If sarcasm is a form of anger, then why did Bill Gates purposely design this into his systems?  Yesterday as I was trying to save a file the computer sent me this message, “The last time you tried to save this file it caused serious problems to your system.  Do you still want to continue to try and save this file?” or something to that effect.

In other words, “If you put your hand on this hot element, you will seriously burn yourself.  Do you want to continue?”  Of course one is then shamed into making the prudent decision, “No, I don’t want to continue, you sanctimonious piece of hardware.”

However, much as I malign the rude messages, I sure could’ve used a warning like that last week from the washing machine.  I thought I was being a tremendously helpful mother by picking up Luke’s clothes and throwing them into the washing machine.  When I retrieved them and found his BlackBerry, however, I felt a bit sick.

So that was about $500 down the drain.  Then on Friday I was admiring my new black leather Naturalizer loafers.  I’d been wearing them that morning and took them off, leaving them under the dining room table.  The worst part is that a little voice inside reminded me that Ricky had done in a similar pair of shoes, but I ignored it.

Sure enough, the next time I looked, there he was, sitting beside the flap he’d chewed off the top of the left shoe.  I grabbed the shoe and tried to catch the little weasel, but he was too quick, dodging this way and that as I lunged, screaming, from one side of the table to the other.

Then I needed to pick up the new promotional materials I’d ordered at Staples, and this all came to around $250.  I tried to keep a calm expression on my face.  I’ve been asked by Urban Fare to bring Serving Suggestion cards, so I had to have those made as well.

The final insult occurred last night when I returned to bed after going to the bathroom in the middle of the night.  As I put my head on my pillow I realized it was wet.  I turned on the light, and sure enough, Ricky had peed on my pillow!

This time I didn’t even bother trying to find the little troll, and just got busy making the area half-ways habitable for a human.  In the morning I decided I would save money by washing both feather-filled pillows, even though one is advised not to do it.  Apparently, they are to be taken to a special feather-cleaning facility.

However, I’ve washed them before, and though I believe it may have been partly responsible for the final breakage of the old top-loading washer, it can work.  Once the pillows make it through the wash cycle, you just have to manually put them through the spin cycle a few times.  Finally, the machine is able to drain them of their hundreds of pounds of water.

They’re currently rattling around in the dryer, throwing it back and forth wildly.  After several cycles, once they’re finally dry, I will feel so proud of myself for having saved the money from the special feather-cleaning facility.

Imagine how surprised I was on Wednesday when right in the middle of a batch of fruitcakes the faithful old floor mixer decided to stop working!  It’s about fifty years old, and has an on/off switch and some sort of device for controlling the paddle speed.  It was this lever that started to sound funny, and then the paddle stopped turning entirely.

I had to wrestle the huge steel bowl onto the table and go upstairs for a whimpy hand-mixer.  I then laboriously mixed the dough as best I could, and added the fruit.  Finally I had to get in there up to my elbows to incorporate everything, but I did it.  Once I got that batch into the oven I allowed myself time to panic.

When you own a fifty year old machine, and when it’s broken, it’s easy to imagine the hell that awaits one in finding a replacement piece.  However, luck was with me as when Nicky opened the top, he quickly found that a belt was broken.  He removed it and the next day I was actually able to find a replacement very easily.

Imagine the shock, then, when Denis put the belt on the machine and the faithful old thing started to work again!  I wasn’t too shocked at the machine, but at the fact that Denis had actually fixed it.

To celebrate I skipped down to the garden and harvested a bunch of broccoli, carrots and beets.  Then I went out and picked several pounds of very ripe concord grapes.  I made jelly, which should be called ice jelly as the grapes have already been through a cold spell.

Our old friends from Vancouver, the Lynch’s, came for a visit this weekend.  I made a Mexican dinner, which involved a new rice and bean salad that was very good.  You put cumin seeds in a frying pan and gently brown them first, so the flavour is really wonderful.  These are added to lime juice, oil, and chopped pickled hot peppers for the dressing.

For dessert I made a four-layer chocolate chunk torte that everyone appeared to like as well.  I ate some of the leftovers today, and it almost made me want to give up on dieting forever.  However, if I would ever do that, I’d soon be giving Kirstie Alley a run for her money.

Orders are coming in from my stores such as the Cookbook Company in Calgary, Stong’s and Edible BC in Vancouver and Discover Wines here in Kelowna.  I’m packaging and shipping daily, and so never have to wonder what there is to do.

As well, I made the scary trip to Staples with some discs to get some promotional materials printed to enclose with orders.  Stapes is scary because it involves a computer, hence many chances for mistakes.  That’s why my mixer is not so scary.   An on/off switch and one lever are about all I can handle at this stage of my life.

Now I guess it’s payback time for all the people I scoffed at who suggested I may grow weary of making fruitcakes.  I find these days that I practically have to put a gun to my head to get myself downstairs to start.  Once I’ve started it’s okay, but unfortunately, my limit is now two batches a day!

Seriously, it’s all I can really do because there’s the shopping for inventory, marketing attempts (however feeble and ridiculous) and of course packaging, which is completely onerous.  The other night Nicky and Taya put labels on 500 boxes and it was wonderful not to have to do it.

So I guess that tells me that 3,000 fruitcakes a year is really all that I am ever going to be able to do.  However, that’s potentially 3,000 happy people, so that’s got to count positively toward some decent karma.

And there’s just the general good karma I must be creating daily as I run our home like a soup kitchen.  Nicky’s girlfriend often eats here, and Luke likes to invite his friends Felix or Tyson over.  The other night, after having eaten several decent meals here in a month, Felix said, “Wow!  You always make good dinners.”

Today at the Superstore I was checking out with the usual: a box of Taquitos, doughnuts, a huge bag of cookies, four different types of chips, a package of pepperoni sticks and sundry other items including eight litres of milk.  I said to the nice woman at the check-out, “Imagine how much money I’m going to save if my kids ever move out.  They’re like locusts.”

As expected, upon arriving home with all of the stuff Luke said excitedly to Nicky, “Mom did a big shop-out, so it’s gonna be a good day!”  They are 23 and 20 years of age, but one would never know it.  The oven was immediately turned on, and in went the Taquitos.

Yet I would never dream of serving this type of swill to them for dinner.  No, dinners are always divine creations that make everyone swoon.  A typical week might be cabbage rolls, chicken chow mein, pot roast, chicken enchiladas, meat pies, Mediterranean-style fish stew and lasagna.

As well, I always like to try out new recipes so that we don’t get bored.  Perhaps that’s the danger of the 3,000 fruitcakes, in that one has no leeway whatsoever for any creativity.  In fact, it’s really important to make them as identical as possible or the public balks.

And really, being the egomaniac that I am, all it will take is one bit of publicity, and suddenly all talk of boredom will be forgotten.  Maybe I need to float one of the dogs off in a helium balloon and call 911.

When I went down to the vegetable garden yesterday morning I saw that frost had killed the basil and dahlias.  However, I was still able to get huge handfuls of parsley, sage and tarragon, which I chopped and added to the stuffing for our turkey dinner.  We had it last night because The Boarder’s in town and may have to leave soon.

Nicky took the prize for eating the most food.  He had two full plates of turkey with all of the homemade accompaniments such as the cranberry sauce, stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, Brussels sprouts and yams topped with marshmallows.

He then had three pieces of pumpkin pie for dessert, laden with whipped cream.  The Boarder also ate two plates of food, but Luke could only choke down a bit due to the amount of Jaegermeister he’d consumed the night before.  Luke and I are sadly both panty-waists in the drinking department.

This week I finally decided to stop acting childish and actually confront an ugly question: how many fruitcakes do I have, and how many will I need?  I just hate things like that, as they require counting and looking at records.  Did I mention that I failed math?

Actually, the only reason I passed math 11 on the second try was because the teacher made me promise never to take math again.  I said, “Why would I?”  Little did I know that a few years later I would be in graduate school, taking something evil called statistics.  That was quite a traumatic experience for all involved.

I suppose the fruitcake count was a good exercise, as when I counted what I have on hand, and by projecting how much I’m going to need, I could see that I have to work like a lunatic for the next two months.  Hence, I have to say I’m very thankful for the garden frost, as it means I can at least stop spending time on watering.

Plus working like a ferret on caffeine helps remove me from more troublesome situations.  As I was baking away, I could hear Denis drilling into the wall a few feet away.  I hated to ask what he was doing, but did.  He said that he was putting hooks into the wall so that he can hang his hockey equipment on it when he comes home.

This was the perfect opportunity for me to smile, say nothing, and return to the safety of my kitchen.  I then took my mind off murder by practicing my multiplication tables, which I need to do anyway.  “If I make four batches a day, at 14 fruitcakes a batch…..”

When one is in small business, marketing is the kicker.  It’s really expensive to buy ads, and most of the time they do nothing anyway.  I’ve come to realize that though it may seem expensive, the best and cheapest way to market a food business is to give away product.

And certainly, when it comes to fruitcake, God knows the skeptical customer needs to taste it.  Once again, I had a few people recoil at my question, “Would you like to sample some of my fruitcake?”  This was at an event at the Kelowna Wine Museum on Thursday evening.

They were pairing my fruitcakes with some locally-made ports.  It was really lovely, as people had sharp, aged cheddar, pieces of fruitcake and a glass of nice, fortified wine.  Several people left with fruitcakes, vowing to serve them on a tray interspersed with a good cheese.

At this event I found out about a store called Okanagan Grocery Artisan Breads.  I raced right in there the next day and was amazed at the beautiful stuff the baker, Monika Walker, makes.  I instantly bought chocolate bread, made with Callebaut chocolate, and a loaf of salty olive bread.

Strangely, while I was buying these two items, I imagined myself presenting them to the family, and not eating any.  Imagine my surprise when I found myself cutting piece after delicious piece of the chocolate bread.  I went to bed bloated, but extremely happy.

I have a new customer, and again, this is as a result of the person eating the product.  Through networking at The Woman’s Place fitness centre, I was able to get samples to the owner of a store at Big White.  At first, she was like, “I don’t see how fruitcake is going to work.”  Then she ate it, and immediately e mailed an order!

I was speaking with the bakery manager of Urban Fare in Vancouver, as we were discussing my upcoming sampling session there.  As it turns out, they’re having a three-day food and wine event starting November 20th, so I’m going to be there for that.  I told her that a nice addition to my fruitcakes is sharp cheeses, so she’s going to provide them, and they’ll pair me with a winery.  Fun!

But here’s the news that made me jump up and down with excitement – a company called Nutenfru, that used to be a competitor, has allegedly decided to get out of the fruitcake business!!  So with any luck I’m going to become everyone’s favourite fruitcake.  Armed with that piece of news I’m ready to march bravely into the upcoming season.

You may recall the horrible incident I had last year whereby an order was delivered days late to Peppers Foods, a major customer in Victoria.  I had tracked the boxes on-line, and to my frustration could see they were sitting in Richmond for days.  So it was deja vu when I sent iced brownies to someone in Victoria on September 15th, only to have them finally arrive on the 25th!

When I tracked the parcel on-line, all I saw for several days was that it had been received in Kelowna.  Then I saw that it had been sent to Mississauga!!  Finally I guess someone there noticed the V in the postal code prefix, which helped them twig to the fact that V=British Columbia.

Perhaps it was just this most recent Mercury retrograde that caused the delay.  It may also explain why I didn’t know my interview was going to be shown on CHBC!  It’s true.  I happened to be sitting here last Sunday, idly watching the news with Denis, when I saw that my interview was going to be on.  I was totally shocked, as I’d wanted to let my mom and others know so they’d be watching.

The good news is that a ton of people watch that show in the Okanagan Valley, so I immediately received oreders.  Quality Greens is my biggest customer, and they e mailed and ordered because they said people were coming in and asking for the product.  That’s about a month earlier than usual.

So I’ve been living up to the motto I used to have at my former job.  It came from a Dilbert cartoon with him all askew in the frame, as though he’d just been catapulted from a canon.  Underneath it said, “Work like a frightened idiot.”

I’m just wondering, as I put labels onto my boxes, why I didn’t do this slowly over the winter months.  As I snip the ends off the bagged fruitcakes and place them into their boxes, I ponder what made me decide to wait and do every aspect of the business in three months.  Maybe I just work best under pressure.

A new customer I got as a result of being on TV is the new Watermark Resort in my dear hometown of Osoyoos.  It’s managed by the Boutique Hotels and Resorts of BC, so it’d be fab to get into all of their properties.  The Watermark is going to give guests a fruitcake over Christmas as an amenity.

Here’s what could happen: Oprah decides to visit Osoyoos, and stays at the Watermark.  She receives one of my fruitcakes, and exclaims that she must have an immediately shipment of this ambrosia.  I mail her some, but the parcel ends up in Mississauga.

However, I shouldn’t think negative thoughts.  So, here’s a positive one.  If Canada Post does delay or lose another parcel, perhaps someone will have the good fortune of witnessing me actually Going Postal.

As you can imagine, making dinner every day for the past 24 years has been challenging.  So this week I decided to throw in a new recipe, and instead of trying to jam another meatloaf down the family’s throat, I made a tourtiere.  It’s a fancy word for a meat pie, in case you don’t know.

This handily disguised meatloaf was immediately wolfed down with cries of joy.  So I’ve decided that putting all the same old stuff into various crusts will probably get me through the fall.  My next venture is going to be chicken in some sort of a cream sauce in puff pastry.  That will hopefully engender the same enthusiasm.

I sent out my second newsletter, and I received an amazing amount of positive feedback.  I’m now starting to suspect that the fruitcake business is a front and that my real passion is my blog and the newsletter.  Won’t Denis be surprised when he hears we installed a commercial kitchen in order for me to write.

On Thursday I attended one of those ghastly networking events put on by the Chamber.  It’s not their fault, don’t get me wrong, but I have to say I’d rather have a colonoscopy than attend one.

Picture this: You walk in and like a shark begin to circle the crowd.  Not just you, but everyone else is looking at name tags, trying to ascertain whether or not to approach this or that person.  A print shop.  Meh!  They’re too small to order fruitcake.  A person from Interior Health Authority, well, hey, there’s a juicy morsel.

Once you’ve zeroed in on your prey, you forcefully eject yourself into their conversation and introduce yourself.  You then speak with insane enthusiasm about your product.  If the person’s eyes glaze over, you slowly back away.  If they make the mistake of looking interested, you press your card into their hand.

After two hours of this I was so relieved to be getting into my car and drive home.  However, if I managed to make one or two good contacts, then it’s worth it.  One must keep a positive attitude.

The other unpleasant aspect of marketing is calling all of my stores to see who is going to be re-ordering.  Unfortunately, when my product is far away, and no-one in the store is offering samples, it doesn’t do well.

If people don’t know that it’s actually edible because they’ve only ever had bad fruitcake, then they’ll never in a million years purchase it.  However, if they could try it, they’d be converted.  If only I could be in dozens of stores at once!

When Mike Roberts of CHBC-TV left the other day he said, “I like your spirit.”  And I guess that’s the secret to any marketing, which is to believe in yourself and your product.  Look how well I did with the family and the meat pie.

I’m happy to report that all went well with the interview last Tuesday by Mike Roberts of CHBC-TV.  He’s very funny and makes it easy to be oneself.  Mainly we just kibitzed around, laughing and joking like old pals.  Hopefully the editing won’t wreck any of that camaraderie.

Of course God only knows how I’ll look, as most of the time I totally forgot to pull in my stomach.  When they left I kind of looked at my legs in dismay, as I wore very respectable knee-length shorts, but noticed I could’ve used a shave.

I’m glad to say that the interview kick-started me into baking.  If I can make myself bake every day, even if it’s just one batch, it will help me psychologically.  I keep going downstairs hoping that elves have come in the night and have done  it for me.  However those lazy and ignorant elves don’t seem to want to come to my house.

And who can blame them, really?  They’d have no place to park, they could easily be bitten by one of the dogs, and they’d have about 25 glasses to wash before they could even begin.  It’s strange, but once a glass has been drunk from, even if it contained water, it is not re-usable until it’s been washed and returned to the cupboard.

As difficult as this is going to be, I have decided to switch up my fitness routine at the Woman’s Place gym.  I loathe and fear change, so you can imagine the anxiety as I plan this.  However, I’ve noticed that after eight years of four to five classes per week, I still can’t do a full sit-up.

When Alison was here she suggested pilates would help, so last Thursday I tried one of the classes.  Not bad.  Then next week I’m throwing in a yoga class, as well as a specific abdominal class.  If it kills me, this carcass is going to sit up.

Margaret feels my social media is improving a bit, as I’m now on Twitter and sending the odd tweet.  Why, I still don’t know, but like a beaten mule I just do her bidding.  You can read these boring little snippets on Twitter @MoniSchiller.  Yawn.

I guess it’s just because I feel I can’t be witty in 120 characters or less.  But Margaret swears this is going to improve my business, so I’m trying to keep an open mind.  And for good measure, a shut mouth.

I’m happy to report that Luke got a job, so now I have three people leaving the house for work every morning.  Sadly, though, this doesn’t appear to mean that we’ll have one less person here anytime soon.  Luke has informed me that he’s not moving out until he moves into a condo of his own!  He’s now 23 so maybe by the age of 30 he’ll be gone.

I told Denis, who went into a tirade that is unprintable.  He keeps threatening to get an apartment in Rutland.  I sympathize with him, but sadly not a soul sympathizes with me when I say that there are simply too many vehicles in our yard.

With Luke’s new job came a work vehicle.  He has his own car, and Nicky has a non-working Civic, on blocks, and a working Integra.  Another vehicle on blocks is my dear old Nissan van, which was disassembled, and then never ran again.  I have a car, and Denis has a pickup and a work vehicle.  That makes eight cars.

A friend visiting from Nelson said, “You know what you need is a few more cars parked on your lot.”  Grrrrr.  My sense of humour is fleeing as quickly as I wish these damned cars would.  And yet here I am, bravely dead-heading, watering and weeding my flowers as though I was living in a normal yard.

I’m not sure what Mike Roberts of CHBC-TV’s going to think when he arrives on Tuesday.  At least three of the vehicles will be gone for the day, so that’s good.  In any case I’m sure he’ll be totally distracted by the three hounds gnashing at his ankles and feet.

I plan to spend the long weekend prepping for the shoot, as I couldn’t do a thing until now due to a flurry of social activity.  Alison and Liz, two people I’ve loved since we were six, arrived on Wednesday.  Alison came from Toronto, and Liz from Penticton. We had a fab lunch at the Wild Apple Restaurant in Manteo Resort.

The next day we drove south and had a great lunch at the Dream Cafe in Penticton.  I love places that cook with as much garlic as I do.  We then continued south to Osoyoos and spent the night at my gramma’s old house in my mom’s orchard.

Gerry had the little house painted pink, so it’s named the Casa Rosa.  It’s situated in the middle of the orchard with a gorgeous view of Osoyoos Lake and the mountains. In the morning we enjoyed our morning coffee outside in the hot Okanagan sun.  Then we wandered around in our PJ’s picking ripe nectarines from the trees behind the house.

Later we went to lunch at the Nk’Mip Winery with Phyllis and Rhonda, also adored since grade one.  All of us turned 55 this year, so we were having a communal celebration.  I drove home after that, completely exhausted.  I now must rally the Muse of Television Interview Preparation.  Step one: hope for car thieves to strike in the night.

My friend Bev, who I met as a fellow teacher of the deaf in Prince George 31 years ago, came for a visit this week.  Besides browsing thrift stores and finding absolutely fabulous stuff, we went to see the movie Julie Julia.  I was completely and totally enchanted by it, as I’ve been a fan of Julia Child’s for a long time.

Though her cooking show, The French Chef, had debuted in the 60’s, I didn’t become aware of her until the 80’s when these episodes were shown again on Public Television.  It was because of her that I boned an entire turkey.  A stuffing was made from ground chicken meat and sour cream.

Actually, I did this on two occasions.  The first time was at Christmas, much to my brother’s dismay.  He likes things ‘the old way’ so was quite skeptical.  The second time was for Bev’s wedding.  Both times the results were magical.

I’m now mad to get her book, Mastering the Art of French Cooking.  I looked for it in every thrift store we entered, but of course found nothing.  One of these days I’ll stumble upon it, and then the family is going to be amazed.

And what’s even more amazing is that the food will be served on the same Johnson Brothers Willow china that Julia had!  I was thrilled when I saw it at the end of the movie when they showed her kitchen in the Smithsonian.  I got my Willow china from my dear friend Alison’s mother Pauline.

Pauline was a high school home economics teacher, and she and I used to talk about recipes together.  So I find it totally cosmic that I should have inherited those plates from her, and that I should have seen them in a movie that’s made me feel hysterical with hope.

I feel as though maybe there could be a small cadre of readers out there who enjoy my blog.  Trying to make people laugh through writing has been my hobby since I was a kid.  I remember one day when I was about ten I was sitting on my dad’s chair at the kitchen table.  I picked up the plastic lid he used as a cover to keep fruit flies out of his beer mug.

It was a transparent lid, and I very carefully printed along the top, “Dad’s a cuter” and around the bottom “not a neuter.”  My dad kept that for the rest of his life.  Okay, so maybe that’s not an example of literary genius, but it is an indication of how early my desire to amuse people through words began.

Similarly, my penchant for making food began early, too, even if it was just Plasticine food made for my Barbies.  So even though Denis and the kids are sure I’ve gone mad, I think the combination of the baking business and weekly blog makes complete sense.