“I have to canoodle him, like I always do to people,” Jeff says.
“Canoodle?” Lori asks. “That’s not an SAT word.”
“Nope. It’s just one of my favorites. It means to get your way with someone by coaxing or flattering them. I do it to people all the time. I practice it.”
“You imp. But I thought it meant to make out with someone,” she says with a sly grin.
“That’s the other meaning, as in ‘he tried to canoodle her into canoodling with him in the canoe.’”
“I’m on to you, Jeff.”
— Canoedling in Cleveland, p. 80
Last weekend was our first trip to Cleveland in 2015 to present my new novel to the people of that city. We went to the Parma-Snow Branch of the Cuyahoga Public Library to their Author Conference & Showcase. Parma-Snow is one of twenty-eight Cuyahoga branches in suburban Cleveland, which I’m proud to say contain five copies of Canoedling in Cleveland. In their auditorium in the morning we listened to speakers give tips on publishing, and in the afternoon, we sat at our table, in a room surrounded by other authors, chatting with customers and trying to canoodle them into buying our books. One we were successful with happened to live on the street I grew up on in Rocky River. We shared stories of neighbors and which houses we lived in. Another woman said she saw us last year at the Burning River Fest at the mouth of the Cuyahoga.
The author across the aisle from us said she and her husband had won the Vermilion Canoe Race last spring from Birmingham City Park to Lake Erie, and I told her about the canoe stories in my novel, including the fearsome vermi-lions, the evil lion-worms for which the river is named (vermi in Latin means worm). Another woman said that she was from Vermilion. I said I hoped I would see her at the Vermilion Fish Festival where we will have a table from June 19-21.