One thing I hate when I’m cooking is surprises.  As Denis and I are on perpetual diets, we shun carbs at dinner time.  Nicky, however, always wants a large amount, so I make a vulgar quantity of mashed potatoes, rice or pasta for him.

The other day I called Nicky upstairs for dinner, and noticed that he shunned the mashed potato.  I asked him why, and he said it was part of his ‘body building’ regime.  Now he said he’d decided that vast amounts of protein were required instead.

Two days later I came downstairs to see him eating a gigantic bag of chips, and so I asked how the low-carb diet was going.  He said he’d learned from a UBC prof that low-carb, high-protein diets are bad, and so was back to the combination of food groups.

We’ve grown fairly accustomed to idiosyncratic statements like that from each other.  Though the other day Denis was home for work, and around noon I said I was going out briefly.  He asked where I was going, to which I replied, “Just a quick appointment with the plastic surgeon.”

He looked alarmed, and said, “The plastic surgeon??” and I just shrugged and said, “Botox.”  Honestly, I do not like having that man at home during the week to witness the variety of important appointments I have to attend.

Anyway, I had to get spruced up in preparation for picking mom and Gerry up at the airport.  They’d been in Nicaragua for the past two months, having a fabulous time.  I drove them down to Osoyoos, and spent the night.  The next day I had a brief visit with an old friend.

Remember that group of women I still hang out with after 50 years?  Maryjoy is one of them, and she happened to be in Osoyoos at the same time, though for a sad occasion.  I dropped by and saw her and her mother, and met Maryjoy’s husband Greg for the first time.

Maryjoy and Greg must be married for about 35 years now.  Her mom asked Greg if he’d ever met me before and he replied, “No, but I’ve heard of Moni for all of my married life.”  For some unknown reason I felt quite proud of myself.

To cap off the week, I attended an excellent writing workshop at UBC-O.  It was given by the writer-in-residence, Laisha Rosnau.  We learned about setting, place, and point of view.

Now if only I could get rolfed, go to est or whatever’s required in order for me to release that creative part of myself to be able to write well.  But in the meantime, I have lashings of pasta ready to be topped by pounds of protein.

I got my standard red dachshund, Arnie, in 1995 when he was just six weeks old.  The kids were five and eight, and were big fans of movies like The Terminator, and loved Arnold.  So when it came time to name the puppy, Arnie just seemed right.  Plus, it always brought a smile to people’s faces when I’d say, “His name’s Arnold Schwartzenegger, but we call him Arnie for short.”

He was absolutely adorable, and after just a day or two decided that I was his favourite being on Earth.  I felt the same way about him, so it was a love fest whenever we were together.  As Denis always said, the question foremost on Arnie’s mind was, “Where’s Mommy?”

As he was our first dog, we really didn’t know a lot about training, feeding, etc.  The kids used to love getting cones from Dairy Queen, and we’d get a baby-sized one and feed it to Arnie.  He’d shiver, and we’d say, “Isn’t that cute?  He’s shivering!”

So by the age of one Arnie was quite the chunky boy.  At his height he weighed 44 pounds, which is a lot, even for a standard dachshund.  Despite his weight, he was a voracious hunter.  Our cat, Fang, used to accompany him out on the neighbouring fields, looking for birds and mice.

I remember one day when he and I were out for our daily walk.  We rounded a blind corner, and there before us was a mother quail and a dozen babies.  I hardly knew what they were as they were such a dark brown colour, and as I was trying to figure out what was happening, Arnie had eaten almost all of them!

Arnie was fiercely loyal.  One night the paramedics were called due to one of my kidney stone incidents.  As they entered the bedroom to try and remove me to the ambulance, Arnie stood his ground, attacking anyone trying to touch me.  Finally Denis had to carry him into another room and close the door.

At around age 10 Arnie developed diabetes, so received twice-daily insulin injections.  By age 12 his sight was going, and he developed glaucoma.  He had one of his eyes removed by the vet, and lost the sight in the other, so he was completely blind.  Then he became deaf at around age 13.

However, I kept a careful watch on him because all dog owners had told me that I would just “know” when the time was right.  I didn’t want him to suffer just because I wanted him around.  However, countless dog owners looked at him and thought he was okay as he still ate, went out, and seemed not to have any pain.

After all the dog had given me, I sure wasn’t going to have him put down just because he was an inconvenience.  I had to carry him outside and back in, and I didn’t mind.  At night I carried him to bed, where he and I have slept together for almost 15 years.

On Wednesday night, however, I noticed Arnie was completely different.  He listed to one side, and seemed disoriented.  He peed, then vomited.  I called Nicky upstairs and said I thought Arnie had had a stroke.  I asked him to phone the emergency vet and sobbed through my tears to tell them this was for a euthanasia appointment.

Nicky drove, and I held my dog, crying all the way there.  Fifteen years is a long time to have loved such a great dog!  They took him away, which annoyed the hell out of me, as they said they were going to put in the catheter and return him so I could be with him.

I was frantic while he was away, and then finally they brought him to the exam room and put him on a blanket on the table.  The vet began to put in the shot while I hugged Arnie and kissed his muzzle over and over and over until his body went limp.  The vet used his stethescope to listen and then said, “He isn’t with us anymore.”

We brought him home and buried him the next day in the yard that he loved so much.  Rest in peace, Arnie.

Spring’s definitely here, and it’s wonderful that it’s so early.  However, living in the Okanagan means serious water restrictions as a result of the low snowpack.  Unfortunately, as I’ve fought my way through to having a proper English garden, I now find myself in the position of being an environmental pariah.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, and all that.  What can I do?  I adore my delphiniums, phlox and dahlias, and they all want water.  So to do my bit I’ve been tearing out tons of the juniper bushes that grow below our house.

Twenty years ago it was a tidy strip of junipers.  However, when I started cutting, I was amazed at how much they’ve multiplied and spread.  The week before Mojo had cornered a mother raccoon and two babies under there.  It was really hard to reach her, so that was part of the impetus for the pruning.

After about an hour, my heart rate was verging on the catastrophic, and sweat was dripping off my hair.  Most of the exertion wasn’t really from the cutting, but from pulling the runners out of the ground.  I came in the house, and beseeched Nicky to lend a hand, which he kindly did.

So with the fireplace and wall painted, and the junipers seriously pruned, I feel satisfaction at two large jobs done.  I’ve done a bit of spring cleaning, too, so now feel justified in pouring my energy and time into the vegetable garden.  I still have a couple of more raised beds that I want to make, but that’s a lot like the juniper project – heavy sweat equity required.

In the meantime, I’ve booked hair and Botox appointments, as that’s as necessary as spring cleaning.  One wants to look one’s best while having rivulets of sweat travelling down one’s back.

And speaking of insane fees, Ricky has an appointment to have his teeth cleaned.  The vet said he has one of the worst cases of plaque he’s seen.  But maybe that’s just the vet’s way of preparing one for a crazy bill.  In any case, between the Botox, hair dye and dog teeth, I’ll be out close to a thousand bucks.

Nothing motivates me like the need for cash, so I updated my Facebook account and made a couple of feeble attempts to start tweeting again.  There are good videos available at www.brighttalk.com, and I listened to one on the benefits of social media.

Why I’m resistant to it, I have no idea, as I love the concept of making contacts from the comfort of my own home.  It sure beats driving up to a place, doing the ‘please sir’ scene from the movie Oliver! and getting the bum’s rush out.  So may the God of Tweeting descend upon me!

Living with offspring can be so trying.  A couple of days ago I was cleaning up after one of Nicky’s food preparations.  He’d made himself a tuna sandwich with chopped up garlic dills.  I always buy the giant size no-name brand because we go through a lot of them.

When I looked at the lid, however, I saw a giant gash, which appeared to be made from a knife stab.  I put it together: tight lid, insanely impatient human, sharp knife.  Isn’t that just so irritating?  Now I have a giant, three quarters full jar of pickles with a huge hole slashed into the lid.

A day before that, Nicky said that he had to move my car as he wanted to use it to jump start his car.  The next day I went out and of course the key was gone.  When Nicky came home I asked him if he knew where my key was, and he said, “I do.  But you’re not gonna be very happy when I tell you what happened to it.”

He said that he tried to start his vehicle, and couldn’t figure out why it wouldn’t start.  He said, “So I bent your key trying to start my car.”  In other words, an impatient, angry brat couldn’t understand why his key wouldn’t turn over his car, so kept at it until the key was bent.

Can you see why murderous rage is something I can understand when I read about it in the newspapers or hear about it on the news?

To calm myself I spent yesterday morning making an assortment of lovely recipes from Eric Akis’ book Anyone Can Cook Appetizers.  My friends Kathy and Sharon came over in the afternoon, and we had shrimp with a roasted red pepper dip, crab cakes and key lime tarts.

I also cut up some Okanagan Harvest Cake and served it with sliced sharp cheddar cheese.  Both women thought the cakes would be great for winery gift stores, and Kathy asked, “Have you been to Quail’s Gate?”  I said, “I’ve been twice to every winery in the Okanagan!”

They couldn’t figure out why local winery gift stores wouldn’t carry a made-in-Kelowna product, and since I don’t either, I couldn’t explain it to them.  They asked what kind of excuses they give, and I said it was a wide variety, such as “we don’t have enough space.”

I’d like to suggest to them that they remove the items not made in BC and then they’d have space, but of course that would be brash.  Instead, I’m having new labels designed for the Okanagan Harvest Cakes and then will make a third run at every stinking winery in the Okanagan!

As the winter Olympics approached I was feeling completely blase about them.  I recalled watching the summer Olympics and liking them, but wondered what would be interesting about the winter games.  I vaguely recalled that figure skating was one of the sports.

So I turned on the opening night ceremony, and on Saturday proceeded to watch the games.  Within a few minutes that damned, cunning media had me completely hooked!  As soon as the camera panned on the moms and dads in the stands, and I saw them crying from hope and nervousness, I started crying, too.

This was followed by me being on my feet screaming with nervous excitement during every race.  Naturally, this fueled all-day TV viewing, which as you can imagine, cuts into what a person is able to accomplish in a day.

The good news is that I found a project that allowed me to get something done while watching the Olympics.  I’ve always loathed our red brick fireplace and dark wood paneling, so decided to paint the entire wall, fireplace and all.

I started last Monday, and didn’t complete it until Friday!  As always, I thought it’d take a couple of hours, at best.  However, by the time I’d gotten advice, bought primer, and taped the area to be painted Day One was over.

Day Two saw the beginning of the priming.  I had no idea that bricks could drink so much paint!  As well, painting between the bricks coated the brush with old grout, so every few minutes I had to clean the brush entirely.  There was also an awful lot of filler to be gucked in and around the bricks to fill the holes.

By Wednesday I was done with the priming, and on Thursday I began to apply the colour.  I’m fortunate that I was able to do all of it unsupervised.  At one point, I was standing on a dining room chair, holding the tray of paint, and painting the top corner of the wall.

When I looked down, I was dismayed to see that I’d been holding the tray at an angle, and now paint was drizzled over the chair, and pooling on the wood floor.  I had no idea paint was so hard to wipe up!  However, I think all of these nasty incidents are now completely invisible thanks to my tenaciousness.

On Friday I did the final coat, removed the tape, and put back the plants and art.  I’m happy to report that it looks 100% better.  Bye bye ’70’s.  Though a great decade, it really was time for it to go.

Now it’s Week Two of the Olympics, and I have no more household renovations to keep me busy.  I’ll just have to give in to the urge to postpone pressing matters for another week.

Last night I managed to use an entire bulb of garlic in preparing an East Indian dinner for just three people.  Maybe the garlic is the reason that I haven’t been sick for the past year.  Or, maybe it keeps people far away; hence the likelihood of catching anything is greatly reduced.

A get a lot of recipes on-line these days, which makes me wonder if cookbooks are going to survive.  Like most people who enjoy cooking, I have a number of them, and yet most of the time if I do use one at all, I seem to grab the Joy of Cooking.

However, for the next three glorious weeks, I’m only concerned with cooking for Nicky and myself.  Denis is off to Victoria for the on-campus portion of his degree in Leadership at Royal Roads.

It’s actually been an excellent bit of leverage for me, as whenever Denis says something idiotic, I now say, “Did you learn that at the leadership course?”

I know what you’re thinking.  But as we’re coming up to 25 years of marriage this summer I feel I should be able to enjoy the odd bit of fun.  And really, it does sometimes make him stop and think, so it’s a win-win in my opinion.

Sadly, I must slog through life without a degree in leadership.  As an entrepreneur I have to reach deep down into my gullet on a regular basis and drag motivation from within.  The present moment is an example of a time when I have to pray to the Muse of Marketing to descend upon me.

As you know, I was a huge fan of Bugs Bunny, and often still quote some of my favourite lines to myself.  Right now I could use a dose of Acme’s Tornado Pills.  Remember those?  The coyote takes one and nothing happens, so he takes the whole box and turns into a whirling dervish.

He turns upside down, still spinning, cutting through cacti and mountains, and finally falls down that same old cliff.  I’d like a small bit of that tornado energy right now as I try to think of clever ways to sell Okanagan Harvest Cake to tourists over the summer.

Yet as we know, the answers always lie within us.  And so it’s with a sense of dread that I’m starting to acknowledge what I must do.  I have to get a list of places together, get a bunch of fruitcakes, flyers and cards, and dress as well as I can.  Then I have to get into my car and drive, and then walk into these stores and introduce myself and my product.

Perhaps the Muse of the Fuller Brush Salesman will descend upon me, and I’ll have the fortitude to do it.  If not, I’ll have to sign up for a course at Royal Roads, I guess.

Trust me on this, but it’s really hard to write a witty blog when you’re in a very bad mood.  The reason for this is my inability to shed even one ounce after trying the Atkins diet for the past four days.  I had decided that drastic measures were required for blubber reduction, so thought this would work. 

I went on-line and researched the diet’s requirements.  I’ve been on this diet before, but that was about thirty years ago, so could vaguely recall the butter, bacon, whipping cream, etc.  I went out and stocked up on all the fat that they recommended, then went about eating it. 

For breakfast I’d have two or three eggs fried in butter.  Lunch would be a can of tuna mixed with full fat mayo on two cups of lettuce.  A mid-afternoon snack would be half a pound of cheese; dinner a pound of meat with a vegetable.  A bedtime snack might be a few rashers of bacon. 

At 4:00 AM the other day I woke up with the worst heartburn.  I thought back to the bacon I’d eaten a few hours earlier and realized it was the cause.  Thank God for Gaviscon, is all I can say.  However this, as well as the general revulsion I feel toward this type of eating, has caused an abrupt change of heart. 

Now I’ve decided that a low-calorie diet is going to be much better.  I will return to the Weight Watcher’s principles, and hopefully to God that will work.  Sadly, the breakdown always occurs around 7:30 PM.  That’s when my thoughts turn to President’s Choice Chocolate Chunk cookies. 

Another reason for being in a very bad mood is the inability of stores to pay up for their Christmas fruitcake purchases.  It’s really disheartening the number of letters and e mails I have to send to ask them to pay for something they sold long ago.  Isn’t that just the height of rudeness? 

However it’s probably a good thing in a strange way, as it motivates me to find alternate customers for my product.  Of course my dream is to be a totally web-based mail order business, but that takes a long time.  Not sure what will take longer – to be rid of this fat or to have found a better way of selling. 

I go to the gym five days a week, and when I add up that time commitment it equals an entire work day!  It takes about fifteen minutes before and after the one-hour classes to drive there and get dressed.  So this is 1.5 hours five times a week, which equals 7.5 hours, or a complete day of work.

I guess that’s just what one must do if one is a behemoth.  Although I also go because I simply adore all of the women with whom I chat before and after class.  And, being self-employed, it adds a structure around which I can build my day.  Otherwise, I would be aimlessly lying on the couch, reading.

I’m happy to say I’ve been somewhat more inspired to write lately.  I wrote a couple of short stories, and now have a list of writing contests so that I have deadlines to work toward.  If I can keep writing and submitting, perhaps someone will find my brand of humour funny, and I will be rewarded.

Certainly a cash prize of some type would help around here, considering the amount of food that Nicky consumes.  The other day he came home from the gym, downed a big glass of milk, then grabbed a beer and went downstairs.  You’d think that combination alone would kill a person, but nooooo.

The other night he had a dinner of a large chicken breast, huge pile of rice drenched in butter and two vegetables.  As soon as he had finished that, he buttered a large homemade bran muffin and slathered marmalade on top.  That was immediately followed by a salad bowl filled with Froot Loops and milk.

This was the appetizer.  As soon as he had eaten the cereal, he toasted four pieces of thickly cut bread and spread the toast with a massive amount of peanut butter and sliced bananas.  At that point I went to bed so I have no idea what might have occurred after that.

I’m currently enjoying an e mail relationship with a nice woman who contacted me as a result of reading the Province article that appeared last March.  She wants to start some type of home-based food business, and so has been asking me for advice.  I’m very happy to help her, though as I spell out what I do, and why, and how little I make, it kind of does make me wonder why I continue.

Although it’s kind of handy to be asking myself why I started and why I continue, as I’m trying to write a memoir about the fruitcake experience.  I believe I have a small insight, as I think it’s due to loving challenges and having a great fear of boredom.

And speaking of a great way to fight boredom, you must go and see Avatar in 3D.  I went yesterday afternoon, and I have to say I didn’t notice the 162 minutes go by.  Most of the time I felt much like I did when I saw Phantom of the Opera on stage: I felt like screaming from excitement the entire time.  Now that’s how you relieve boredom!

I’m not sure why, but over the past two evenings I’ve found it necessary to consume a 550 gram package of President’s Choice Chocolate Chunk cookies.  If Dr. Oz knew he would have a fit, as he thinks even one of these is poison, so 36 of them would horrify him.

It probably just goes to show us that Dr. Oz is a lily-livered jam tart who should break down and eat bad food once in a while.  Certainly his friend Oprah appears to be porking back the mashed potatoes and gravy with little guilt.  At least I have the decency to feel conflicted about my habits.

However, here’s a rare good habit I’ve recently started, though I find it very difficult.  I got an electric toothbrush, as per my hygienist’s suggestion.  Have you ever tried one?  It literally feels like a mini jackhammer is inside your mouth.  Toothpaste that you foolishly smeared on the mini brush is spread throughout the bathroom.

I’ve now learned that you put the toothbrush inside your mouth before turning it on.  This cuts down on flung toothpaste.  Then, as your entire head is vibrating, you move the brush around, hoping to get all areas.  Who knew that the inside of one’s mouth could be so ticklish?  This is one of the things I find really hard to get used to.

The other day I was idly flipping through Lifestyle, my favourite section of the Globe and Mail, and saw a recipe for Seville orange marmalade.  I raced right out and bought six oranges, and yesterday I made a batch.  Have you ever tasted a Seville orange?  They’re filled with seeds and membranes and a bit of pulp, and the tastes reminds one of Ipecac.

Ipecac was used to induce vomiting, and though I have never ingested it, I imagine its chemical composition is closely related to that of the Seville orange.  I don’t think I have tasted a more bitter food.  Funnily enough, though, both Denis and Nicky really liked it.  I guess if you like bitter tastes, like beer, you would probably like Seville orange marmalade.

No special taste buds were required for the lunch I brought for my friend Liz and her mom Liza.  We had scallops and shrimp in a white sauce made with wine, and for dessert we had apricot fools.  I made apricot sauce last summer and froze it, then mixed this with whipped cream.

When I described the fools to the women at the gym the other day, I’d said something like, “You know, you combine whipped cream and cooked fruit.”  To which one said, “No, I don’t know.  In fact, I’ve never made a fool in this lifetime, nor do I think I made one in my last lifetime.”  It helped me realize that not everyone races into stores to buy Seville oranges or try new recipes.  Pity.

I’m happy to report that I’ve managed to lose two pounds in the last week!  It’s been quite hard, as I want to eat Bridge Mix, lemon meringue pie and glazed donuts.  Instead, I’m eating Red River cereal topped with 1 percent milk and Splenda.

More good news is that Luke left on Wednesday for the oil rigs.  He drove off at 7:00 AM and phoned at 7:00 PM saying he was at the rig, and at work!  As the rig is five hours out of Calgary, I don’t even know how that is possible.  However, he did it without killing himself, so that’s the main thing.

He then phoned me on Saturday to tell me that he earned $1600 in the three days he’d worked!  It’s pretty hard to justify staying in the low-pay capital of Canada when he can go to Alberta and make so much.  Of course he has to work all night, so that’s no picnic, but I just think of all the money.

And speaking of people with money, yesterday I asked Nicky if he and Taya were going to be here for dinner. He said, “No, we’re going out for dinner.”  Sigh.  I haven’t been out for dinner since I don’t know when, but as we all know I need to save my money for tuition and cars.  And not my tuition or cars, either.

There’s no point in griping, as I have some concrete plans for the business that will hopefully reap some benefits.  For one thing, I’ve already sold some fruitcakes due to my monthly newsletter.  All of the fruitcakes are on sale, as I want to get new labels, and want to be rid of everything I have on hand.

Next, I’m going to speak at all Rotary Clubs as I want to get the word out that I have a great product for corporate gifts.  Another goal I have for 2010 is to market to more gift stores.  My friend Phyllis said my product is ‘too good’ for grocery stores, and though very vain on my part, I have to agree.

Not because the product is so great (though it is) but I think a smaller store allows more customer contact.  Would you pick up a box of something unknown, especially fruitcake, and buy it without knowing more about it?  Yet this is what people have to do at Buy-Low Foods.

So, I’m going to take my product out of the Buy-Lows, and stick with the smaller specialty groceries like Quality Greens in the Okanagan, and Urban Fare in Vancouver.  Then I’ll expand my network of cozy small gift stores where the staff are knowledgeable about each product and help customers buy.

And in the meantime, I’ll eat nothing but those tasteless foods recommended by Dr. Oz.  After all, I don’t want the Rotarians or gift store owners wondering why a behemoth is bothering them about fruitcake.