A Million Little Pieces Of My Mind

Today, Michael and I celebrated our tenth wedding anniversary. For some odd reason, the tenth is supposed to be the "tin" anniversary. That is, we are supposed to receive gifts made of tin. Does anyone make anything of tin anymore? I propose that we officially rewrite the anniversary gift lists and designate the tenth wedding anniversary the Porn Anniversary. By now, that would be a useful gift!

Our friends, Barbara and Peter, have their anniversary just a few days after ours. So we usually include a dinner for the four of us in our celebration plans. This year, the most convenient day happened to be today, so we met at 5:00 at the Pasta Brioni, an Italian restaurant in Scottsdale. We had a later engagement to visit a nearby bookstore, so I chose the restaurant based on its proximity and the fact that I felt like Italian. I was unaware that a reviewer had remarked that the restaurant was manned by "Italian stallions" in tight black T-shirts. But, of the four of us having dinner, three of us were most appreciative of this fact.

The attractiveness of the personnel notwithstanding, the actual food was delicious. I had Veal Parmesan, which despite the fate of its component calves (of which Michael made sure to point out, as the reason he "could never" eat veal), remains one of my favorite guilty pleasures.

Barbara mentioned to the waiter that it was her and Peter's anniversary, and Michael's and mine. Happily, he never batted an eye—I can't help but look for such things—and after we were done eating, brought out two free desserts, one for Barbara and Peter, and one for Michael and me, each sporting a lit candle, to add to our celebrations. He even took a photo of us, and I'm certain the blurriness is more due to the camera settings in a dark restaurant, than an overabundance of enthusiasm on his part.

We left and said goodbye to Barbara and Peter about 6:40 pm, then drove a couple of blocks to the Poisoned Pen Bookstore, where my friend Robrt Pela (that's not a typo; that's how he spells his name) had urged us to attend a book reading and signing by his friend and fellow author Irene Zeigler. It was scheduled to begin at 7, and turned out to be a dual signing, with author Diane Noble as well. Both women spoke of their novels, of course, and the comparison notes of how they write, get their ideas, and develop their characters was fascinating.

Diane writes historical romances of women in plural marriages. Her books sounded terrific, but, as I explained to her, I would be better served as a reader if she would write a book about men in plural marriages (to each other). She politely agreed it was an interesting idea and said she'd see what her publishers thought of it.

Irene's book is Ashes to Water, a "literary murder mystery", about a girl who returns to her home town in Florida where her father has been murdered…and who comes to believe the person the police have identified as the killer, is innocent. I bought a copy, which Irene graciously signed, and am looking forward to reading it.

It was fun for me to talk with Irene, who had grown up in Deland, Florida, near my hometown of St. Augustine. We both knew many of the same places, and wound up talking until the store manager begged us to leave so he could lock up.

Michael and I had intended to leave after the book signing for a camping trip—I got tomorrow off for that purpose, and the Perseid meteor shower is supposed to peak early tomorrow morning. But, as we drove home, the prospect of packing and then driving for two-and-a-half hours, the last hour of that on unmaintained gravel road, began seeming less and less attractive. So, instead, we decided to sleep at home, and pack and leave in the morning.