in, New Orleans, Louisiana. Nola is a Katrina rescue dog, once found scavenging beside the road in a semi-submerged section of the city, now resting on a suede dog bed in Georgetown. I figure she’s the dog equivalent of Larry David’s family Black. I’m very pleased to meet her.

Last night’s Philadelphia reading at Delicious was terrific — a wonderful mix of old friends and new readers. And, my first sighting of $700 corsets and a male corseter –Sima’s jaw would have dropped. It reminded me, too, that I haven’t blogged about my New York reading at Bra Smyth.  Guess who was there? You’ll never guess. OK, I’ll tell you.

Drumroll, please.

Miss Pauline! 

Miss Pauline, who as I mention on another page on this website, was the owner of the bra-shop where I was fitted for my first bra, and the inspiration for the setting of Sima’s Undergarments for Women. Well, an old high school friend heard about my novel through facebook, and she not only knew Miss Pauline’s from her own Junior High bra-fitting experience, but she also knew Miss Pauline’s grandson, a lawyer with whom she’d worked. And so she emailed him about the novel, and he emailed me, and he went to his grandmother’s house and showed her this website, and got her the book, and–

She came to the reading. And brought the whole mishpacha: son and daughter-in-law, two grandsons, and even a great-granddaughter.

She looked fabulous. Fur coat, pink lipstick, big hug. I was worried she’d hate the book, but clearly she enjoyed it — she talked Jewish bra-shop lineage with Sandi, the owner of Bra Smyth (“Frishman’s in the Bronx–sure, I remember”) and posed for pictures with me. It also turned out that I wasn’t the only fan in the room. “You fitted me for my first bra!” a woman said, holding out her hand. “Lisa Safier–remember my mother?” Miss Pauline, who at this point I think I can mention is actually named Leah Kruger, most certainly did. “Here,” she said, taking Lisa’s copy of my novel, “I’ll sign it for you.”

Afterwards, Leah Kruger took my publicist aside. “Who’s idea for a cover was this?” she asked, gesturing to the retro-bra advertisement. “They won’t buy it in Boro Park.” Then she gave us the names and addresses of Boro Park yentas who, if given the book in plain cloth, might help spread the word: “On 13th and 51st, you want to ask for Chansie–” 

Chansie, if you’re reading this: We’ll sell you all the cover-less copies you want. 10% discount, nu?

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1. Radio redux, and hold the babies, please.

I had two readings in Toronto this week, and one in Waterloo. We packed Tryst Lingerie Wednesday night–sipped cocktails, read from my novel, answered a few questions, and then got to talk a few friends into splurging on fancy nightgowns. Got to not only read from but also perform Sima, in other words.

Thursday evening I attended a Penguin Canada LCBO event — LCBO standing for, obviously, the Liquor Control Board of Ontario, which sounds like some horrid bureacratic outpost but actually just means, in Ontario-an, liquor store.  The highlight of the event included listening to a short lecture about the wines served, each of which had been specifically paired with my novel.  A Reisling, for instance, conjured Sima’s inner conflict–much in the same way that Alsace is torn by German and French allegiances, so Sima…you get the idea. 

Wine parallels aside (at least they didn’t serve Manischewitz!), I loved the LCBO chat — everyone there had read Sima, making it basically an author-dream-come-true: a long and lovely conversation about my characters with readers who had wonderful insights and questions and comments.

And the Reisling wasn’t half-bad, either.

In Waterloo I got to set-up camp in another lingerie store. I felt a little like Lucy in Charlie Brown –remember her psychiatrist booth, masquerading as a lemonade stand? Well, there I was in an indoor mall, signing books at a small table bedecked with a bottle of water and a stout blue glass. Friends dropped by, and loyal lingerie and Words Worth Books customers stopped in, but I also definitely received a fair number of curious glances from mall-passerbys. I felt like I should have a sign on my table: Novelist. Writing Advice 5 cents. 

In other words: loved it. 

So, four readings down, six to go (plus an assortment of radio and TV–stay tuned!).  That is: assuming it stops snowing, sometime tonight….

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1. The big night
2. On the road

Registration began at 9am.

What we do for love.

There was only one other person when I got there, and only a dozen or so when the doors opened at 8. This is what happens when you transplant a New Yorker to Victoria: you tell me to come early to guarantee the spot of my choosing, I wake to beat the rooster. (Is that an expression? If not, it should be.)

After registering Eva I then raced across town to the Board of Education to apply to transfer away from the very school I’d been stalking since 7am. And then walked away knowing we might actually defer this whole kindergarten-thing for a year, given we’ve got a wonderfully sweet and somewhat shy mid-fall babe. I could write paragraphs about my thoughts on this decision, but will spare you and move on– 

So: after my morning of queues and race-car driving I stopped in at a suburban shopping-plaza in which, I’d been told, a “real” bra-shop existed. Despite having spent oh, say, 7 years (but who’s counting) writing a novel set in a bra-shop, I’m still wearing nursing bras even though I weaned Tillie the first week of September. Not only that, they’re nursing bras I bought when I was nursing Eva.

In other words: Sima would take one look at me and roll her eyes.

“Well, that one sure doesn’t fit!” the coiffed saleslady told me, as I stood semi-dressed in a velvet-curtain- type of dressing room. Wielding measuring tape (Sima doesn’t need measuring tape, I couldn’t help thinking), she outfitted me in a nice assortment of practical & fancy, and thirty-five minutes later and a significant amount of money poorer (I do remember the exact amount, but can’t quite face writing it) I emerged from the shop with properly fitting bras carefully placed within a fabulous hot-pink heart-shaped complimentary tin. 

The tin is now a fancy bed for my daughters’ dolls. Which means really that for the money I got not just bras but also home furniture, right?

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