Let’s face it.  I may as well be under house arrest considering the way I have to live.  I have two wardens watching me at all times now that Luke lives here too.  I would never in a thousand years have guessed I’d have two full grown men living with me at this point in my life.

Nicky’s going to be 24 in August, and has never lived elsewhere, and Luke will be 27 in September, and fooled me with his brief exodus to Alberta, and then the recent marriage.  I kind of thought he was out for good once he’d bought into the house in Sylvan Lake with Dan, but no.

So here we are.  One small woman and two huge men who can’t do anything other than work on installing some turbo charger into the old ’92 Civic.  For breaks, they hop onto their dirt bikes and roar off into the hills.  I’m tellin’ ya, I’m getting very, very close to the end of my patience with this gig.

They can’t turn off the lights or keep the driveway gate closed so the puppy will be safe.  All of their many Purolator deliveries for computer and car parts have engendered huge piles of empty boxes, and finally after days of haranguing, Luke deigned to take his own garbage away from the yard for me.  He was pretty shocked at the suggestion, but he did it.

Selling the house has crossed my mind, as a one-bedroom condo would solve an awful lot of my problems.  But then I think of my garden, the dog and cats and think no, surely there’s got to be a way to get these two needy adult children away from me.

Nicky’s refused dinners for about four months now, which has been great.  He prefers a nice couple of bags of McDonald’s or some sushi instead.  But Luke likes my cooking, so yesterday I decided one thing I simply have got to stop doing is cooking.  So I didn’t make any dinner, and just acted casual.

Luke came upstairs at 7:00 and said he hadn’t realized what time it was (being immersed in computer games and all) and said something about dinner.  I said nonchalantly, “I didn’t make any.”  He went “oh” and I heard him make himself a sandwich.  Whether this will work or not, I don’t know.

My last strategy came to me when I heard the cats chasing off the interloper the other night with their caterwauling.  I thought maybe if I bring strange testosterone into this place, it might drive these two males out.  It’s really a measure I hate to take as it’s so drastic, but if I can switch out two unhelpful, dirty males for one helpful, clean one, I may have to try that.

But in the meantime I’ve cheered myself up with the discovery of ripe figs, which I’ve never eaten in my life.  I bought them when the German kids were here, and now I’m into my second box, and love them.  “And if you don’t care a feather or a fig, you may grow up to be a pig.” Remember that song?

Didn’t I just say, “Luke’s driven off….”? Imagine my surprise when I woke up last Saturday to find him back.  He was sleeping in his truck as the house was locked.  Nicky’s deigned to go to Vancouver the last week of each month for his job, so I had the place locked up.

I said, “What’re you doing here?” and he explained with all the rain and flooding the oil rigs weren’t running and so he wasn’t working.  I just pray to God the rain stops and the oil rigs start working as you have no idea the kind of filth that kid makes in this house.

First of all, he decided to do a mechanical project on Nicky’s dreck 1992 Honda Civic.  However he didn’t use the empty garage, which has a cement floor and all.  No, far better to take my car out of the carport and use it.

Yesterday morning I was out there with a product called Duke that busts grease off concrete.  It took a while but the carport’s back to normal.  I can’t say the same for the rest of the house which is a wreck.

And can you see the irony in it all?  This was the week I was to be mercifully alone, as Nicky was gone for his job.  But no, I have to be chaperoned 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

So my days are ruined by dirt and the nights are ruined by relentless cat fights outside my bedroom window.  Why they fight there is a mystery.  But there’s an orange tabby that looks a lot like Mango hanging around, and my cats hate him.

This morning at 4:00 AM I was in a beautiful, deep sleep, enjoying a lovely dream.  Suddenly there was a baby crying in the dream, which made no sense whatsoever, and soon enough I was awake, realizing I was listening to another cat fight.

Then I had to lay there pretending to be asleep, as of course Louie jumps on my head if he thinks it’s time to get up.  I can’t count the number of days I’ve gotten up at 4:00 or 4:30 for the day with this damned dog.  Of course most people wouldn’t be sleeping with him in the first place, but that’s another story entirely.

The only saving grace in having either kid in the house is that I make them dogsit so I can get to the gym.  I hate leaving the puppy alone, so if one or the other will hang out with Louie I like it.

However imagine my shock last Friday when I got home and the dog was like a dishrag.  Nicky said he’d been in the garage with him for a while, so I wondered if he’d been poisoned.  I knew something was wrong with Louie when I held him to my nose and he didn’t bite it.

When I set him down he didn’t move, and just swayed from side to side.  I said to Nicky I’d better get him to the vet.  The vet said the dog likely had a tummy ache, and that’s all.  He said puppies act like they’re dying when they have a stomach ache.  Thank God that’s all it was.  Because as we all know, Louie’s currently #1 in this old woman’s heart.

Louie’s almost 12 weeks old, which according to the puppy books means his infancy is about to end.  I hope it’s not the end of his lovely peppery puppy breath, although if the insane biting settles down a bit it’ll be good.  The scarring on my hands coupled with the bulging veins is really becoming unsightly.

Margaret enjoyed her stay in Kelowna last week and spent lots of time hanging around with Louie because he’s so much fun to be with.  One of his favourite things to do is to lunge at your throat, teeth bared.  So adorable.

We had a lovely week of food, as besides the Thai chicken I made on the first night, we also had shrimp jambalaya, a gourmet meat loaf and steaks topped with balls of herbed butter.  We just skipped wine the entire week, preferring my new penchant for cocktails.

Margaret found a great apartment right on the UBC Endowment Lands, and as she’ll be faculty, she gets a subsidy.  Isn’t that great?  A a result, her goal is to own one of those old glass portable bars.  You know, a little square table made of glass, on wheels, where you can display all the bottles of licquor.  The top row is for the various sized glasses.

I told her if I come across one in my travels, I’ll get it for her.  But I’ll probably keep it for myself, as really, what could be nicer than one of those old glass tables on wheels?

Once Margaret left I decided I couldn’t stand the basement storage room being so messy any longer, and did a huge clean up.  I put masses of stuff in the car and drove straight to the Salvation Army, back from whence it came.  Now I can see what I actually have, and can stop buying the same stuff all the time.

There’s no yard work to be done, due to torrential rain, so I’m very glad to be left alone for a while.  With a one-acre property, one becomes quite tired of the daily farm chores that have to be done.  But now with heavy rain I can’t do a thing.

The delphiniums were all lying on their sides, of course, so I cut them and have a gorgeous bouquet.  They’re Pacific Giants, and the ones I cut are from the round table series and called King Arthur.  They’re magnificently tall and stately with gorgeous deep royal purple flowers.

Now I’m perusing cookbooks with great interest, as the German kids as well as Kathy and David’ll be coming over for dinner next weekend. I have a great cookbook for making homemade crackers, which could be nice with a lovely dip as an appy.

I got the cookbook from Jerralynn, as she’s a huge cracker maker.  I e mailed her the other day I’ve been baking myself into a stupor, and she asked who was eating all of the baking.  I replied that I certainly was not, given life has turned a page, and I may be on the verge of an actual date.

As you know, my friend Beverly was here the first weekend in June.  Then Luke arrived home from Thailand last week, and on the weekend I invited mom to come up for a night.  Yesterday Margaret arrived for a few days of spa-like living, but mercifully Luke drove off for the oil patch this morning.

So it’s been a wonderful opportunity to cook and bake and you know how much I love that.  Because Margaret and Luke were here, Denis came over for dinner last night and I made Thai curried chicken.  Luke always has to have chocolate mousse when he’s home so I made an extra-large amount of that.

Luke forced Margaret and Nicky to drink some of the Thai whiskey he’d brought home with him, and they stupidly did.  Both looked quite sick for a long time, and then this morning Margaret said she felt really ill.  Of course the 3-ounce cocktail and the entire bottle of wine she consumed on top of the whiskey probably added to it all.

Luke said he had a grand time in Thailand, and had a bunch of photo albums and videos for us to see.  He talks to Jan on Skype as always, so in the mornings I was able to wave hello to her over in Bangkok.  They bought a piece of land in her village and Luke says he wants to build a house there because everything’s so cheap.

The only fly in the ointment of course is Jan, whose dream it is to live in Canada.  She said to him the other day, “You love Thailand more than me.”  I tell you, he certainly lived there in his past life because this isn’t normal.

He plays Thai music on his computer and tells enraptured stories about herding water buffalo with his father-in-law.  He showed us a photo of the whole fam out for dinner in a restaurant for the first time in their lives.  Luke said old man Bunyung didn’t know how to use a knife and fork as he’d never done it before.  Amazing, eh?

But now Luke’s driven off to find his fortune somewhere in Saskatchewan and to save money for his house project over in Thailand.  And now I can concentrate on Margaret who’s here to celebrate a fabulous new job and to have a small holiday before working like a frightened idiot until Christmas.

Today I baked banana bread and a really nice white layer cake which was in last month’s Martha Stewart.  It’s a really simple recipe, but it turned out nice and moist.  I cut it into four layers, and filled them with raspberry jam and butter cream icing.  I think cake always makes a celebration seem more official.

I’m celebrating owning the sweetest, most adorable lil’ puppy in the whole wide world.  When mom came up she said “He’s the cutest dog you’ve had so far.”  Margaret is ga ga over him, and can’t stop taking photos and videos.  She said he’s what you think of when you hear the word puppy.  Indeed.

So with family, friends and pets about, head buried in a cookbook, I’m one happy mini Martha.

Luke’s arriving home from Thailand this evening, so it’ll be interesting to hear his tales.  He’s been there since mid-March, so that’s a long time.  If you’re a Facebook pal of mine, you would’ve seen the photo I posted of Luke and his five year old nephew each having a smoke.  Thailand!

Luke said he was smoking a cigarette, and the kid was bugging him for one.  He kept saying no, and then his in-laws, the kid’s grandparents, said sternly to Luke, “Give him a cigarette.”  Luke said the kid also likes tipping back the odd brewsky.

Luongo’s proving to be quite a spoiled little pup who can’t be by himself, even for a few minutes.  If I go into the shower he screams until I come out.  So I was a bit worried about what would happen on the weekend, as Bev was coming for our favourite activity, thrift store shopping.

Nicky announced he wouldn’t be able to look after the puppy at all, due to scheduled rounds of golf.  Bev brought her pug Charlie, and he doesn’t like being alone either, so that was convenient as we were both on the clock.  I said no problem to Nicky, as the pup has to learn how to be alone every now and then as I can’t be here all the time.

We put the dogs into their respective bedrooms at 9:00 on Saturday morning, and headed to the Sally Ann.  Can you believe it, but Bev found a Coach bag, in mint condition, for $20!  As you know, they’re a minimum of $200 new.

After a couple of hours I said we’d better head home, and we did. The dogs were remarkably good as neither bedroom had been torn to shreds.  They were happy to see their moms and I made Bev and I a nice lunch.  I’d bought lovely German rye bread from Monika the Baker at Okanagan Grocery, which we had with cheese and cold cuts.

We took another spin in the afternoon, emboldened by the dogs’ seeming acceptance at being left.  We hit a couple more stores, and at one, Bibles for Missions, everything was 50% off.  Hallelujah.

We got some great stuff, dirt cheap, and headed home to a pitcher of vodka cocktails.  I’d mixed raspberry vodka, Triple Sec, white cranberry and lemon juice together.  It was really good, kind of like a cooler.

Because I’m usually awake at 4:30 AM, I’ve been able to do quite a bit of chipping away at the yard.  I’m up at that indecent hour because Luongo (Louie) likes to bite my earlobes, chin, nose and throat until I get up.  Then since we’re up and my goal is to tire him out, we head down to the vegetable garden and I putter around in the beautiful silemce of the early morning.

So though I’ve sacrified sleep, leaving the house, and planting anything without a dog jumping on my hand with all its might, I’m able to see the beauty of living in the moment with this tiny fellow.  And really, what could be nicer than seeing his joy as he tears through my beds, green onions clenched firmly in his fierce white teeth.

As you know, all of my dogs have departed and being dogless didn’t work, so I ordered up a new pup.  And as usual, I decided on something completely unexpected, due to that old no impulse control thing.

I’ve always had smooth dachshunds, and have said I hate, and actually would never own, a long hair.  Guess what?  Luongo’s a long hair.  But it’s good to try new things, so here I am trying a dachshund with a new coat length.  You know how bad my nerves are with major changes.

And then, who knew how bad my nerves would be as the parent of an eight week old pup the size of a pound of butter.  He has to be watched constantly as he gets into mischief every chance he gets.  He also has to be taken outside every couple of hours to learn how to go out there rather than in the house.

However, as none of the dogs has ever really been completely house trained, I’m kind of skeptical that it’ll work with him.  But to date he seems very smart so there’s a always a first time with everything.

I’d bought a little kennel as I idly thought maybe I’d be able to train him to sleep in there.  So on Friday night, which was his first night, I put him into the kennel and put it on the bed beside my pillow so his face was inches from mine.  He hated it, and screamed bloody murder until I let him out.

So I popped him into bed with me, and just like all the other dogs, this seems to be the right place for the puppy.  Because he’s just eight weeks old, he still gets up at 2:00 or 3:00 AM and has to use the newspaper in the room for a bathroom as I refuse to go outside at that hour.

Nicky loves the pup and the feeling appears to be mutual.  I’d gotten Nicky to babysit the pup this morning while I went to the gym and when I got home Nicky was in bed with the puppy under the blanket beside him.

But hopefully puppyhood is going to wind down a bit as I’ve done nothing since I got the pup except take care of his every whim.  I took him out when I planted some tomatoes and flowers but he’s a complete menace as he picks up the little plastic pots and runs off with the plants in them.  So cute!

I wept a bit as I looked at this dear new life form and thought of the three dogs I’d brought home just like this.  I’d watched them grow old, or else get sick, then die, and here I am on the threshold of another dog adventure.

But shortly afterward, the only crying I was doing was from pain over the cut on my lip from the puppy’s razor sharp teeth.  He loves charging and biting as hard as he can, and I, ever the fool, seem to be allowing it.

As you know, last Sunday was Mother’s Day, and so I was surprised and happy to get a Skype call from Luke in Thailand.  I said, “Did you know it’s Mother’s Day?” and he replied, “No, I don’t know what day anything is.”  But it was great to chat, though I had to hang up after a few minutes as I have a standing call to mom every Sunday at 1:00 PM.

Then later in the afternoon Nicky came upstairs and said with conviction, “I know it’s Mother’s Day.”  I said, “Well that’s good….”  You know, a person takes an acknowledgement however they can get it.

In any case, he’d kind of given me the present the day before as he used the weed eater around the vegetable beds and mowed the lawn.  I’ll have to settle for that.

This weekend I went to Osoyoos as mom was having a birthday party for Freddie, who turned 67.  Hard to believe someone who can party like that is 67.  I’m obviously the weakest member of this tribe.

I was there for two nights, and Nicky came down for the birthday party.  For once, I wasn’t hungover the next day as I’ve finally learned moderation.  It took four decades, but I finally understand I don’t have the tolerance of the rest of my family.

On Saturday night, the night of the birthday party, there were 18 people invited for dinner.  Good thing mom has a huge dining room, as we set up one table to seat ten and the other for eight.  Jerralynn barbecued chicken, and I’d made two salads, one potato and the other asparagus.

You may recall at Gerry’s memorial 40 people, many of whom don’t drink much if anything, consumed 28 bottles of wine.  The event was largely over in two hours.  At the birthday 18 of us drank 17 bottles of wine! There were also a dozen beers and a bottle of brandy consumed as well.

On Sunday night we were invited over to the Mayor’s house and he and Martha made a lovely roast beef dinner for ten of us.  It was another raucous event and on both nights I didn’t get to bed until after midnight.

Which is insane, because as you know I love nothing better than to hop into bed at 8:30.  And to think as a child I chafed at the idea!  Now I luxuriate in bed, reading happily until 9:00 and then night night.

So going to Osoyoos is like diving into an icy lake in January.  It wakes you up and if you survive it, it makes you stronger.  And to think, my mom is 88 and my dear bro’s 67 and both of them have the constitutions of horses.  I, on the other hand, have the constitution of a gnat.  Oh well.

My little dog, Ricky, went to Heaven last Monday, and it was a terrible thing to have to say good-bye at his relatively young age of eight.  However the vet concluded he likely had a cancerous tumour somewhere, and stated the most humane thing to do would be to euthanize him.

I felt totally sick at the thought, as he was still a gorgeous specimen of a dog, but I didn’t want him to suffer.  Nice Dr. William allowed me to be there throughout, from the time they sedated Ricky to the time he was given the lethal injection.  I believe he died very painlessly.

But there I was again, holding a dead dog and feeling terrible.  Nicky dug a grave beside Arnie and Mojo, and I laid him into it and told him what a good dog he’d been.  Then Nicky covered him up, and we walked back to the house feeling sad, like each time before.

After 18 solid years of dachshund ownership every corner of the house and yard hold memories, so I immediately ordered another dog!  I flirted with the idea of getting one from the SPCA and then imagine my surprise to find two pure bred standard red dachshunds at the Vancouver branch.

I immediately contacted them, but they said these dogs weren’t approved to a home with cats.  If only I hadn’t blabbed.  I then inquired about a mixed breed at a shelter here, but it had just been adopted.  I scoured the net for standard dachshunds for sale, and found two breeders in Alberta.

I contacted both, and sadly one retired.  The other said she’ll have a litter in 18 months, so I’ll certainly be the owner of a standard then.  However, as Nicky said, “mom, we can’t live for 18 months without a dog” and I totally agreed.  I contacted some miniature puppy owners and one of them seemed to have a dog of interest.

I said to Terry, who lives in Williams Lake, that I don’t want a super tiny dachshund, as I actually prefer the standards but they’re so hard to get.  Terry said her male is 17 pounds, so actually between a miniature and a standard in size, so I said okay to one of her pups.

So I’m going to be a mother again and I’m kind of excited about it.  I’m a bit worried about the current lull on Hall Road, as there used to be hours of barking per day from this yard.  You know how quickly people get used to something.  Now that it’s been quiet for a while, a healthy dachshund’s lungs might cause upset.

Nicky keeps doing his part in keeping the neighbourhood on its toes.  He arrived home with a BB rifle in order to shoot a mouse in the basement.  I said for the love of God, don’t shoot up through the basement ceiling into my foot as I watch TV.  I’ll have to be super careful with that new pup.

The dog was diagnosed with cardiomyopathy (a weak heart) and put on blood pressure, heart and diuretic medication.  This went on for a week, with no improvement in Ricky whatsoever.  He’s eaten about a tablespoon of food over the past week, so yesterday when he started vomiting I took him to the emergency vet.

The vet said the medications should have started working if the dog did indeed have a heart problem, and they shouldn’t be causing vomiting and loss of appetite.  He examined Ricky and found his lymph nodes are enlarged, so he said the dog may have lymphoma (cancer).  In any case, this vet said discontinue the heart medications immediately.  The dog got a shot for nausea and we were sent home with special food.

The food was touted as ‘very palatable’ but even it was turned down by the dog.  He simply doesn’t want food, though he’s drinking water.  He’s not interested in barking or doing anything except lying in his bed.  I’ve paid nearly $1,000 to the two vets, have no idea what’s wrong with the dog, feel terrible for him, and hence I’m in this horrible mood.

If Ricky makes it until tomorrow, we’re returning to my vet and I’m inquiring exactly why he thought the dog had heart problems when his lymph nodes are enlarged!  I’m not really interested in more expensive speculation, either.  Especially not when my dog was nearly 14 pounds one week ago and yesterday he weighed 12 pounds.

While the dog was laying around, deathly ill, I still had to prepare for my dinner on Thursday night with the German relatives and my friends Petra and Larry.  I made a pot roast, which seemed easy, but it’s actually a nightmare at the end, as you’re mashing potatoes and making gravy.

I’d made Jerralynn’s baked cheesecake for dessert, topped with wild Canadian blueberries.  I always like to go Canadian for food ingredients, especially with German visitors.  They asked exactly what constitutes “Canadian cuisine” but we said we’re really not sure because we’re a land of immigrants.

The next morning Petra had organized a hike for us down to Powers Creek at Gellatly canyon.  They live right on the edge of the canyon, and their neighbour is an 86-year-old retired biologist who hikes in the area every day.  We met at Petra’s, and he lead us down a trail, explaining about the plants and talking about the things he’s seen over the years while walking in this park.

When we returned from the hike, Petra had made a beautiful lunch of ham and salami buns, smoked salmon open-faced sandwiches, and had a lovely assortment of cheeses with it.  She cans Bartlett pears in Creme de Menthe liqueur and served the vibrant green slices on vanilla ice cream.

It was a welcome mental break, as being at home right now is a total downer with my poor sick, lethargic little dog.  But I’m here with him, and hoping tomorrow there’s an answer either way, even if it’s a terribly sad one and a difficult decisions had to be made.

I noticed the dog’s now exhibiting rapid breathing, and so thanks to Google he’s either anaemic or having heart failure.  Why my pets always get sick on the weekends when only the expensive emergency vet is available, I don’t know.  I’ll take Ricky to my vet tomorrow to confirm the diagnosis.  I’m already saying good-bye to the new set of summer tires I’ve been informed I need.

It’s either the tires or the vet’s fee, and because we all know how obsessive I am about my pets, the dog trumps my safety on the road.  But instead of being totally glum about what this all means, I decided the best thing to do is to look for a new puppy.

Two people already answered my e mails, one saying she’d just had a litter of 9 standard dachshund puppies last winter, and they just placed the last one in February.  The other kennel also had a litter around the same time, and both said there won’t be another litter for a year and a half!

I think there are 6 standard dachshund breeders in Canada, so the dogs are as rare as attractive men over the age of 50.  Miniature dachshunds are everywhere, but I would really love to have another dog like Arnie was.  He was so sweet and devoted; we were happy as long as we were in each other’s company.

I had pleasant company over yesterday for Kaffee und Kuchen, which is a delightful German tradition.  The typical German way of eating involves a fairly hearty breakfast, a hot lunch, coffee and cake around 3:30 or 4:00 and some bread and cold cuts or cheese around 7:00 PM.

The German relatives, Nicola and Sebastian came over and I had made chocolate cupcakes with white butter icing and pineapple upside down cake with whiping cream.  Margaret gave me a sweet white cake stand years ago onto which I piled the variously decorated cupcakes.

I made a pot each of coffee and tea and the table was all set with my beautiful Pembroke Aynsley china, including the set’s to-die-for pot.  I have an old art deco cream and sugar set from Marlin which I put out.  I placed my dear grandmother’s sugar spoon, brought in a wooden crate by sea from Germany so many years ago, beside the sugar bowl.

I had my pal Alison’s mom Pauline’s pink tablecloth on the table, and a bouquet of pink alstroemeria in my favourite Bohemia Crystal vase as a centre piece.  Pauline’s pink napkins completed the lovely picture.

Nicola sighed when she looked at the table, because let’s face it, one would feel as though they’d fallen down the rabbit hole, coming in from the yard.  Did I mention Luke’s car is still up on blocks out there, hood up, doors open, wheels off?

The three of us sat down and horfed down as many cupcakes and pieces of cake as we could, washed down with cups of tea and coffee drenched in cream and sugar.  After about an hour of this we all felt slightly dizzy, yet happy.  You can see why this lovely tradition should never die.