Besides the dogs and cats, the lovely birds, squirrels, raccoons and coyotes, I seem to have a deer residing on the property.  I feel so much like Snow White right now, though I must say I’m very glad not to be taking care of a gaggle of dwarves.

The deer seems very mellow, as it was really close to me, just standing there and looking at me with, well, doe eyes.  I’ve seen and heard too many reports lately of deer beating up small dogs, as well as people, so I looked at it, clapped and said, “Beat it!”  It gracefully hopped over the fence and trotted down the hill.

I guess it must now be consoling itself with my tomatoes and broccoli.  I’m not even going to go down there to see what’s happening.  I have no time, anyway.  Margaret’s been here since Saturday, so we’ve been keeping our calendar as full as possible.

I couldn’t even get ready for Margaret’s arrival on Saturday because I was at the annual Cherry Fair at the Laurel Building downtown.  Farmers were there with a variety of cherries for the public to sample, and then there were the intrepid vendors such as myself.

Can you imagine my joy when I arrived to see my table was right beside Choices Market?  A manager was there flogging cherry juice and giving coupons.  I told him about my product, and he started to do the old two-handed, palms-up, backing away saying something about head office making all decisions.

I told him not to worry, but said he might be missing out on a great product.  Soon the public streamed in and people started to sample my chocolate bark and fruitcakes, and people were screaming, “This is the best fruitcake I’ve ever eaten!” and soon I had to drive home and get more fruitcakes!

Luckily Kathy was there to hold the fort for me.  By 3:00 PM I turned to the manager of Choices, and said, “You see, people do seem to like my product.”  To which he went, no kidding, took one of each, and said he seriously wants to do business with me!

Another place that wants my fruitcakes as a result of the Cherry Fair is Davison Orchards, a fruit stand in Vernon.  The manager told me they have a large gourmet section, and carry very high-end products in it, so she thought my product would fit in perfectly.

Hence the Cherry Fair was well worth it, and perhaps some of the people who didn’t buy, but who took my card, will eventually become customers.

I’ve been making tons and tons of apricot jam, and then freezing it so it’ll be beautiful in January or February when I need to taste the Okanagan sun.  Unlike Snow White, I tend to become cranky from time to time, and find something like apricot jam a great antidote for a bad mood.

You know how I swoon over apricot jam each year.  Other than a nice tart plum, it’s the only jam I bother to make.  For those of you who’ve never eaten a ripe Okanagan apricot, you’re probably perplexed why one would do it.  You’ve likely just seen those small, half-green, very hard, tasteless pale things at the store.

It must be similar to the way I regard figs.  I’ve only ever eaten a dried fig, so when I see recipes involving figs, I go, ew.  However, photos of ripe figs do look kind of enticing, so there must be something good about them if gotten from the right source.

The south Okanagan is the right source for large, sweet, juicy apricots.  Mom’s neighbours Lynn and Gerry have about 10 trees, just for their own use.  As Nicky and I were in Osoyoos on Friday, he went out with Lynn to pick a bunch before we left for home on Saturday.

I talked to mom on the phone and said just tell Lynn to keep the apricots coming.  Nicky and I sort through them daily and eat the ripe ones, so not sure how many will be left for jam.

Margaret’s coming on Saturday, so I’m very excited and happy about that.  We’ll do a south Okanagan wine tour on Monday, and have lunch with mom, Gerry and our friend Jerralynn.  Then hopefully I can get another 20 pounds or so of lovely apricots to bring home.

I feel sick even telling you about this, but I’m finally going to try to get with the times and post videos as part of my website, newsletter, blog, etc.  It sounds crazy when you know I regard a pepper mill as having way too many confusing parts.  Now I’m supposed to turn something on, plug things in, load stuff.  I’m nauseous as I type.

Being the narcissist that I am, I love the idea of the final product.  Being the idiot, though, means there are probably going to be a lot of upsets between the idea and You Tube.  I did a rehearsal in Osoyoos, and can see it’s going to be a lot of fun to cook and bake things while being filmed.

Note to self: never go sleeveless. It was another learning experience to see myself on screen, and go yikes to the upper arms.  I think age 50 is probably the cut-off for anything sleeveless for filming purposes.  You don’t see Martha sleeveless do you?

Jerralynn made a fabulous lemon mousse as part of my birthday dinner last Friday.  That dessert was one of those things that I’ll dream about for the rest of my life.  So I was thinking, maybe that’d be a good thing to do.  Get a new recipe, and try it in front of the camera to show people that everyone has to puzzle through new things.  I may have to reiterate that to myself when I get to Part 1: filming.

I’m making bark right now, so feel that perhaps I’m finally able to get moving again with the business.  As the bark’s currently cooling on the counter, I thought what a great opportunity to write this week’s blog.

Some of today’s bark is for an order from a loyal fruitcake customer.  I’ll use the rest for the big cherry event on July 23 at the Wine Museum in downtown Kelowna.  Actually, I’ll have to make pounds of bark for that day as they’re expecting around 1,000 visitors.

I’ve been a veritable social butterfly for the past week.  On Tuesday I was invited to Kathy’s for a dinner party.  It was tons of fun because two of the guests couldn’t speak much English, so I was able to speak German to them.  They’re a lovely couple from Dresden, and it was interesting to hear about their lives in the former East Zone.

Then on Wednesday I went out for lunch with my pal of 51 years, Liz, and her mom Liza.  Isn’t that adorable?  Liz and Liza.  We went to Joey’s near Costco and I must say I’ve never had bad food there, so highly recommend it.

On Friday I met Marilyn for lunch at Yama’s, a Greek restaurant in downtown Kelowna.  I always have the same thing, which is their deep-fried calamari.  I don’t think anyone else in town can compete with theirs.  The rings are a nice size, and they’re always nice and dark, not pale and half-cooked as I’ve had in some nasty restaurants.

The capper occurred yesterday when I picked Jerry Jr. up at the airport and delivered him to Osoyoos.  He’s mom’s partner’s son, and lives in Manhattan.  Mom’s pal Jerralynn came over for dinner, too, so we all had a pleasant evening and mom allowed me into bed at 11:00 PM which was really great.

Jerry Jr., though a darling man, is a tad on the eccentric side, in my opinion.  How else to explain a person bathing at 5:23 AM 10 feet away from my bedroom door?  He was sleeping downstairs, and I was in the computer room, which means we were sharing the old original bathroom which only has a tub.

Just due to simple force of will I was able to go back to sleep, and felt great when I woke up at 8:15 AM.  By 8:30 four new people had arrived.  Jerry Sr.’s organ needed repair (not what you’re thinking) and mom’s cleaning person, Ginette, came to start working.  The house was a beehive of activity before I’d even had my first cup of Joe.

Now I’m back home and it’s just me and the chocolate.  Once I’ve made pounds of bark and packaged the one order,  I’m going to feel great.  Hopefully that’ll give me the impetus to begin with what is most crucial at this point, which is to start marketing. 

Margaret, the marketing maven, wants me to make videos of myself cooking various things for You Tube.  Jerry Jr.’s a video and camera genius, so he’s going to give me a lesson using my camera when I return to Osoyoos on Friday. Unfortunately, the new digital cameras’ lenses can’t be smeared with Vaseline so that the image is softened.  Pity.

I invited mom and Gerry up to Kelowna this past weekend, as I wanted them to see the yard all clean and tidy.  It hasn’t looked like this since we bought the place 21 years ago.  However, there’s a new sheriff in town, and she’s a tidy, old, cranky sheriff, so the place is going to be clean from now on.

As you’ll recall, I had the Biggest Garbage Removal Bill of all time a few weeks ago as I had three trucks full of detritus hauled away.  Then, I had a lovely arbour installed in the gap in the cedar hedge, leading down to my vegetable garden complete with bee hive.

So the final touch was to rake, sweep and generally tidy every bit of the paved area, and now it’s absolutely lovely.  Of course my right hand was swollen to the size of a bear’s claw by the time all of this was achieved, but I have to say, the place really does look great.  And on top of it all, there’s  nary a car up on blocks in sight!

When mom and Gerry arrived just before noon on Saturday I handed them a nice cold Margarita.  Then for lunch I made salmon in a cream sauce served in freshly baked vol au vent shells with salad on the side.  For dessert I made meringue shells, and filled them with strawberry compote made from local strawberries, and topped with whipped cream.

Then the next day I decided to weigh myself, just on one of those whims, and realized that eating whipped cream isn’t a good idea.  It was a whim based on having recently put on a dress I’d worn last summer and thinking that it had shrunk terribly over the winter.  However the problem wasn’t actually shrinkage, but expansion on my part as the scale happily showed.

As you know, I’m fanatical about gym attendance, and go five times a week.  I also go up and down and up and down to the lower vegetable garden dozens of times a day.  A normal person would’ve installed automatic drip sprinklers there, but I guess my subconscious wanted me to sweat hard.

And in spite of all that physical exercise, if I have one or two lapses in judgment, wham! two or three pounds get added to my cellulite-filled midriff.  Life can be so cruel.  And then I have to suffer the indignity of looking at the photos of the beautiful Duchess of Cambridge and her sylph-like, pencil-thin silhouette.

Like my apartment when I attended university, I have the whole place clean and tidy.  When I went to UBC in Vancouver, and whenever I’d have a paper due or a test for which to study, I’d procrastinate by cleaning.  Nothing much has changed, as I now look at the fruitcake ingredients, and think, now I’m finally ready.

But wait!  First I had to try on everything in my closet, just to see if there are things I can give away.  I now need two full closets to hold everything, so it’s good to pare down whenever possible.  Several hours later I felt happy to have a small pile for the Salvation Army.  By then it was much too late to start on fruitcake prep, so shrugged and thought, ‘manana.’

I just got home from two heady hours at Value Village’s 50% off sale.  I had three large bags crammed with stuff, all for a total of $55.00.  I actually forgot to get groceries because I was in such a hurry to get home to look at everything.  Things look so different once examined in the cold light of home.

Thanks to the Internet, I no longer have to wonder about the provenance of the things I buy.  I googled a jacket I’d bought for $5, and found it was made by a company called Finn Kariela, which appears to be based in Europe.  I got a sweet necklace for $3 which still had local potter and jewelery maker Betty Gordon’s tag on it from a craft sale.

I got three pairs of sandals, because at $5 per pair, it seemed silly not to.  One of the cutest things I got was a 100% silk scarf by Bill Blass for $1.  It’s always hard to go wrong with vintage Bill Blass.  But then I did go wrong with a top I threw into my cart impulsively, and which doesn’t fit.  Oh well, $3.50 wasted.

But the thing is, at the big sale the line-up for fitting rooms is ridiculously long.  So I just went in looking for things that didn’t need to be tried on in a dressing room.  It was just a wild hunch on the top, and a wrong one.  It’s funny, but I’m always sure I’m a lot smaller than I really am.  But then I always think I’m 18 too, so there’s another misperception.

Luke decided two weeks was enough for a holiday, so headed back to Alberta on Sunday.  That meant on Saturday night I made the traditional pot roast, mashed potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, gravy, salad and vegetable dinner.  Luke asked for chocolate mousse, which I gladly made for dessert.

I’m totally bloated after the visit, as the house was filled with all manner of poisonous foods.  I don’t know if you’ve ever seen these, but the kids managed to find giant marshmallows, called Campfire Marshmallows.  Each one is the size of your freaking hand!  Of course I ate one and instantly felt my insides say no.

Yesterday as I cat-napped while reading the Globe and Mail, a vague thought began in the back of my mind.  As I regained consciousness, I thought, I wonder how I’m going to get 3,000 fruitcakes made between now and Christmas.  And you know something?  The terrible realization came upon me that I have to start now or I’ll never be ready.

Most people find it odd that one would make fruitcake in the spring or summer.  But as I can only make about 400 a month, ideally I need 7.5 months to get it done at a humane pace.  And if you’ve been reading this blog for the past several years, you pretty well know what’s going to happen as the weeks tick by.

Which is precisely why I need second-hand shopping; it calms my nerves.  I hope I’m calm enough to start soon, though, because I’m going to use my past sales at Potters Nursery at the Coast to flog my product to Art Knapps.  If they decide to carry my fruitcakes, perhaps they’ll sell like vintage Bill Blass.

Today’s the first day of summer, and it’s actually a bit warm for a change.  We had no spring whatsoever, which I can’t ever remember happening before.  The good thing about it was that I didn’t feel guilty about not being out working in the yard and garden.  I hate being outside in inclement weather.

But today it’s sunny and looks like it’ll be very hot for the next while.  Lorraine, the bee keeper from the gym, came over as she wanted to check on my hive.  She has 11 hives, and said hers were filled with honey.  We walked down to the lower yard to have a look in the hive.  It turned out my lazy-assed bees haven’t made much honey, but Lorraine said just wait, they will.

Mojo decided to go right up to Lorraine, who was wearing a bee suit, and so the dog was immediately chased away by a group of bees and stung several times.  As I’m writing this she’s on the bed, under the covers.  She always does that when she’s not feeling well.

Luke and Michelle also came down to the bee hive with us, and watched Lorraine inspecting the bees.  Lorraine said the number of bees has doubled, so she said I have a good queen.  She pointed out the drones to Luke and explained that as they’re lazy, useless males, once they’re finished mating with the queen they’re killed by the other bees.

And did you know all of the bees are female, except for that very small number of drones?  So the term, busy as a bee, makes a lot of sense now, doesn’t it?  I find it remarkable how insects can be so much like humans.

After about ten days of nagging, I got three important things done.  Luke and Nicky installed a CD player in my car.  I’d gotten it for Christmas 18 months ago, and it’s been sitting in my closet ever since.  Then Nicky and Dan cleaned the sunroom roof, and finally Dan hung a bamboo shade over the dining room window.

I know I’ve nearly reached the limit of asking for jobs that need to be done. Nicky knows he has to help me tack the pheromone traps to the pine trees.  We’ve done that yearly since the outbreak of the pine beetle epidemic.  A couple of weeks ago I had someone from the City come and inspect my trees.  He said I don’t have any pine beetles, and lauded my use of pheromones.

However, these damned things are like $30 for a package of 2, and I need 30 packages, so figure it out. It’s a huge yearly expense, but compared to paying a tree company $600 per tree to have any removed is a lot more expensive than the pheromones.  Plus ponderosa pines are endangered, so I’m trying to preserve mine.

I’ve been invited to sell my wares at the Cherry Fair next month, being held at the Orchard Museum.  That should be a good venue for selling both fruitcake and chocolate bark, as both are made with cherries.  Now I’ll have to emulate my bees and get into work mode to prepare for the event as over 1,000 visitors are expected.

 I think there’s a good reason why the mothers of some species have to literally chase their young away to get them to strike out on their own.  Sometimes a firm, direct message is the only way to show them you mean business.  I, of course, am much too soft-hearted to do the same, though this week my patience was tested mightily.

The saga began last December when Nicky and his friend Jordan were driving in his very old Honda and pulled up to a random road check.  The policewoman was in no way amused by the shape of his car, and began to prepare a rather long list of items that would have to be done before the car could be re-insured.

So then the car repairing began, which involved dozens of trips to Pick-a-Part for used parts.  Some of the harder repairs, like the windshield replacement, had to be done in a shop.  Suffice it to say this 1980 Honda has cost thousands of dollars to date, and yesterday it finally passed the inspection.

However, I had to be taken through the wringer as each time it was inspected, and failed, I would somehow be involved.  I don’t give a damn about the car. But to be nice would force myself to ask a question about the inspection, only to have a frustrated kid angrily explain to me in four-letter words what was wrong with our entire system.

And then today Luke’s arriving with Michelle and Dan (the Boarder).  I said to Luke, “Is Dan going to stay here, too, or will he stay at his mother’s?”  Do you get the broad hint I’m making in that question? However, Luke replied very happily, “I think he’s staying at our house.” 

I suppose in some ways it’s good because Nicky’ll be hanging out with the three of them downstairs, and I’ll be alone upstairs in the living room with my margarita in front of me.  Honest to God, I don’t know how I would survive child-rearing without alcohol.

And guess what else?  Luke said they’re staying for three weeks!!  I said to Nicky I just hope you’ll be at your job at Canadian Tire by 5:00 AM every day.  He’s been getting up faithfully at 4:30 for the past month, so let’s just keep our fingers crossed that it continues.  Fortunately, he’s maxed out on his credit card from the car repair, so he basically has to keep working.

Besides alcohol, I’ve also been calming myself down with a lot of thrift store shopping.  I find it’s one of the most relaxing things I can do.  The other day I got a great Craftsman brand shop vac for $25.  Today I got a brand new, never worn black Jones New York trench coat for $10.

And then, joy of joys, I was reminded by someone of a thrift store on Dayton Avenue that I’d forgotten about.  All of my shovels are broken, and they have nice old wooden-handled ones for around $6.  Pretty soon I think only food, which let’s face it is better the first time, will be the only thing I don’t buy used.

Lorraine from the gym drove up in her SUV last week to bring me the bees.  I kind of imagined her arriving with a hive on the back of a pick-up truck the way they were delivered to our orchard when I was a kid.

Some years bee hives would be dropped off in our orchard in the spring for a couple of weeks, then they’d be picked up again.  However, this was done with the prudent use of a pick-up truck.

When I looked into Lorraine’s car I was somewhat relieved to see the bees and hive were actually separate.  The hive wasn’t assembled, and the bees were trapped in a box.  Lorraine and I took the layers of the hive down to my vegetable garden and set them up to build the hive.

Then we returned to her car whereupon she donned the full bee suit.  She grabbed the box of bees and we returned to the hive.  Lorraine opened up the box and began transporting the bees to the hive.  She was hell-bent on showing me the queen, and I kept saying, “Can’t I just imagine it?”

I was several feet away, minus a bee suit, and feeling kind of vulnerable standing there holding the little dog.  He was getting upset by all the bess and when I put him down he beat it up the path toward the house.

Lorraine finally found the queen in the last frame and showed her to me.  At that moment one of the bees flew into my hair, but it was okay as I was able to scream it out without getting injured.  I think I’ll feel a lot better once I own a bee suit.

Lorraine said the bees need water so the next day I took the bird bath down and set it up near them.  She also said they love scented flowers so I raced to the nursery and bought a bunch of alyssum for them.  I planted that around the edge of a tomato bed.

It’s quite wonderful to have the bees, though most people are really stymied by it.  “Why??” is the most common response.  But as with many things in my life, I just explain it away as “probably another hare-brained scheme.”  That usually satisfies them.

But good news!  I’ve sold a dozen packages of chocolate bark to Discover Wines.  This is my first foray into stores with my new product.  I also currently have the bark, as well as some fruitcakes, at the Woman’s Place Gym in their display case for members to buy for Father’s Day.

I finally remembered to tweet today after over a month of not doing it, and I see that it always brings new followers whenever I do it.  I said to Margaret I swear to God I’m going to tweet every single day henceforth even if it kills me.  And, as I read there are only about 5,000 Twitter accounts here in the Okanagan, maybe I can become the tweeting, or more likely the buzzing Queen of the Okanagan.

I think my only hope at this point is to get a facelift and then try to marry well.  I don’t know how else I’m going to be able to afford all of the unforeseen surprises in life.  And given my complete inability to move forward with the business, I’m now casting around for other ideas.

Yesterday afternoon I was happily preparing chicken wings in a honey mustard sauce when Nicky came upstairs and said ominously, “there’s something wrong with the basement toilet.”  My heart sank.  I went downstairs and could see the handle was broken, and water just kept rushing into the bowl. 

When I took the lid of the back to push down the rubber stopper, a steady jet of water sprayed me in the face.  I went upstairs and phoned the plumber.  Nicky came up and said it had stopped running, and I said, “Well for the love of God, don’t flush that toilet before the plumber arrives.”

At 3:30 AM I was awakened by a strange grinding noise.  As I sleep with ear plugs, it takes quite a bit of noise to sneak into my sleeping mind.  Not knowing anything about physics, I easily startle myself with wild notions.  I immediately imagined the basement toilet getting ready to blow sky-high.

I got up and went downstairs, and could discern the noise was coming from the water softener, and not the toilet.  I opened the top and felt sick as I realized I’ve forgotten to add salt for quite a while!  So it was completely empty of water or salt, attempting to work, hence the noise.

I dumped in a bunch of salt, and returned to bed, praying for the noise to stop.  After about an hour it did, and then I heard Nicky get up for his job at Canadian Tire.  He gets up at 4:30 as he starts work at 5:00 AM.

I was lying there thanking God the water softener had quieted, when suddenly I heard Nicky flush the basement toilet.  I could hear water running and running, and I laid there imagining the depth of the water on the floor.

However, it stopped after several minutes, just like the day before.  I mercifully fell asleep for an hour or so, and when I woke up all was quiet.  I went downstairs with trepidation, wondering what Hell would be waiting.  Nothing was wrong.  The bathroom floor was dry, and the toilet wasn’t running.  The water softener stood silent, smirking at me.

The plumber arrived at 1:00 and fixed the basement toilet, so all should be peaceful here tonight.  However, the bill for the toilet repair was almost $200, which I paid acting as though I was unruffled by a wage of about $180/hour.  Nice work if you can get it.

There goes $200 that I would’ve gladly spent on cute gardening things, but no.  And tomorrow my bees arrive, and that’ll be $135.  So don’t blame me if I have to revert to alternate means for paying for all this stuff.

 I tried a new coleslaw recipe the other day that was made from grated raw beets, carrots and cabbage.  The recipe called for onions, but I omitted them.  I’d made a traditional coleslaw a while ago which also called for onions, but Nicky said he didn’t like it due to them being in it.

So when he came upstairs for dinner I pointed out I’d left out the onions because last time he didn’t like them.  He said, “Wow!  You really remember things people say about food.  I can barely remember saying that myself.”  I do pride myself in my memory when it comes to people’s favourites and dislikes.

I read in this month’s Martha Stewart magazine that she keeps records of what she’s served to guests so she doesn’t serve them the same thing twice (unless they beg for it).  I shall have to do that over the years once my memory disintegrates further.

My mom, Gerry and I just went to Maple Ridge to celebrate my brother Freddie’s 65th birthday.  We drove down on Saturday as there was a family dinner at their house.  The next day we headed home, except I had to drop mom and Gerry in Osoyoos and then continue up the valley to Kelowna.  By the time I arrived home I felt like I’d had enough driving for a while!

I’m starting to feel like that about the yard, too.  Enough already.  It was $625 to have the garbage and yard waste hauled from the yard, so you can imagine how much debris I’d gathered.  It took three dump trucks!  And now I’m already starting a new pile as there are so many damned pine needles on this one-acre lot.

What I’m cleverly avoiding like the plague is working on the business.  I just say I’m too busy with the yard.  However, if I don’t start marketing nothing much is going to happen.  My sister-in-law Wendy asked me about Dragon’s Den, and I said I can’t humiliate myself that way.  They’d be perplexed by a business person who still hasn’t written a business plan after all these years.

My business plan is always something along the lines of “I hope I make some money.”  And then when I make a sale, I’m thrilled.  Perhaps that’s the secret of entrepreneurship without all of the normal pressures.  If you set crazy-hard goals, you may fail to achieve them, hence be completely bummed out.

But I don’t know if the bar can really be set any lower than my goal of doing one thing a day for the business.  Even that goes by the boards many days in a row, and I think to myself maybe I really am the laziest entrepreneur on Earth!

However, I’m often distracted by things far more important, such as the pie recipes in the June Martha Stewart mag.  As well, I adore the collectibles she features each month as they inspire me to collect.  We both seem to find joy in similar things, though she has millions of dollars as a result of her methods, and I have lovely, soft, achievable goals as my consolation prize.