Julia Barrett's World

A lovely shot from our second campsite.

With proper planning, this would have been a great trip!

At 6 a.m. the wind dies. After a quick breakfast of nothing, because for me, eating strawberry instant oatmeal is worse than eating nothing, we pack up (I grab the food pack) and head out, paddling through an archipelago of islands to look for a site to set up base camp.

Of course the site Mr. and Mrs. Bob prefer is unavailable so, grumbling, they settle for a secondary site. Hubby and I think the site is great. It’s on a beautiful island, out of the wind, down a narrow channel that allows for swimming between two islands, and it’s a short paddle from a fabulous sunning rock.

Mrs. Bob’s words? “Too developed.” OMG! The only signs of civilization are a metal grate for a stove and a hidden potty area - both set up by the park service.

I help hubby secure Old Iron Sides and then I scramble up the bank, almost giddy to be out of the wind, and I lay claim to the best campsite for us - up a little rise and away from the cooking area (in case of bears) and more important, away from Mr. and Mrs. Bob. Mrs. Bob tries hard to squeeze their tent next to ours, but there isn’t enough room! Genius! I am a genius! I’ll tell you, the smallest things make me happy in these situations!

Of course, my elation is short-lived. I remember….da da dum….lunch. Mr. and Mrs. Bob have packed exactly six cups of gorp for four lunches for four people. Six. Cups. Of. Gorp. Nothing. Else. I hate gorp, well, let me qualify that, I hate their gorp. I learned years ago that because of my severe migraines, I have to avoid salty foods. I especially cannot eat any high sodium, processed foods with MSG. I suffer from incapacitating migraines and they are brought on by heat, sun glinting on the water, tight hats, dark glasses, some red wines and salty foods.

Mr. and Mrs. Bob’s gorp consists of salted peanuts, raisins, M&Ms, a few salted Brazil nuts, a smattering of salted cashews, and a handful of salted almonds. On top of no breakfast and the high sodium instant stuffing from the night before, no sleep on the cold hard ground, and paddling in the bright sun, we’re talking Pending Migraine Central here! But still…

Hubby picks me out a dozen almonds, wiping the salt off on his tee shirt. He’s so sweet! I’m all for hanging out and doing a bit of swimming, but Mr. Bob says - “No…if you want to swim, we have to go to Little Trout Lake. The sand beaches there are great.”

Me, “I think these beaches are pretty great.”

Mr. Bob, “No, Little Trout has miles and miles of sand beaches. We’re going to Little Trout.” Or as Hubby and I refer to it after wards, ExtraTrout.

Since it’s not too far off, Hubby and I shrug. Thus begins a great adventure! It was the best day of the trip!

We shove off in Old Iron Sides, following Butter canoe, threading our way through this scenic archipelago, heading toward what Mr. Bob calls a creek leading into Extra Trout. It’s not a creek. It’s a placid beaver pond filled with lily pads, grasses, water plants, driftwood…the water is clear and I can see fish everywhere. It’s basically a fish nursery. Hubby and I are way behind Mr. and Mrs. and Butter, having a blast weaving our way through the water plants. Old Iron Sides is impossible to control, but at this point, who cares? We twist and turn, pushing and pulling our way along, giggling like school children - of course calorie deprivation may have something to do with this…

The best part! The second best highlight of the entire trip! Hubby and I come around a corner. Whaddya know? A beaver dam! Mr. and Mrs. are trying to lift Butter over the beaver dam because above all, Butter must not be scratched. We watch and wait, holding our breaths, because we know exactly what’s going to happen. Bwaaaaa-haaaaa-haaaaa!

Mr. Bob holds the back end of the canoe balanced on the beaver dam, pointing the front of the canoe straight out into the water. It’s a teeter-totter. He tells the Mrs. to get in the canoe and walk down to the front. As we watch, it rocks up and down, back and forth - no stability whatsoever. Mrs. Bob flips out and does a backwards swan dive…right into the beaver pond. We double over, screaming with laughter. Can you blame us? We can’t help it and the fact is, Mr. Bob is so worried about his canoe, he doesn’t even notice our convulsions or his wife’s struggles.

Mrs. Bob rises up, shrieking from the shock of the cold water. She’s soaked through three layers of clothing…soaked to the skin. But do we go back to our campsite? Oh hell no. Like good little troopers, we press on. Of course Hubby and I navigate the beaver dam without incident. We both stand on the dam, lift the canoe over, bring it around so that it’s against the dam, then we both step right into it and paddle off. Dry as toast. Easy as pie.

We make our way out the other side of the beaver pond where we are greeted by…surprise! Gale force headwinds! Extra Trout looks exactly like Original Trout only smaller and colder. Mr. and Mrs. Bob and Butter are a good three-quarters of a mile ahead of us. We paddle halfheartedly for half a mile or so, and then I look back. Hubby nods and without a word, we decide to blow this popsicle stand and head back to the campsite. Even if we were inclined to shout to Mr. and Mrs., they’re too far ahead of us to hear anything. Suddenly, Mr. and Mrs. and Butter turn and head our way like bats out of hell. They pass us, yelling, “Mrs. Bob has hypothermia!”

Hubby, “Thank God!”

We head back into the beaver pond and linger, twisting and turning, spinning Old Iron Sides around, laughing our asses off.

When we get back to camp, we do the right thing and warm Mrs. Bob up with hot water (no hot chocolate…remember?). We wrap her in a blanket, sit her in the sun in the door of her tent, and hang her clothes to dry. You see, they packed so light that she didn’t bring extra clothes. Now me? I have plenty of warm clothes! No sweat!

Hubby and I take our new best friend, Old Iron Sides, and paddle off to the sunning rock to skinny dip, bathe and shampoo our hair. Oh, what a fun time we had! I’m standing, naked, in water up to my waist while Hubby shampoos my hair and OMG here comes a fishing boat! The guys smile and wave while I shriek and duck under the water. No sooner do they pass by, just as I’m shampooing Hubby’s hair, water only up to my naked waist, two canoes paddle by - one two-man, one four-man. They smile and wave and I duck under the water again. Hey…at least I know now that if we need rescue, someone will probably come by. All clean, Hubby and I swim to a nearby island, and on a tiny patch of grass, we make love. Yeah…sweet, I know. What else are you gonna do when the Mr. and Mrs. neglect to bring food, drink or fishing poles? We who are about to die, salute you! Oh, BTW…I took her towel…I took her towel…nah nah nah nah nah!

We return to camp in time for supper. Kraft macaroni and cheese with two - count ‘em - two cans of tuna. Again I make her use the tuna water. But I know what’s coming. I’ve had a total of about 600 calories in two days, mostly consisting of salt. I feel a migraine creeping up on me. Sure ‘nuf, it strikes at midnight. I have migraine pills with me, but I must ration. They have to last for the duration.

I lay in the tent, head pounding, listening to the beavers play on the shore - they really are funny, noisy creatures - a moose walks up to our tent and snorts right by my head. A bobcat, a mere shadow on the tent wall, passes through the campsite. I contemplate our situation and I know what I have to do. There isn’t enough food to sustain us all. Hubby may have to paddle me out because I may be too sick to help myself. He’s running on empty and he needs my portion. If I eat any of the food Mr. and Mrs. Bob brought with us, my migraine will worsen, ensuring that Hubby will have to paddle me out. We have no way to call for help and our water shuttle back to the cabin isn’t due to meet us for two more days.

I make a decision. I will fast, throwing my body into ketosis, i.e., fat-burning. This will sustain me and allow me to function for two more days, even providing a little euphoria before I slip into a coma. Hubby can eat my portion. He might be able to paddle me out, but there is no way in hell I can single-handedly paddle him out.

You might think this is an odd thing to do. After attempting to reason with Mr. and Mrs. Bob, I’ve come to realize that I am stuck here for the duration. This is my solution. I have enough fat reserves to survive for at least two days. Hubby does not. Mr. and Mrs. Bob are not going to go get help and I won’t risk Hubby’s life by sending him off on his own. He has no idea where to go, and with his rotten sense of direction, he won’t know how to guide anyone back to me.

So, I will drink as much as I can to keep myself hydrated. Hubby will double his calories and we will survive.

Tomorrow - The Stupids.

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Sorry guys, this is long…

That’s me, walking away from the camera, and not because I’m worried about how bad I look in photos. I’m nursing my anger. It’s my anger that will keep me alive for the next four days.

Day One - Lost in the Boundary Waters with Mr. and Mrs. Bob OCD I Know These Waters Like The Back Of My Hand.

We are dropped off at 6 a.m. The drop off is thirty minutes by motor boat from the cabin. We off-load the canoes and stow the gear. As we pull away, the couple who shuttles us begins to laugh so hard they can barely keep their balance in the shallows. I’m confused. What’s so funny? They wave gaily, calling out over and over again - “Good luck! Have fun! Bwaaaaahaaaaaaaa!” I’m missing the joke. Is it on me?

We paddle a half-mile to the portage. Hubby and I are already falling way behind Mr. and Mrs. Bob and their canoe which cuts through the water like butter, while ours wallows like a claw-foot bathtub. We reach the portage and unload the canoes. I don’t mind the portage. It’s a about the distance of 2-3 city blocks up a narrow rocky trail and down the far side…into the wilderness. Mrs. Bob and I carry the gear - making three trips each - while the men do the manly job of hoisting the canoes on their shoulders and portaging them. Of course, nobody mentioned that the high tech canoe Mr. Bob carries weighs about fifty pounds while the Grumman that my hubby carries weighs closer to one hundred and twenty pounds. I try to help, but my assistance just makes moving the canoe more awkward and dangerous. Fortunately hubby is one strong macho dude and he gets that canoe safely up over the hill and down to the far side of the portage.

The gear re-stowed, we begin our journey. For the first three miles or so, we’re in a protected channel and there is little wind, yet Mr. and Mrs. Bob are still a good half-mile ahead of us, slicing through that water like a goddamn butter knife, while we struggle to find the exact heading that will keep Old Iron Sides pointed forward. The thing lists to starboard (right) in the tiniest wave or the smallest puff of wind.

We hit the land formation known as Windy Point. I know all about Windy Point. At Mr. Bob’s insistence, I’ve looked at the map at least two dozen times - mostly because he wants to show me how cool his map is - but I’ve also studied our intended route so I have a basic understanding of where we’re going in a geographic area that, quite frankly, looks pretty much the same in every direction.

***Segue: I possess an internal compass. I am very good at finding my way in new places provided that new place is not an underground parking garage, in which case my internal magnetic compass malfunctions. In addition, I grew up in the forest and I learned to PAY ATTENTION. I watch for landmarks and I remember how I got somewhere. How you get there is every bit as important as getting there, maybe more so.

So, we hit Windy Point, where we are blown sideways by gale force winds and knocked around by white caps on waves cresting three to four feet. Mr. and Mrs. must wait for us to catch up. We’ve paddled about three or four miles thus far. Without further ado, Mr. and Mrs. announce - “We’re heading for that far shore.” And off they go, never missing a beat, heading across three miles of open water in their slick, high-tech, low-riding, light weight canoe that cuts through the water like butter. Within seconds, they are out of earshot. Hubby and I make a valiant effort to follow in their wake. Old Iron Sides wallows like a pig in the trough of the waves, threatening to capsize with every gust of wind. Whenever the wind catches her and turns us broadside to the waves, we are lost. Most of our energy is expended merely keeping her head up into the wind. She’s a sail, and an unwieldy one at that. Mr. and Mrs. are now mere specks on the horizon, their heads appearing and disappearing in the waves like tiny green floppy hat-covered tennis balls.

At the point of a small island, our last land mass for say…two miles or so, we flail. The wind blows us sideways, pushing us ever closer to the breakers on the rocks off to our right. The waves threaten to swamp us and capsize the canoe. Not only would we lose all our equipment and clothing, the waters are so rough and impassable, chances are we’d be separated and blown for several miles before making landfall. If we don’t drown, who knows where we’ll end up in this fucking wilderness that contains bears and wolves and cougars. I stick my paddle into the water and instead of moving backward, it’s shoved forward by underwater currents. Hubby is trying his best to keep us steady. I look to the right. I look ahead across the expanse of open water. I look to the right again. Once we pass this island…if we pass this island…we are lost. We are history. We are dead meat. Filled with, not panic, but rage, I turn around and shout downwind.

“Do you remember Deep Survival?”

Hubby, “Yeah.”

“This is Deep Survival. We’re done. We can’t make it. If we try, we’ll die. This is our last chance to save ourselves.”

Hubby, “I agree. Let’s run with the wind and turn into the lee of this island. We shelter there and decide what our next move is.”

All we have to do is let the wind take us, then we pull for all we’re worth into the wind shadow of the thickly wooded island. We find a small beach in the very center of the lee side.

Hubby, “Remember the first rule? Stay put and stay together.”

“Right,” I say.

We pull the canoe up the shore and sit side by side on a rock. We take stock. The food pack is in Mr. and Mrs. Bob’s canoe. We have (hahahahaha) the matches, one sleeping bag, one sleeping pad, our own clothes, and two pints of water.

Me, “We can stay here one night if we have to.”

Hubby, “No. We stay here two hours and if they don’t come looking for us, we head back. Everything around here looks alike to me. Can you get us out of here?”

Me, “Yes, I know where we came from.” I point. “Down that channel.” I am dead certain. “I have to pee.”

I climb up onto the island, pee, and see if I can get across to the other side. No luck. The forest is too thick. I return to hubby’s rock.

Me, “Okay, I’m going to walk along the shore through the shallows and try to get to the windward side of the island.”

Hubby, “Bad idea. We should stay together.”

Me, “I swear that if the footing gets bad or the water is too deep, I will turn back. But I want to see if they’re coming back for us or if we should just make a run for it now.”

Hubby, “Okay, but be careful.”

Me, “No matter what happens, do not leave this rock.”

Hubby, “I won’t leave this rock.”

For the next 45 minutes, I pick my way through the shallows. The rocks are slick, but the water never gets above mid-thigh. Just as I reach the windward side, who should paddle towards me but Mr. and Mrs. Bob. I yell and they wave. As they approach, I tell them where hubby is and then head back. Again, it takes me 45 minutes to pick my way back. The group is reunited. What does Mr. Bob say? “You guys are lousy paddlers.”

Rage growing. Trying hard not to beat Mr. Bob about the face with my lousy paddle.

Hubby, “No, we’re not. This canoe is lousy in these conditions.”

Mr. Bob, “I’ve paddled that canoe for thirty years. I know what it can do.”

Hubby, “I bet you haven’t paddled this canoe for thirty years. We can’t make it across that open water.”

Mr. Bob, crestfallen, “but then we can’t get to the campsite I want to get to…waaaaaaa.”

Epiphany - Mr. Bob has an idea in his head. If his idea does not match reality, he dismisses reality. He cannot adjust his thought processes to changing conditions. OMFG. Deep Survival - one of the cardinal sins.

Mr. Bob, “Okay then, we’ll paddle to that island over there. There’s a nice campsite on that island.

We launch and head toward the nearest island. Oops! Somebody’s got that campsite and there is only group allowed per campsite. I ask. Believe me…I ask. Bull shit, I think. We regroup and discuss our options.

Mr. Bob, “We’ll have to head back to Windy Point. We passed an empty campsite there.” Mr. Bob points off in the wrong direction.

Me, “That’s not Windy Point.” I point towards Windy Point. “That’s Windy Point.”

Mr. Bob, scoffing, “That’s not Windy Point, it’s there.” He points in the wrong direction.

Me, “No, it’s back there.”

Mr. Bob, “I know these waters like I know the back of my hand. I’ve canoed in them all my life. You’re wrong.”

Me, “I don’t think so. That’s Windy Point.”

Mr. Bob, “You’re wrong. It’s that way.”

Hubby, “You know, Mr. Bob, she’s usually right when it comes to directions and finding our way. It would be very unlike her to get so turned around.”

Mr. Bob, “No! It’s there! We’re going there!”

So off we go…there…downwind. There is no chance of retracing our path in this wind. We round a headland and paddle with the wind down a long, isolated channel. No sign of a campsite. No sign of human existence, nothing. We beach the canoes so Mr. Bob can take a GPS reading on his brand new GPS.

My question: If you know these waters like the back of your hand, why the hell do you need a new GPS? Did you bring a damn compass? No…that would make sense.

Mr. Bob stares at his GPS for 30 minutes. “This thing is messed up,” he announces. Of course it couldn’t possibly be operator error. Hmmmm?

Mr. Bob, “Okay, I know where we are. The campsite is on the far side of the channel and further in.”

We follow Mr. Bob…right into a swamp. We are lost. We cannot return the way we came due to the gale force winds and white caps. We’ve ventured far from the main channel. There is not a single sign of civilization. Hubby and I look at each other.

Hubby, hissing in my ear, “Nobody has been down this channel since the area was first explored in the 1600′s.”

Me, “We are so fucked.”

Mr. and Mrs. Bob, “We’re going to paddle up along the shore and see if we can make it to a campsite we think is right around the corner.”

Hubby, “No…wait, we shouldn’t split up.”

Me, “No…wait, you have all the food.”

Too late. They’ve vanished in their canoe that cuts through the water like butter. If they don’t return, we are stuck here, at least until the wind dies down enough to allow us to paddle to some channel where we might be seen and rescued. I get out and explore the area. I find an occupied beaver lodge, a huge pile of moose shit, and big blobs of fresh bear scat. We are majorly fucked.

After an hour, Mr. and Mrs. Bob return. I’m relieved to see them, but only because they have the food pack.

Mr. Bob, “We’re stuck. We can’t even get out of here in our canoe. We’re wind-bound. Last year, some people were wind-bound for a week.”

Me, “Oh hell no. I have a plane to catch Saturday. I am not going to be wind-bound. If I have to swim to the goddamn main channel, I’ll swim and I’ll wave my red life jacket around until someone rescues me. I’m going to be on that plane if it kills me.”

Mr. Bob, “You worry too much.”

I have to go stand near the bear shit to cool off. I’m sending out bear vibes, hoping a bear comes and eats Mr. Bob tonight.

I return to help set up camp. Mr. Bob has placed our makeshift kitchen in the worst of the gale force winds. I find a sheltered place near the beaver lodge. Mrs. Bob and I move the kitchen. The men set up the camp stove and we boil water for hot drinks, since we are all frozen. We each have a hot chocolate, after which Mrs. Bob packs up the hot chocolate with the words, “The rest of these are for Mr. Bob. I only brought enough for him.” WTF? She reaches inside the day pack they’ve used to bring the food, a day pack which shocks me by it’s small size and lack of mass. It’s a canoe trip for god’s sake! Weight doesn’t matter. You can bring a whole fucking refrigerator if you want! Oh…wait…that would be our canoe…

To my horror, Mrs. Bob pulls out a small package of dried instant stuffing and a small can of chicken. “This is our supper,” she announces. “Go drain the chicken.”

“No,” I shriek, “keep the chicken water, we need the calories!” I rifle through the bag. OMG! OMG! OMG! My math impaired brain makes some quick calculations…Mr. and Mrs. Bob have planned the meals to provide each of us approximately 600-800 calories per day. We’ll be burning 3000-4000 calories per day. A body at rest burns 1200 calories per day just for basic metabolic functions. That’s a calorie deficit of 2200-3200 calories per day. And if we’re stuck here for more than four days? We are so going to die.

Hubby ‘o’ mine eats his three-quarter cup of stuffing and then asks, “When’s supper?” He’s assumed that Mr. and Mrs. Bob, as self-proclaimed gourmands, will have packed fabulous meals for us.

“This is supper,” I say, beginning to channel Jack Nicholson from The Shining. I look around for an ax.

After doing the supper dishes and watching Mr. and Mrs. Bob pack them neatly into their little compartments in the kitchen pack, I retire to my tent to nurse my rage. Tossing and turning for hours, I finally leave the tent at 4 a.m. to sit on the shore. I watch the beaver family, mama and papa and two kits, play barely five feet from me, for three hours and I feel calm. Screw Mr. and Mrs. Bob. Hubby and I will survive. When we leave this campsite, I’m taking the food pack.

Tomorrow: One Fun Day

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It’s beautiful in Northern Minnesota.

The arboreal forest is so thick you cannot walk through it unless you come across a short game trail. Once in the forest, mere yards from the shore, the water disappears, all sound is absorbed by the trees and the heavy undergrowth. There are no landmarks to guide you, and there is not a single hint of civilization. Without a compass and/or a very good sense of direction, you are lost. There are black bears, moose, deer, wolves, bobcats, cougars, river otters, beavers, porcupines, bald eagles - and those are just the animals we saw or suspected came through our campsites.

It could have been a great trip. And in some weird way, it was, but only because we survived.

Arrival - Our host and guide shall hereafter be known as Mr. Bob. His wife shall be known as Mrs. Bob.

Mr. Bob meets us at a marina in the middle of nowhere and ferries us to his lakeside cabin. There are no roads. The cabin is both rustic and modern, the forest closes in on three sides while the front faces the lake in a view that is beyond compare. Mr. and Mrs. Bob are very fortunate to live is such glorious surroundings, even if it is only during the months of May through September.

Red Flag number one: On a tour of the spotless, spider-web free, boathouse, Mr. Bob shows us his neatly stacked, slick, pristine, high-tech, fiberglass canoes. Two of them. He lovingly caresses the canoe he and Mrs. Bob plan to launch the next day and exhibits their hand-carved wooden paddles. He points out another set of hand-carved wooden paddles - older paddles.

Hubby, reaching for the second set - “So, are these our paddles?”

Mr. Bob, snatching the paddles from hubby’s hand - “No, these are your paddles.” Hands hubby a set of worn, frayed plastic paddles.

Hubby, pointing to second high-tech canoe - “Is this our canoe?”

Mr. Bob, laughing - “No. Your canoe is…” cue dramatic organ music, sudden gust of wind, followed by dark, ominous clouds, lightning and a crack of thunder…“over there…”

Scenes from Vertigo flit through my head.

Hubby and I walk over to the far end of the property to look at the Grumman, our canoe. It lays all by its lonesome across two two by fours.

Hubby, in a whisper - “This thing hasn’t been paddled since the Civil War. I think it’s Old Iron Sides.”

I look at the creature and think…I got a baaaaad feeling about this trip.

Flash of lightning…crash of thunder. Tippi Hedrin…The Birds…the Psycho falling down the stairs scene.

Red Flag number two: Supper is delicious…but…it is served to us in perfectly apportioned plates, the portion sizes fitted precisely to the approximate height and weight of each guest. It is made very clear that there will be no more and no less. We are instructed to pay attention to the color of our cloth napkin because we will know where to sit for any and all future meals by the placement of our color-coded napkin.

Cold wind blows through me, causing me to shiver. I swear I catch a glimpse of Alfred Hitchcock on the lower walkway.

Red Flag number three: After the dishes are done, Mrs. Bob asks - “What do you eat for breakfast?”

Me - “Do you mean for the canoe trip?”

Mrs. Bob - “Yes.”

Me - “What are you packing?”

Mrs. Bob - “Strawberry instant oatmeal.”

Me, in seizure mode - “Huh?”

Mrs. Bob - “Strawberry instant oatmeal.”

Me - “I don’t eat instant oatmeal. It makes me instantly hypoglycemic and then I get a migraine. Can we bring some peanut butter?”

Mrs. Bob - “No. The food is all packed.”

Me, hyperventilating - “But…but…”

Mrs. Bob walks away. In her wake, rain lashes the windows, wind whips the trees, bending them double. Lightning flashes directly above the skylight. I’m flashing on The Hound of the Baskervilles or possibly Murder in the Rue Morgue.

Red Flag number four: Mrs. Bob comes upstairs to our open sleeping loft. She thrusts two towels into my hands. “These are your towels for the duration of your visit. Do not lose them. Do not leave them lying around. Hang them on these racks,” she points to the wall next to our bed, “and no other racks. You may not use any other towels.”

OMG! OMG! OMG! What if I forget my towel when I go downstairs to use the shower? What color is my napkin? Strawberry instant oatmeal??? Old Iron Sides weighs a ton and there’s a big dent in the keel. My paddle is a ratty piece of black plastic. I toss and turn all night, knowing that tomorrow I will die.

Tomorrow - Day One - No good deed goes unpunished.

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Stay tuned!

Once I manage to think clearly and stop giggling, I will tell you the gripping tale of our life and death struggle in the Boundary Waters of Northern Minnesota.

Lost, no phone, no food, no hope of rescue…with Mr. and Mrs. I know these waters like the back of my hand as our guides.

It’s circumstances like these that show you what kind of stuff you are made of…and you learn that you can control yourself and not kill the people who got you into these circumstances in the first place, although you can fantasize about it…

Okay, later - off to get my puppy!

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stays in Minnesota.

Mostly that means crashing after weeks of extreme sleep-deprivation with a little sumthin’ sumthin’ thrown in!

The weather isn’t bad, the lakes are beautiful, no mosquito bites so far, went boating on the St. Croix today. Heading north to the Boundary Waters on Monday morning.

Wolfgang Puck is a god. I swear it. Wolfgang Puck is a God. Ate at his restaurant, 20.21 Minneapolis, in the Walker Arts Center last night. OMFG! I could live on his udon noodles with yellow curry sauce for the rest of my fucking life. I want Wolfgang to move in with me and make me those curry noodles every single day. That and a tray of his very own dim sum creations. My mouth is watering at the memory. Talk about a spiritual awakening to food…Wolfgang - your flavors caressed my soul! Dear Mr. Puck, please read this blog so you’ll know how much I loved 20.21 Minneapolis.

Got some more edits - these for Daughters of Persephone Book Three Reborn and Book Four Red Demon. I’m going to take advantage of this brief moment of quiet to work.

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This is so exciting!

Anytime Darlin’, my cowboy romance, just became available for pre-sale! Oh! I am in love with this book! It’s my firstborn!

http://www.bookstrand.com/anytime-darlin

What a nice present just before I leave for my canoe trip. Thank you Siren!

Oh, also, Daughters of Persephone is on the What’s Hot List all All Romance Ebooks. I have absolutely no idea what this means.

http://www.allromanceebooks.com/index.html#whatsHot

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This picture is labeled ‘funny cat fight’. Fighting ain’t so funny.

Just before we leave, life gets crazy to the point of insane. I think I will be happy to be without a cell phone and the internet for a week.

I doubt I’ll have time to post Friday - we leave at 4 a.m., so ya’ll be good, read lots of books and I’ll see you when I see you.

Drop by Rhobin’s Rambles: http://rhobinsrambles.blogspot.com/

She’s posted one of the best blogs I’ve read on why some of us love to write science fiction and science fiction romance - you get an overview from many wonderful authors, including moi. Just FYI.

Much love, Julia

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Edits!

Edits!

Edits!

I have to finish these up today. The edits for books three and four of Daughters of Persephone were due on Monday, but my editor’s computer crashed so I’m SOL.

We’re leaving Friday and I will not be able to do much of anything internet related for ten days.

Remember lovely ladies, Anytime Darlin’ will be released on August 26th. I won’t be here until the 30th. Take care of my baby! I’ll miss my puppy too. Jake had his first visit to the vet today. It did not go well. I could hear him screaming from the parking lot when they took him into the back to give him his shots.

Back to edits!

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I do not read romance when I’m writing. This is my hard and fast rule.

I was writing, now I’m working frantically on edits because I’m leaving town Friday and I will be sans internet and indoor plumbing for a week. (God help me.)

Two days ago, hubby ‘o’ mine issued a challenge, who could finish Katalina Leon’s BDSM masterpiece, Noblesword, first - him on his Kindle or me with my pdf version. Because I was writing, he had a full day’s head start. But taaa daaa! I finished first since I didn’t sleep the entire fucking night. Pardon my French.

Noblesword is my first, ever (and his), erotic read about domination and submission. This is a foreign land. It feels a bit like eating forbidden fruit. If handled improperly, this genre could really really suck or blow or be flat out rotten.

However, Katalina binds together her subject matter and her characters with delicate, bright, lively, silken threads. Her writing style is intelligent, nuanced and elegant - she does not dumb anything down, which I totally appreciate. For crying out loud, she refers to M.C. Escher and the Greek Eleusinian Mysteries (which of course have to do with the cult of Persephone…i.e. Daughters of Persephone…gotcha!). The erotic scenes are, well, they are sensual rather than graphic, and quite frankly because of that, wildly arousing. Um…ask hubby about the first third of the book. Guess who got to be the recipient?

Noblesword is above all, about emotional growth and honesty - both as an individual and within a relationship. And, lucky Katalina, the book has a perfect cover.

From Katalina’s site: http://www.katalinaleon.com/book-shelf.php

Go. Buy. Enjoy.

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I think if you hold your cursor over these, you get a number. Which do you like best? Or do you prefer yesterday’s photo? I have no idea what to choose. Besides, I’m too stressed to think about it right now. You know that saying…you are only as happy as your least happy child? Well, in that mode, unfortunately. Just when you think things are smoothing out, BAM! Sigh. I’m at Romance in the Backseat today, discussing Mythology! Drop by: http://naughtyinthebackseat.com/blog/?p=125

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Remember to drop by Michelle’s Book Blog and give yourself a chance to win a signed print copy of Captured - you can read my interview too and see one of my new head shots! http://michellesramblins.blogspot.com/

She’s posted both an interview with me and a lovely review of Captured, one of my favorite books to write.

This is head shot number one. I climbed a tree for this shot. I look happy and it seems as if I have cleavage. I don’t. It’s the push-up bra and the tree branch I’m leaning on. Jewish people may have cleavage, but they get nervous when they look happy - it attracts the evil eye. And no, I’m not wearing make-up. Make-up makes me look like Bozo the Clown. Or maybe Ronald McDonald.

Anyway - I’ll be posting head shots this week and you all can choose the one you want me to use for my blog. You decide. As I said, this is option number one.

I finished reading Catching Fire, How Cooking Made Us Human - it’s a great fast nonfiction read. The author, Richard Wrangham, kept me enthralled with his very easy to understand theories on the cooking of food and how it influenced the rapid and astounding evolution of the human brain, the human body, and the division of labor between the sexes. My next book? Spice, the History of a Temptation, by Jack Turner. Cannot wait! In my TBR pile? Mukiwa, A White Boy in Africa and When a Crocodile Eats the Sun, both by Peter Godwin. On ebooks I’ve got romance author, Katalina Leon‘s entire libraray - yummy! I plan to start with Noblesword.

The puppy, Jake, is out in the backyard running his little feet, oops, his big feet off, after his doggy cousin who is visiting for a few hours. She’s an 18-month old German shepherd-coon hound mix. I used to think she was crazy. Compared to Jake, she’s an angel.

Many thanks to those of you who’ve signed up for my newsletter. I still have three unconfirmed email addresses I cannot access. Check your spam folder and see if the confirmation letter is there.

Oh, one more thing - I got word from Siren yesterday that the release of my full-length cowboy romance, Anytime Darlin’, is scheduled for August 26. I won’t be around - I’ll be canoeing in the Boundary Waters in Northern Minnesota. I love all my books, but Anytime Darlin’ is very, very special. I encourage you to give it a try!

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My hero: Steven Slater of Jet Blue. This Chinese re-enactment is priceless. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QBvakgglAPM

Purchase these tin banks from this man: http://www.blueq.com/shop/114-catId.117440656_114-productId.0.html

He and my sister had a wonderful conversation via the internet. She kept trying to purchase a tin bank, but the site repeatedly refused her credit card. As instructed per the site, she emailed the webmaster about the problem. The webmaster is, of course, the owner of the store. He responded - My dear sweet (let’s call her) Mary. I believe the problem may lie in the year you’ve entered. I don’t recall credit cards being readily available in the year 1012. Perhaps you’d like to purchase the bank with a bag of grain or a wheel of cheese or a skin of wine? Thus was born a friendship! I love these banks! See if you can view both sides.

I’m an interviewee at Michelle’s Book Blog today, Saturday - please drop by - http://michellesramblins.blogspot.com/

You’ll even get to see a real photo of me and you might win a prize! Here’s her review of Captured. It’s lovely.

Captured is the first book I have read by author Julia Rachel Barrett and I really enjoyed it.
Mari Damon never in her wildest imaginings, thought she would find herself being held captive in a cage on a spaceship. Trying to get her bearings, Mari listens as her captors discuss their cargo. The language sounds familiar - Mari can almost pick out a word or two - and with time and patience she is sure she can speak this language.
Ekkatt has never had one of the females wake ahead of schedule. When the red haired female speaks to him - he responds in English, telling her she must go back to sleep. But when the female attempts to carry on a conversation with him - Ekkatt is amused and curious. Surely it would not hurt to allow her to remain awake.
Mari sees befriending Ekkatt as her only chance of survival - but she is not aware of the strict laws the Attun race have in place. Human women are seen as nothing more than cattle - and the Attun do not interact with cattle.
Captured is a great read. The entire premise of this book is unlike any I have read before and I would be happy to read more.

I give Captured 4 out of 5 stars.

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What am I reading? I am a huge-amongus fan of nonfiction. My current massively enjoyable read is Catching Fire, How Cooking Made Us Human, by Richard Wrangham, professor of Biological Anthropology at Harvard University.

“A man does not live on what he eats, an old proverb says, but on what he digests.” Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin, The Physiology of Taste: Or Meditations on Transcendental Gastronomy.

Love this book!

What am I watching? Baseball, mostly. Haven’t been to a movie in ages and I’d love to go. I want to see Salt and Inception and The Kids are All Right.

The puppy is angel pup by day, devil pup by night - keeps me busy! I have to carry around this thirty pound 9 1/2 week old puppy. He’s a big guy!

I got my first review for Daughters of Persephone from Happily Ever After Reviews:

“I’ve read other books by Julia Barrett, so I was eager to start Daughters of Persephone. I commend Ms. Barrett for the time and devotion in creating a realistic sci-fi world with its own terms and rules. You are pulled into the realism of a new world and kept there by the larger than life characters.”

Here’s the link: http://hea-reviews.blogspot.com/2010/08/review-daughters-of-persephone-by-julia.html

Michelle, over at Michelle’s Book Blog - posted this great review for Captured. Here’s the link. I’ll post the entire review tomorrow: http://michellesramblins.blogspot.com/

ATTENTION: THREE PEOPLE HAVE SUBSCRIBED TO MY NEWSLETTER BUT HAVE NOT CONFIRMED. PLEASE CONFIRM OR YOU WILL NOT BE ADDED TO THE MAILING LIST. I CAN’T ACCESS YOUR EMAILS. IF YOU ARE HAVING PROBLEMS CONFIRMING, EMAIL ME AT: Julia@JuliaRachelBarrett.net and I will get you confirmed! Thanks!

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WWII German superspy, the Needle, who gravitates towards murder using his trusty switchblade, discovers vital evidence about the Allies D-Day invasion. He makes for the Scotish coast to escape on a U-Boat when his small boat is shipwrecked before being picked up and the Needle is washed ashore. He is saved by a man destined to never enter the war and his wife and child. The Needle quickly falls in love with the woman and both must decide between their love or country.

Eye of the Needle is a 1981 film directed by Richard Marquand, based on the novel of the same title by Ken Follett, and starring Donald Sutherland. The Storm Island scenes were shot over eight weeks on the Isle of Mull in the Inner Hebrides.

Rebecca, of Dirty Sexy Books, recently ran a post about movies in which she asked - have you ever watched a movie that so intrigued you, it ignited an interest in reading the book it was based on? I responded - no. I lied! I realized that I loved the suspenseful movie, Eye of the Needle, so much that I ran out and bought the book, read it cover to cover, enjoying both the movie and the book equally. Donald Sutherland and Kate Nelligan were brilliant. Sutherland plays the vicious WWII German spy, der Nadel, (self-explanatory if you read the book or watch the movie). Kate Nelligan plays an intelligent, long-suffering married woman. She’s lonely and isolated, desperate for affection and attention and quite frankly, she needs a compassionate, empathetic shoulder to lean on. Sutherland wants to be that shoulder, among other body parts. The passion and the tragedy in the movie and the book tore me up because…well…if you’ve got Netflix, rent the film or buy the book. In addition, one of the most appealing things about the characters is that they are real - they do not have perfect bodies or use body doubles.

Okay, sexy guys! I have new sexy guys on TV, and one girl crush. Let’s leave True Blood out of this, I’m talking network TV and The Travel Channel. Bear with me now!

Sexy guy number one: Alex O’Laughlin, the Australian actor who played reluctant vampire Mick St. John in the short-lived series, Moonlight - which I loved and I was totally pissed off when the network pulled the show! He’s in the new Hawaii Five-O and I cannot wait because he’s starring with my girl crush, my favorite Cylon, former BSG-er Grace Park, better known as the Sharons or the Eights. Oh God, I adore the Sharons!

See? Alex. Yum.

Sexy guy number two - Anthony Bourdain, of No Reservations on the Travel Channel. From the moment I saw him on Food Network - way back when - his risque bad boy behavior pushed all my right buttons. When The Food Network lost him, or canned him, I don’t know which, the channel lost their edge. He’s got all the right stuff - great face, great voice, great body, great bad boy aura of danger, and food chops to boot. Again…yummm.

Who’s on your list?

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wrote an interesting article about the rapidity of change in the publishing world. It seems like she’s pretty much wondering, what will be the ultimate cost and who will pay it? Will publishing houses change the way they do business or will they no longer be in business? Will print authors continue to write or will this new technology and the resulting changes drive them to retire from storytelling? Make sure to read the comments - some are fascinating - not mine, of course.

Well…I think everything will come out in the wash. The pace of change is difficult to accept, but not impossible to surmount. I love this brave new world, as do my tech-savvy children and my gadget-obsessed husband. He claims he’s read more books since receiving his Christmas Kindle than he’s read in the previous two years. He uses the audio feature to listen to his books as he commutes. Apparently, he doesn’t mind the mechanical sounding voice.

Here’s a link to Jane’s post: http://dearauthor.com/wordpress/2010/08/10/is-the-wylie-deal-creating-unhealthy-expectations/ and also a link to an interview with author Pat Conroy (Prince of Tides, The Great Santini) - who is quite sanguine about the changes. He doesn’t read e-books, but he lets his agent handle marketing the digital rights to his work. Here’s a quote from the article:

“Among the country’s most beloved writers, the 64-year-old Conroy hasn’t allowed his distance from the digital world to keep him from joining it. Much of his work is available electronically and four of his older books, including “The Prince of Tides” and “The Great Santini,” are coming out this month — starting Tuesday — through Open Road Integrated Media, a digital company co-founded a year ago by former HarperCollins CEO Jane Friedman and film producer Jeff Sharp.”

http://www.google.com/hostednews/canadianpress/article/ALeqM5gAdeaY68ZSvBDonbLggbpvC0RMuA

Go Mr. Conroy! I loved The Great Santini, by the way.

Seems this is all anyone’s talking about these days…the internet and what it means when it comes to the publishing industry. Tomorrow, something completely different - the sexiest guys on TV and OMG, I told an accidental lie!

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