Ten, Nine, Eight...

How quickly this week has sped by compared with how slowly time passed while I was counting down the hours until my launch with equal amounts of excitement and nervousness. Would anyone come? Would too many people come? If they came would they think it had been worthwhile to trek across town in peak hour traffic in all that heat? What part of the book should I read? What sort of speech should I give?

At first I was determined not to cry and not to upset my dad. But that made it impossible to find an extract to read, and everything I thought of to say sounded superficial.

Nicola introduces the evening.

And then, a few days before the launch, the words of that song, 'It's my party' began to play in my head. It's so weird how that happens, that you realise you've been humming a song that is absolutely appropriate to whatever you've been thinking about, as though a DJ in your head is rummaging through all your old records for a soundtrack.

'It's my party and I'll cry if I want to. You would cry too if it happened to you.' And it was true. What had happened to my family was sad. And you would cry too if it happened to you. I decided that if I cried, I cried. That left me free to say whatever I wanted to.

My speech

Lucky I'd made that decision, because I was crying before I even began to speak. I hadn't counted on being so moved by the words spoken by Nicola my editor, who emceed the proceedings and Clare who launched the book so beautifully.

Me, Clare, Emma and Nicola.

What touched me most? That Emma had arranged everything so perfectly, and even offered to pick me up. That so many people made such an effort to come and then said such lovely things. Some people had read the book already and wanted to tell me how much it had touched them. Others bought several copies, confident that they'd love it. Friends, relations, fellow writers, acquaintances I haven't seen in years - Readings was crowded.

I felt overwhelmed by gratitude. My daughter K had baked delicious chocolate chip cookies; my daughter M brought me fresh herbs and vegetables from her garden; my daughter E gave me wonderful advice, her skirt to wear, a card that made me cry, and a keepcup for when she buys me takeaway coffee on the weekend; and my daughter A rang, texted and emailed from San Francisco where she lives.

The author signs copies.

Readings sold out of books and all the cookies went. All in all a very successful evening.

Book Launch

This evening's the launch of Alzheimer's: a love story, the story of my parents and the love they shared, love that did not end with the onset of my mother's Alzheimer's Disease.

Speech written. Check.
Extract to read chosen. Check.
Outfit laid out ready to wear. Check.
Hair washed. Checked.
Cookies baked. Check.
Sweets bought. Check.
Farmdoc here. Check.

All systems go.

I'm feeling excited and a little nervous. I'm sure I'll be overwhelmed once I'm there, surrounded by friends, family, well wishers and members of my wonderful writing community. But I hope I can enjoy it too.

My mother would have been so proud and happy for me. 'You look beautiful,' she'd have whispered to me when she saw me. It wouldn't even have been the words so much as the tone and the look on her face.

I hope the evening's not too difficult for my father without his beloved tucked in close to him. But I'm proud of my book and I know he is too. And I'm moved by the support everyone has given me.

Launch Cookies

I posted a bit of a rant on my blog over the weekend, but a friend of mine misunderstood it completely, so I thought maybe other people would too, and that maybe it was in part the heat that was stoking my irritability, so I took it down. I might rewrite it and repost it when there’s a cool change - both external and internal.

Meanwhile, with the temperature today already over 30 degrees, I’m heating my apartment (and cooling my mood) still further, by baking cookies for Thursday evening's launch at Readings. Crazy, I know, but fun too. I'm making Steven Amsterdam's Cinnamon Launch Cookies. I figure if they were good enough for the launch of Things We Didn’t See Coming, which was the winner of this year's Age Book of the Year, then they're good enough for Alzheimer's: a Love Story.

I didn't make it to Steven's launch because I was in Tasmania, though I heard it was terrific, and he can't be at mine, unfortunately, but his cookies will certainly be there.

I preheated my oven to 150 C. and lined cookie sheets with paper. Then I ground 120 grams of lightly toasted pecan nuts with 60 grams of caster sugar in my trusty food processor and set this aside.

Next, I creamed 450 grams of room temperature unsalted butter with 120 grams of sugar and a teaspoon of vanilla extract and then mixed in 500 grams plain flour, a teaspoon of salt and one tablespoon of cinnamon. Last, I added the ground nuts.

This batter doesn’t spread much, so while I listened to music from the Newport Folk Festival, I rolled teaspoonfuls into the size of large cherry tomatoes and put them reasonably close to each other on the baking tray.

In my oven these took between 15 and 20 minutes to bake until they were beginning to brown around the edges. Actually, that's what you should do; I left mine in a bit long.

I lifted them off the baking tray and onto a wire rack with an egg lift and left them for five minutes. Then, while they were still warm, I gently rolled them in icing sugar and put them on another piece of baking paper and sifted more icing sugar on top.

This recipe makes about 80 small cookies. The dough freezes well, so you could bake half a batch and save the rest for another time if you wanted. I'm expecting around 100 people at my launch so I baked the whole quantity.

If you're in Melbourne at 6.30 on Thursday, drop into Readings to say hi and taste a cookie.