In 1975 I attended UBC to become a teacher.  The whole experience was quite irritating as the program seemed to have about as much meat as a jet-puffed marshmallow.  We were all transfer students from various faculties, so were all stunned by it.  We traveled in a group and enjoyed discussing our amazement at the curriculum.

In one class, in which we were to learn  how to teach language arts to grades four to seven, one of us nervously asked the prof, “but how do you handle discipline problems?”  He thundered, “Be creative, and you’ll never have a discipline problem!”

One day in that same language arts class the prof turned out the lights and had us chant the names of vegetables in the dark.  We were each to choose one vegetable and chant its name over and over.  He pointed to me, and I began.  I chose the word, “squash.”

We were naturally all apprehensive, none of us ever having been in charge of a classroom before, and knowing our practica were just around the corner.  Of course I had grade sevens, and they absolutely made mincemeat out of me.

We often wondered if any of the profs would show us how to handle a group of 30 twelve year olds, but unfortunately they never did.  I finally came to understand why as a result of a woman in our program named Megan.  Just as with a talent like being able to paint or being able to hit a ball, there are those who are born to teach.  They just exude ‘teacher.’

Megan would come to class all coifed and cheery, wearing a pant suit.  She would colour all of her assignments for extra marks.  If anything needed to be done, she would happily volunteer.  All the profs would look at her and beam.  Naturally, whenever I was alone with the other class members I would do what I thought were hysterical imitations of her and make scathing remarks about her brown nosing.

Soon, however, I found just being near Megan raised my blood pressure.  One day I said to my pal Ralph, “This much adrenaline can’t be good for anybody.”  Although, I did notice that I was able to do things at a much faster rate.

I was reminded of all of this because of the amount of adrenaline currently surging through my body.  It comes from the knowledge that if I don’t sell my product, I have no money.  Scary!  I therefore have to keep marketing no matter how upsetting or annoying it is.  The good news, however, is that I’ve sold Okanagan Fruit and Rum Bars to eight stores, and this would never have occurred if not for the adrenaline.

Mercury is about to go retrograde, but as we know, the effects are always felt well in advance.  Perhaps that’s the reason for the number of annoyances recently.  Yesterday I was so excited to know that the greenhouse was being assembled.  I wandered down around noon to see how it was coming along, and said to the guy, “Oh, I kind of thought the door would be FACING MY HOUSE……” However, having it face the neighbours’ is really kind of original, so I just walked away, amazed.

I stupidly relied on the family to assist me in laying out the raised beds, and as not a thing’s been done, I phoned Don Burnett, local Gardening Guru for help.  I told him that now everything’s an emergency as Luke and his friend Brian are to be building them on the weekend, and so they have to be laid out this week.  I then made an appointment for today at 1:00, totally forgetting my creative writing class.  Now I have no idea when the bed design will be done, due to not paying attention to my own schedule.

I did receive some wonderful news, though, with the new Okanagan Fruit and Rum bars.  I have a new customer, and that’s the Penticton Wine Information Centre!  The Bench Artisan Food Market also ordered, so I’ll be off to Penticton tomorrow to make deliveries.  If you’re not an entrepreneur, you have no idea of the heady feeling brought on by the thrill of the sale.

 Another personal thrill  is the conversion of the so-called fruitcake hater.  I also had one of these this week, as I had given a bar to the label designer at Challenge Labels.  I was very happy to receive his e mail extolling the product’s virtues, as he’d told me at the beginning that he hated fruitcake.  I told him I would change that, and he was skeptical.  Chalk up another victory for fruitcake.

We just spent the long weekend on Pender Island for a Doyle family reunion.  As you may recall, Denis comes from a family of 11, though two have died in accidents over the years.  So the remaining nine of them (seven males and two females) got together.  My sister-in-law Margaret and I have penned the term ‘fog horning’ to describe their manner of ‘speaking.’  I guess when you’ve always had to fight for everything, including having your voice heard, you learn to project.

Margaret and her son Brendan, Denis and I rented a lovely house right on the ocean.  In the morning Brendan and I went down and poked around in the tidal pools.  There were fantastic starfish a shade of purple so insanely vivid it looked artificial.  We also saw dark orange sea anemones and lots of little crabs in various hues of pink, red and mauve.

The weather was great, which was a Godsend, as the Gulf Islands in the rain are pretty hard to take.  Margaret and I had pedicures at the chi chi spa in the Poet’s Cove Resort.  Wouldn’t you know that she and I were fog horning so much while we were waiting that the attendant came out to remind us “there are treatments going on in the rooms around you.”  I guess it’s a trait not just limited to the Doyles.

Some of the biggest screaming fits curiously seem to occur on Mother’s Day.  I’m not sure why this is, but I recall having one four years ago, and then there was the other one this past weekend.  Four years ago I managed to tear off my big toe nail with the bottom of a door.  As I say to people, the combination of being a klutz and doing everything with gusto is a recipe for disaster.

I had pulled a door open towards me with all my might, not realizing that my foot was in the way.  The details are too horrible to rehash, but suffice it to say I am far more careful now.  In any case, this happened in the spring, and so I wasn’t able to do a lot of gardening.  So on Mother’s Day 2004, I had to get Nicky to help me with a shoveling project.

I gave him instructions and walked away.  A while later I returned to see him doing something completely stupid, and I asked him what in the name of God in Heaven he was doing.  He said, “Dad told me to do it this way.”  This was the moment when I suddenly lost all sense of rationality and screamed at the kid that as dad knew blank-all about it, he shouldn’t be interfering.

It was then that I felt the stillness of the neighbourhood, and wondered.  I didn’t need to wonder last weekend, though.  Denis and I were attempting to discuss the Great Garden Project, and this led to both of us screaming at each other.  That was when we noticed that the neighbours were having a garage sale, and that the entire group of people on their driveway had gone silent.

I mean, really, have they never heard a couple arguing before?  To avoid this situation in the future, I’ve hired Luke and his friend Brian to build the beds for me.  They’re to start this weekend by laying them out and digging the trenches for the blocks.  Then, next week they’re to fill the trenches with gravel and set up the blocks.  I can then fill one or two beds with soil and maybe plant one or two stinking carrots this season.  They will be very, very expensive carrots.

Imagine how flattered I was to have been invited to submit an article to Okanagan Arts Magazine!  Robert MacDonald, the editor and publisher, said he reads my blog, and hence would like me to write about my meteoric rise in the fruitcake business.  As I write this, I have just had a horrible day of marketing and feel like the world’s biggest failure.  However, one must persevere.

Yesterday I spent the day as a traveling salesperson, going to nine businesses in the Valley to flog my new Okanagan Fruit and Rum Bars.  I sold at two stores, two said no, and five need to be re-contacted.  Couldn’t I just win the 649 and be done with it?  However, as long as plucky Hillary Clinton is able to keep going, I shall keep going, too.  I’m sure she’s having the odd testy moment with her spouse as well.

I needed insulin for Arnie the Diabetic Dachshund the other week, so went to the vet’s.  Every six months or so they try to make Arnie come in for a day of glucose testing, and they try to withhold the insulin until that is done.  I did it once, and saw no benefit whatsoever, so told them I thought it was unnecessary.  Naturally, the vet had a fit, but said I could refuse the test “on my peril.”  Whatever….. in any case, I got the dog’s insulin.

 Then a week ago I noticed Arnie’s bad eye was looking particularly horrible.  I took him into the vet, and it turns out he now has glaucoma.  The vet said this is very painful, and as the eye is blind he suggested removal.  What could I do, but acquiesce, as I don’t want the dog in pain.  $850 later, the dog has no eye.

It never pays to act smug around a veterinarian.  When I talked the vet out of the glucose test, I came home proudly and said to Denis, “I browbeat the vet out of an exam for Arnie.”  I now have a 13-year-old dog that resembles Frankenstein.  There are looped stitches over the eye, which thankfully are to come out in two weeks.

However, the good news is that somehow the concrete foundation got laid on the weekend!  I could hardly believe it last Friday when dump truck after dump truck of soil was dropped in the yard.  On Saturday morning a man came and transported it all to the lower yard and flattened it.  In the afternoon, Denis, Luke and a friend of Luke’s started on the foundation.  By Sunday afternoon it was done.

Next week the greenhouse will arrive and be assembled.  I now have to get going on the raised beds.  As I read article after article about the world wide food shortage, I chuckle at my own brilliance.  A cow, a few chickens, and we’ll be all set.  I wonder how much wheat one needs for a year’s worth of bread.

Next Monday my first-year creative writing course begins at UBC-Okanagan.  I’m pretty excited about it, even though I’ll be the senior citizen of the class.  I imagine myself as the character from Elf, draped over my miniscule desk like a behemoth, while surrounded by tiny little eighteen-year-olds.  Nicky asked if I was going to be a keener in the class, and I said, “Of course!”

Yesterday I made 30 Okanagan Fruit and Rum Bars, and it was a fantastic feeling.  I’m going to take a few around to my stores within the next few days, and hopefully these babies will be selling shortly.  They really do look sweet in their little boxes with the little cut-out window.

Because of the excellent karma produced by actually taking action with the new bars, I came home today to a message  from one of my stores.  The owner was placing an order, so that put me into a good frame of mind to get back to the business at hand, which is baking hundreds more bars.  God knows I need the business with the vet sending me off with these words, “Glaucoma can strike the other eye, too, you know.”

Even though I had ordered boxes and labels for the Okanagan Fruit and Rum Bars, I actually had no idea how I was going to present them.  I thought of using my mini-loaf pans, and then cutting the cakes in half lengthwise.  After trying this a few times, I could see that cutting something exactly in half thousands of times was going to lead to one of those horrible murder-suicide incidents.

The Universe, however, was already chuckling at me, and waiting for me to remember that I had the answer already made.  During our last baking session in December, we’d ended up with half a loaf’s worth of dough, and Marilyn suggested we should just bake it.  I soaked it in rum, vacuum-sealed it, and threw it on the table downstairs.  There it sat, waiting to be discovered.

Imagine my wonderment at how my most major predicament was solved through a so-called ‘coincidence.’  I’m now making perfect little bars, and as soon as the labels arrive, I hope I will be selling these babies like hotcakes.  I contacted a gourmet store owner in Langley, and she said she’s always interested in trying locally made foods.

So even though there is finally forward-movement in the fruitcake business, there isn’t one single thing happening with the garden project.  I was promised dirt last Friday, but here I am five days later: dirtless in Kelowna.

Any person who has any kind of a trade appears to be belong to a secret brotherhood.  They promise to uphold their credo, which consists of telling the customer they will be there, when they know they won’t.  Why, I have no idea, but I’ve been through enough renovations to know that’s the way they operate.

I, on the other hand, must whip up gourmet sandwiches in a timely manner for Nicky’s lunches.  The other night I was watching TV when the phone rang.  It was Nicky.  He wanted to let me know that he had clothes in the dryer, and he would appreciate it if I would get them out and fold them so they wouldn’t be wrinkled.  Imagine how little success I’d have with the Trade Person’s Credo!

Denis grew up in a construction company-owning family, and so he seems to have inherited this ‘manana’ kind of philosophy himself.  Imagine his surprise when he came home yesterday and I had the stove unplugged with tools scattered about.  After 18 months with a broken oven, I’d decided to take matters into my own hands and fix it myself.

I’d called Sears, and they told me to get a ‘baking element.’  That bought, I set about removing the old one.  Sure enough, the new element worked, and I was completely triumphant.  I do draw the line at repairing vehicles, however.

The Harlequin Romance Critique Service said, “Don’t quit your day job!”  I re-read their critique several times, feeling sure that I must have misunderstood.  However, the words, “overwritten, predictable and unconvincing” seemed to convey quite a strong conviction on their part that I need a lot of help.  Thank God the creative writing course starts on May 12th.

Being slapped down by the Harlequin people reminded me of how mirthful I was last fall entering the CBC radio writing contest.  The same comments must have floated across the judges minds then, too.  Meanwhile, I was breaking out in laughter every few minutes thinking about what an extraordinary wit I am!  Life is funny, isn’t it?

There was nothing amusing about the heavy snow that fell on Saturday!  I’ve never seen snow in April before, and found it quite distressing.  The forsythia was totally weighted down by the snow, and the tulips, pansies and daffodils were totally flattened by it.  I got a broom and knocked some off my rose bush, and then covered the bush in some plastic bags.  God knows what the flowers will be like this year.

Two nights ago it was minus 11 degrees, which is just ridiculous.  The water in the bird bath has been frozen for the past few nights!  Just now I was outside and needed a zipped-up jacket, as well as long pants.  Nonetheless all of the beds are bone-dry, so I have to water even though it is certainly not gardening weather.  The poor birds and bees must be frozen solid.

Of course there’s zero progress on the grand garden project, but there has been some forward movement on the new product.  I now have a lovely new label, and am looking forward to marketing my product with it.  It’s a butterscotch-coloured label with burgundy accents, and the theme is of rows of fruit trees with the sun behind.  Hopefully it’ll convey a feeling of the Okanagan to the tourists who are to be buying it.

Yesterday I went down to the proposed site for the garden project and began to pick up some of the huge rocks that were unearthed by the backhoe.  The two miniature dachshunds enjoyed it tremendously, but Arnie’s sight is now totally gone, so he just stayed at the top, howling balefully.  He’s spent every day of his life since he was six weeks old asking himself the question, “Where’s mommy?”

Remember Sylvester the cat on the Bugs Bunny show?  He had a little son who would walk around with a paper bag on his head, because he was ashamed of his dad for being beaten up by a mouse.  He would say, “Oh the shame of it all.”  Sylvester would then angrily grab the bag off his head and tell him to cut it out.

I guess I’ll have to have a paper bag ready for Denis when he gets home.  I’ll have to tell him that he will not be seeing my book amongst the pulp fiction in the grocery store – yet.

April has continued along in the same vein as the previous months, as it is ice cold and inhospitable for gardening.  This is really a good thing, as there is no sign of any dirt being delivered anytime soon.  I have a 120 foot by 80 foot flat, scraped piece of land sitting there waiting for topsoil.  Our cats, as well as every cat within a one-mile radius, are enjoying the biggest cat box they have ever seen.

I decided that some time should be taken in researching the magical greenhouse that will be the centre piece of this behemoth of a garden.  I looked on-line, and of course found a couple that I love.  Naturally they are about $5,000.  Being a shrewd shopper, I checked for a used one, and found an inferior version advertised for $600.  Locally there was one I looked at for $1900.  Guess which one is coming to our yard??

I know I should be trying to save money, but honestly, if you saw the expensive one you’d agree that I’m doing the right thing.  Even though right now I have absolutely no idea about what to do inside this thing, from the outside, it’s going to be stunning.  Also, one must remember that the greenhouse is the focal point of my project, and the raised beds are to radiate like rays around it.  Wouldn’t it be a shame to see a puny, silly greenhouse in the midst of these verdant rays?

Besides the delay in the garden project, I am now also waiting for the right sized bags for my new product.  The bag people sent two samples, both the wrong size.  They’re now sending a third, and I may have to have them custom made.  To add aggravation, I am also waiting for the first draft of the new labels.  Then there will be the back and forth until they’re done.

As if there can’t be any more annoyances possible, I am also still waiting to get my suggestions/comments from the Harlequin Critique Service on my first romance novel.  In some ways I’m afraid to get the letter, as I have a secret dread that they may tell me not to quit my day job, at which point I have to reply to myself, “Too late.”

It’s true.  I have almost completely re-invented myself so that now I largely only do what I enjoy doing.  In fact, in May I’m going to be taking a first-year creative writing course at UBC Okanagan.  I blithely signed up, then when I saw the schedule it all came back to me: school is a time-consuming committment.  I will be forced to be there two afternoons a week for three hours at a time!  Can you imagine how angry the dogs’ll be by the time I get home?

Surely to God in May I’ll have topsoil, raised beds, a greehouse, and a new product ready for the market.  With any luck, I’ll also have a synopsis and a revised manuscript all nice and ready to go to Harlequin.  However, with the course starting, I’m wondering if this time I have finally bitten off more than I can chew.

A few weeks ago I had decided I’d better go on a diet,  so bought stuff like no-sugar Jello and fruit cocktail canned in water.  In other words, the kind of stuff no-one would eat unless a gun was placed to their head.  All was okay for the first few days, and then I had a weekend blow-out and ate like a pig.  I managed to briefly return to the regime, but again, pigged out.

I soon found myself in a 24/7 pig-out, with no end in sight.  Actually, this morning I have once again dutifully made the no-sugar Jello, and am praying that I will be able to stick to it this time.  Perhaps I am a candidate for having my jaw wired shut?  I’ve thought of Kirstie Alley and Jennie Craig, and all, but seriously wondered what would prevent me from buying a large bag of Bridge Mix.

To take my mind off of it, I decided to go out and shop.  Can you believe, after all the times I have counted the pants in my closet and promised No More Pants, that I bought two pairs of pants?  It’s incredible, but that’s what happened.  I believe that puts me at 23 pairs of pants, and I am really hoping that I stop buying more…..

My new boxes are ready, and I must say, they are adorable!  I now need to work on designing the new labels, and am hoping that in two or three weeks I will have the Okanagan Fruit and Rum Bars ready for flogging.  I had a special order from someone wanting the Totally Decadent Fruitcake, but with all of the decadence removed.  They wanted no chocolate and no brandy, so what can one do?  I baked them yesterday and today they’re ready for mailing.

As we heard on the local TV station the other day, March was the coldest it’s been in a hundred years!  No wonder I refused to go out and garden.  It’s just beginning to warm up now, so yesterday I went out in shorts and did some weeding.  The wind was like an icy knife, however, so I soon abandoned it.

No sign of the lower garden project being completed any time soon.  Have you ever had to wait for someone else so that you can do your part?  I am wondering when the topsoil will arrive, as only after that is it possible for me to start with the raised beds.  I try to pretend that it’s not bothering me in the least to be sitting here, waiting for some dirt.

Hunting season has started in earnest for the cats, so the day usually begins around 5:30.  That’s when the cats start hauling mice in through the pet door, and chasing around after them.  This wakes up the dogs, who then decide that circling and circling on the bed is a good idea.  While never recommended, a good punch to the dog’s front haunt can sometimes return them to sleep, albeit only briefly.

I’ve developed a new and fantastic product, and am basically crazy with excitement about it!  It’s funny how innocently these things begin, isn’t it?  You’ll recall that back in January I was considering doing something insane like chocolate pate.  Then when I thought about it, I realized that I was losing my focus, which must remain on my being a fruitcake monger.  However, I knew that I had exploited every angle of fruitcake, and to move into a new market would take some ingenuity.

I recalled the article written by Catherine Caldwell in the Calgary Herald about how she takes Okanagan Harvest Cakes on hikes. I decided to phone the co-owner of Edible BC in Granville Island Public Market to see what she thought of the product being presented in a smaller package.  I told her about Catherine’s article, and she thought this might sell really well.  However, she said the word ‘cake’ would not work, and encouraged me to invent a new name.

I went to Fritz the box maker, and gave him an Okanagan Harvest Cake cut in half lengthwise, and asked him to make me a box.  I started to brainstorm names for a bar, and after great thought and deliberation, have decided to name it Okanagan Fruit and Rum Bar.  I tried it out on a couple of people, one of them being Nicky, who just went, “mmmmm.”  I thought that boded well for future sales.  My pal Alison said that she would buy it.

So now I need to have new labels designed and made, and then off I go, to re-visit all of the wineries in the Okanagan.  “Please sir….”  I always like to pretend I’m little Oliver Twist, the orphan, asking for more food.  It’s funnier if you say it with a slight English accent.

 Isn’t my new product the most brilliant idea in the entire world?  I am going to sell bar after bar, and the best of it is Denis’ attitude toward the new product.  I told him about it, and he said, “That is the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”  Can you imagine what will happen when my sales go stratospheric?  I am going to be off to Hawaii for some nice R and R, and he will be here taking care of the pets.  C’est la vie.

However living with me is probably very healthy for Denis, as he is always presented with new ideas to keep his mind active.  The other day he came upon one of my gardening projects and asked the age-old question, “What in the name of God in Heaven are you doing?”  It’s at times like this that I try to speak very slowly and deliberately so that he can understand.

He appears similarly perplexed by the rather large vegetable garden project I have initiated in the lower yard.  We were down there the other day, and he was just shaking his head while I was running around screaming, wild with excitement.

My friend and baking assistant, Marilyn, and I went out for lunch the other day.  I ordered a double vodka martini, and she ordered a Manhattan, which wasn’t on the menu.  The young gal waiting on us took the order and left.  When she returned with the drinks she was positively ga ga with excitement after knowing what went into them.  On the menu they have the usual frou frou drinks made with half a dozen liqueurs and juices, but our drinks eschewed any additional mixes.

She came up with the drinks, and set them down saying, “Wow!  When the bartender told me what was in each of your drinks, I thought I couldn’t drink that!!”  We said, “Just wait.  In 25 years you’ll be sluggin’ back straight booze and thinking nothing of it.  Then you’ll think about us.”  Really, the young are so much weaker than we are.

And it’s a good thing to have health and strength given the myriad challenges with which one is presented.  When Denis and I arrived home after leaving Nicky here for 48 hours, the kitchen counters were covered from one end to the other with dirty dishes.  The gate to the yard was slightly open, and the sliding door ajar!  I said to Denis, “I just hope the dogs survived.”  Fortunately, they had, so Denis and I, like beaten mules, just got busy and cleaned up this sty.

I left a message for Monda Rosenberg, Food Editor for Chatelaine Magazine, but of course, no reply.  So I have had to go into my list of contacts to try and find someone who might know her and who would suggest to her that she should try my fruitcakes.  It is maddening, but I know it is for the woman’s, as well as the entire country’s own good to find out about my product.

Other than that, I have done absolutely nothing to attempt to market my fruitcakes.  I’m going to make 5000 this year, and that is it.  I doubt that I could ever force myself to exceed that number, so maybe deep down inside I know that mass marketing is just plain crazy.  However, anyone reading this who has ever sold anything knows the insane thrill of the sale, and how it becomes addictive.

And speaking of addictive, today I was at one of my favourite stores.  Yes, I was in Value Village browsing the aisles, when lo and behold, there was a sweet little stainless steel flask!  When I got to the till I said to the girl, “This’ll be fantastic if I ever find myself at an event where drinking would seem inappropriate.”

As usual, this was another of the earth’s younglings, so I received one of those, “heh, heh, heh” nervous laughs, as she was hoping that I would just shut up and move along.  Really, it does remind me of that age-old song, “What’s the matter with kids today?”  Remember that?  “Why can’t they be like we were, perfect in every way?  What’s the matter with kids today?”