Out in the yard, Luke has his old car on jacks, hood open, two of the tires removed.  The kids took off the exhaust as they needed it to repair Nicky’s old Civic.  Beside that wreck there’s a huge pile of pine needles from the yard, topped with my former gate.

It was weird as I was looking out the kitchen window at the dump truck sized pile of pine needles, and I was thinking about how nice it’d be to have them hauled away.  Then I thought to myself, what the heck is that white structure right on the top?  I had to leave the house and walk over as I was so intrigued by the gleaming whiteness and symmetry of the object.

I soon realized it was the gate from the top of the stairs leading to the landing at my front door!  I wondered why in the name of God in Heaven my children would’ve removed that without asking me.  However I had to admit to myself I’ve always hated that gate and never understood its purpose.

I asked the kids, and they explained the wood in the gate was rotten and it no longer closed.  I said fine, but can you please get rid of the pine needles, random garbage and the car on jacks for me?  I’m hoping this’ll be done within the next few weeks, as we have even more German relatives due April 29th.

Currently a really nice couple, aged 24 named Nicola and Sebastian, are here until the end of June.  They’re going to volunteer at the Red Cross for a couple of hours a day to improve their English.  I helped them find a cute furnished basement suite in the Mission, and they’re happy touring around the Okanagan.

Sadly, they have to use Nicky’s 1992 Civic.  The exhaust fell off in what I consider to be a very lucky place.  They were visiting mom in Osoyoos, and had been sight-seeing all the way there, taking a nice detour to Naramata and back.  Then just past mom’s the incident occured, and they were able to reach her and let her know they were stuck.

Mom called her neighbour, Gerry, a self-sufficient farmer, who drove right up, wired and duct-taped the exhaust back on, and sent them on their merry way.  It was an excellent opportunity for the German kids to see Canadian ingenuity in action.

They’ve learned how to bump-start a vehicle, too, which I said to mom will be another invaluable skill someday.  The first time it occurred they phoned and said the car was stalled on a busy street.  Nicky got on the phone and calmly said for them to push to car, jump in and make sure it’s in second gear, then let the clutch out abruptly.

We held our breath, and I said those kids’ll be phoning any minute asking you to go and help them.  But we waited, and then they phoned and said they had started the car on their own!

After this incident they felt completely happy to drive the car to Big White, which I thought was exceedingly brave on their part.  Yesterday they took my suggested route to Vernon and around Westside Road back to Kelowna.  Maybe we’ll make Canadians out of them yet.

For once I’ve made a list of plants before driving off to the nurseries.  I have every intention of buying them while sitting here at my computer, but when I get to Art Knapps or The Greenery, something happens.  If I can’t find the exact plant I want, instead of waiting or looking elsewhere for it, I buy a random substitute.

Sometimes I hate my list by the time I’m in the store and prefer all the lovely things they have on display instead.  Then I get home with an unruly assortment of finicky plants that don’t fit in anywhere.

You’ll recall I hired a landscaper last year, and had the lower lawn converted to a xeriscape garden.  This year I’m going to continue on my own, and hope to find some of the plants used down there for beds around the upper deck.  Imagine how beautiful it could be if all one uniform, sensible theme.

But why would I think that’d occur outside when inside my closets there’s a riot of colours and styles, I’m not sure.  I don’t think I’m a One Theme kind of person.  When I look at my recently-purchased Bill Blass pumps ($6 at Sally Ann) beside my pink canvas flats, I can see competing moods, can’t you?

I don’t think gardening’s going to be the fun it used to be, thanks to the new house across the street and now some type of hotel being built on the bluff behind me!  I e mailed a city councillor yesterday and asked her why that’s allowed in this rural area.

As you know my greatest joy is pushing the wheelbarrow around in summer while in my underwear, and now I can see that’s going to cause a lot of anxiety for many people.  Naturally, I refuse to budge on how I dress in my own yard, so all I can say is, if thine eyes offend thee, pluck them out.

But for me it’s also kind of disconcerting as now I’ll have to make sure to keep my stomach pulled in at all times.  Try to do that while gardening and you’ll see what I mean about my summers being less fun.

You can imagine my profound disappointment last week at the Rutland Hospital Auxiliary Thrift Store.  They had three pairs of Joseph Ribkoff pants for $2 a pair, but all were too small.  But I managed to find darling Liz Claiborne cuffed stretch jeans for the same price, so left placated.

One of my goals was to clean up my newsletter bulk e mail recipients by deleting old e mail addresses and adding new contacts.  As I worked on it last week I was thrilled to recall I had the addresses of everyone contacted regarding our 40th high school reunion last year.

So that was a windfall of contacts, and I added all of those.  Then as usual, when I sent out my March newsletter, orders followed.  It’s a fabulous marketing tool, for sure.

We’ve got German relatives here and I baked a banana loaf and gave it to them, and they loved it.  Luke’s coming home in a day or two, so I’ll be baking and cooking for him, whether he wants it or not.  I suppose that remains my main theme:  Food Production.

The sad news is dear Gerry Bruck departed this Earth at 5:30 PM on Friday March 8th.  However, he had my mom, his dog and his two sons at his side, so he was well-supported on his journey.  Mom decided to have a cocktail party for him on Sunday, the 10th, so one was quickly organized.

It was great because at least 40 people were there, all with a special relationship to Gerry.  People said how much they enjoyed getting to know him, and when you think of moving somewhere at age 87 and being able to make so many friends, at that age, it’s quite remarkable.

The party started at 4:00 PM and people were handed glasses of wine as they arrived.  Jerralynn had made some nice h’ors d’oeuvres, and Ginette and I helped with preparing some crackers and finger foods.

The mayor was the MC and he started by telling a tale of his experience with mom and Gerry when he visited them in Nicaragua.  Then he invited others to speak, and several lovely speeches were made.  Nicky spoke beautifully about how he loved Gerry for how happy he made his gramma.  Both of Gerry’s sons gave heart-felt speeches.

By 6:00 PM most people had cleared out, and we were left with the die-hards.  After an hour of being the recipients of wine-inspired pontifications delivered at about 100 decibels, mom managed to wedge the mayor out the door.  When I counted the empty wine bottles, I saw 28 had been drunk.

However, some people had half a glass, and a few had none, so I think several people had at least a bottle to themselves in that short time.  Gerry Jr, still on Manhattan time even after a week’s visit, was completely inebriated and had to go to bed at 8:00 PM.

In other words, it was a fitting good-bye to Gerry from the Osoyoos crowd.  I think he would’ve been very happy over all of it, and knowing that made all of us feel good too.  In fact mom hopped right into the bed Gerry had died in and I slept in the same room that night, too, because his passing was as natural as birth.

One of the lovely things Gerry’s son David talked about in his speech was about the way Gerry carried on.  He loved to ski, but when he developed macular degeneration he had to stop at age 88.  He did his last run, and put away his skis for good, saying that was great for 80 years but that’s it.

He was an artist and painted, and when he couldn’t paint anymore he had to put away his brushes and paints.  Same thing, he put them away saying wow, that was great, but now it’s over.  He never brooded about things that were out of his control.

In his last years he enjoyed sitting in his chair with the dog on his lap, listening to books on tape or watching CNN.  His mind was always active, and he remained in an excellent mood until the day he died.

So trust me when I tell you this:  we all have a happy button, but some people choose not to turn it on.  He chose to turn his on every day, and I plan to continue to emulate that until my last breath.

This beautiful Buddhist chant means devotion to the mystical law, and I’ve been chanting like a lunatic all week.  Poor dear Gerry, who is to turn 98 on March 13th, is gravely ill and we’re all holding vigil at his bedside.  This makes it very hard to be in a witty mood, though he’d want that as he’s an extremely funny man.

Gerry moved in with my mom when he was 87 and she was 77.  They got their first dog the following year, and Schwartzie the poodle is now 9 years old.  The funniest part of that is how much mom has always hated pets, and now says getting the poodle was the best thing they ever did.

Gerry was born in New York, and when I try to describe Gerry to people I say, “He’s Woody Allan’s dad.”  And truly, when Woody is that age, he’ll talk and look exactly like Gerry.

For example, two days ago the nurse came into the house to visit Gerry in his bed.  She said to him, “Are you comfortable?” and he shrugged and said in his New York accent, “I make a good living.”  Bada boom.

And so we shouldn’t be sad, but it’s always hard not to go berserk when you care about someone who’s departing this Earth.  But he’s got my mom, his two sons David and Gerry Jr and Schwartzie at his bedside, so he’s in a very upbeat mood.

I’m semi-joyful with some small progress on my memoir Nuttier than a Fruitcake.  You have no idea how enjoyable it is to recount the beginnings of the fruitcake business.  The hard part is to stop obsessing over details like how to improve a sentence, and to just keep moving ever onwards to completion.  That’s when all the picky editing can begin.

Many beginning writers would kill to have this, but I have a creative writing department professor from UBC Okanagan who’s going to read my manuscript and edit it for me!  Crazy or what?  And then I’ll have to see if I can figure out an e book, and hope for the best.  And really, as long as it’s a fun exercise, that’s the main thing.

And then purely for health I left the computer and did some brisk walking around the thrift stores to break up any clots that might be forming from prolonged sitting.  An amazing find occurred at the Salvation Army thrift store as I got a pair of vintage Bill Blass pumps in mint condition for $6.00.

That sort of thing puts a person in an excellent mood of optimism.  And sure enough I found a McCalls tunic pattern for 50 cents at the Mennonite thrift store.  Uncontrollable, I went into the Bibles for Missions and bought an adorable sapphire blue handbag for $3.00.

So it’s as the Dali Lami says, it’s our duty to be happy, even during those times that try us.  And when that becomes very difficult, I sit at my shrine, light some incense and then chant nam myoho renge kyo and leave it all up to the Heavens.  A while later I’m feeling much better, typing away, dreaming of vintage Bill Blass somewhere out there.