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?”

You know my penchant for breaking into song at any given moment, and often I sing songs from my youth.  In grade three, at Osoyoos Elementary Junior Secondary School, I remember happy music classes in which all 30 of us would sing.  Mrs. Kretz would lead us along in a merry song, such as Little Brown Jug.  You know the one:

“My wife and I live all alone in a little log hut we call our own.

She loves gin, and I love rum, I tell you what we’ve lots of fun

Ha ha ha, you and me, little brown jug don’t I love thee?

Ha ha ha, you and me, little brown jug don’t I love thee!”

The beloved and feared principal, Mr. McLeod would walk by, beaming at the sound of our eight-year-old voices belting out someone’s joy for booze.  It could now become a scene out of a Simpson’s episode, but songs like that were totally normal in the 60’s.  I miss the heady and wonderful days before politcal correctness killed all of our fun!

And speaking of having fun killed, a couple of days ago I was racing around the neighbourhood like a crazed cow.  We spent thousands of dollars to have a fence installed so that the dogs would be safe.  However, for some reason, Nicky isn’t able to close the gate behind himself whenever he leaves.  So, the other day I was doing something when it hit me: the tiny dog hadn’t been around in ages.

 Arnie, being 13 years old, blind and deaf, and partially senile, doesn’t leave the yard.  However, whenever they get the chance, Mojo and Ricky like to run down to Hall Road, where they like to play chicken with trucks and other large vehicles.  I raced out whistling and calling, and seeing the gate open, feared the worst.

I then ran down to Hall Road, whistling and calling, looking into the ditch for the corpse.  Nothing!  Our neighbour was outside, and I said to him that our tiny dog was missing.  He suspected that the dog was probably in the yard, avoiding me.  I went back home, and finally the stupid dog came when I called.  By this time, I had spent 20 minutes searching for the animal, which I now wanted to beat.

But then I realized that the being deserving the beating was Nicky, who won’t close the gate.  I suppose I should be thankful, as running up and down our driveway with high adrenalin levels is probably a good way to lose a bit of weight.

And now Easter looms, with its reams of chocolate.  I’ve spent the past week trying hard not to eat nasty foods, so not sure what will happen, though I’m suspecting it won’t be good.  I’m something like the guy from the Little Brown Jug song, though subsitute white wine and chocolate for the rum and it’s about right.  Now to purchase the proper little jug and we’re all set!

The consultation for the lower yard was both exhilarating and frightening.  By the time it’s as I envision it, I will be very poor, weathered and old.  However, I’m undaunted,  so I’m pumped for it all to begin, regardless of how calloused I will end up.  That’s what the rasp for my feet is for, isn’t it?  If I want to make Denis’ forehead move back an inch I sit on the couch and start working on my heels.  He beats it out of there pretty quickly.

I finally weighed myself the other day and so am putting it out there publicly that I am now officially on a diet.  I just can’t take it anymore, as I’ve noticed that the Michelin Man and I have quite a lot of rings in common.  The most offensive of them being right under my rib cage, as every top I wear skims this area and makes it even more noticeable.  I could have lived with the big butt and thighs, but this stomach fat is just too hard to conceal any longer.  So, off it will have to come!

Discontinuing the food experiments is Step #1, and this is easy to do as I have decided against trying to introduce a third product.  You may recall I was mulling over the idea of various chocolate pates, but after careful self-examination, have rejected it.  For one, as the company’s sole purpose is to convert fruitcake haters into fruitcake lovers, to veer off into another product seems like folly.  For another, I am the laziest human on earth, and cannot even bake fruitcakes, so why would I think I would actually do something more?

If I did want to experiment, which I don’t, then I would take mom’s boyfriend Gerry’s advice and do more research around the mini fruitcakes I made for Nokia Canada.  Of all the people who give me advice, Gerry actually knows what he’s talking about, having been a tycoon for the majority of his 93 remarkable years.  Actually, he just turned 93 and I was at his birthday party in Osoyoos.

Luke is now driving Denis’ old flatbed truck and has parked his little Neon here as he said he’s going to replace the motor.  So, in the lower yard we have a defunct green van, the Neon (which will soon be put up on blocks and beneath a tarp) and Denis’ work vehicle.  Beside this is a giant pile of yard waste.  This is where I’m going to have a beautiful arbour, covered in pink roses.  There is serious incongruity in our lives.

Another example of this incongruity is the other day I said to Denis how sad it is now that the place is empty of louts, due to Nicky having found his first girlfriend.  Denis said, “It’s not sad to no longer have to deal with smashed rakes, lost tools, damaged furniture, vomit, broken dishes and loud music.”  Oh, sure, when you put it that way, it’s not sad.

Local gardening guru, Don Burnett, is scheduled to come next week to help me with my major garden project.  So, in preparation, I decided I’d better get out in the yard and try to spruce it up a bit.  I was thinking that if he arrives and the yard is a hell hole, he will discourage me as he’ll think if I can’t even keep the yard clean, then how can I do a whole vegetable garden?

Yesterday, I took five wheelbarrows full of pine needles out of the lower yard, which is the designated new vegetable garden area.  However, that is a drop in the bucket, as I can see each pine tree has about 25 wheelbarrows of pine needles underneath it.  Doing this also helped me see that the project is likely doomed without some kind of decent path.  Right now one has to follow the dogs’ trail up the hill, pushing a laden wheelbarrow over bunch grass and uneven ground.

Oh well.  Once a few thousand dollars have been spent on earth-moving equipment, I’m sure all will be well.  In the meantime, I bought bags of dahlia bulbs at Costco.  God knows one can’t have just vegetables in the lower yard as that would be much too drab.  What a waste of good soil and water as well!  This way I’ll have vegetables decorated by colourful blooms.  So much better.

I’ve had the headiest week for the fruitcake business.  I contacted some more store managers to get feedback on how my product had done.  The nice man at Pepper’s Foods in Victoria, the woman at Cookbook Cooks in Calgary, and the manager of the Osoyoos Buy-Low all reported good sales and said they were certainly going to be ordering again.  I now have a nice tidy little base of stores, and if I can grow the on-line sales, I will be all set.

Miraculously, I’ve found that I’m able to force myself to do preparatory work for the baking.  I’ve been chopping chocolate and putting it into baggies, cutting up pears and apples, cutting parchment paper for the bottom of the tins, and ordering labels and bags.  When I see any of my ingredients on sale I buy them, and I’ll continue this throughout the year.  Despite all of this, however, I remain unable to force myself to bake.

This list of things I refuse to do grows large – baking, cleaning, writing my novel.  The things I continue to do maniacally remain the same – shopping, going to the gym, gardening.  If only one could make money from the latter.  Who knows, maybe the grand gardening project will flourish into something and I’ll become the Arugula Queen.

The dogs and I are completely exhausted from five hours of gardening.  As Luke was here I had him help me haul even more wheelbarrows full of pine needles up from the lower yard.  I then dug around in some of my beds, and generally worked until my back gave out entirely.  Quite a lot of fun, when you think of Ontario and Quebec, which are currently receiving 30 to 50 cm of snow!

It’s Leap Day, and according to Shelagh Rogers of CBC’s Sounds like Canada, the day has been proclaimed as a tribute to frogs.  Apparently they’re disappearing daily, and I’m not surprised, given the situation right on my doorstep.  As I’ve mentioned earlier, a developer has bought the land beside us, and it’s being subdivided into 18 lots.  Their surveyor told me proudly that they’re going to fill in all those pesky mosquito-filled ponds while they’re at it!  I always find it so funny that we are horrified at the practices in other parts of the world, meanwhile the same thing is happening daily right here in Canada.

While awaiting the comments from Harlequin’s Critique Service, I decided I’d better get started on the second novel.  This one is conveniently set in the steamy, tropical heat of Nicaragua.  I was thinking about my desire to write cheap romance novels, and wondering why, when I remembered my addiction to soap operas.  Actually, it was just one, All My Children, which had me in its grip.  I started watching it when I was 16 and continued to watch it as often as possible for the next 20 years.

My gramma started it all by being hooked on a daytime soap, The Edge of Night.  She was also crazy for the primetime soaps Dallas and Dynasty.  So, I guess I came by my soap opera addiction honestly.  I remember living in Prince George where my friend Bev also liked a soap, and it was on at the same time as mine.  As we were often at each other’s places for lunch, we would watch one, and then switch to the other person’s during a commercial.  Somehow, perhaps due to the glacial pace of the stories, it worked.

Before the advent of the video recorder, I oftentimes would miss the show, and this would be torture.  I remember one day my then boyfriend was at home when the show started, but I was at a job, and too far away to drive home for lunch.  I had him turn the TV on super loud and hang the phone in front of the set.  I then spent an hour on the phone, listening to my show!  It had to be on really loud, so that I could hear it, so my boyfriend left the apartment.  The TV was then just left on until I arrived home.  I used to wonder why the neighbours sometimes looked at me with malice, and I think I now know why.

So as I use my fond memories of the foibles of the soap’s characters, I will plod through Novel #2.  Or I suppose I could use the soap opera spinning itself out before me in real life.  Nicky has a girlfriend!  Remember how the basement was filled with young males 24/7?  Now it is empty and quiet down there, as Nicky is over at his girlfriend’s apartment and the old friends have been cast aside as quickly as one throws out an old black and white TV set.

Last night Denis was away for work and Nicky was at The Girlfriend’s.  I was alone in my own home, and the giddiness I felt at that moment of realization was heady.  Of course, in order to celebrate properly, I immediately wolfed down a half a pound of chocolate!

I only watch Oprah once or twice a year, but every time I do, something happens.  A few years ago I happened to tune in when Tom Cruise jumped on Oprah’s couch.  Yesterday she talked about Eckhart Tolle’s new book, A New Earth, and said she has an on-line study group about it.  Of course I adored his first book, the Power of Now, so have signed up.

Soon I will be able to levitate – won’t everybody just be so jealous?  In the meantime, however, I have been reduced to keeping a food journal!  I decided that maybe by writing down all of the food that I shovel into my mouth, I might be able to shock myself into reality.  So far, it seems to do nothing other than amaze me.

I’ve taken the first step to The Great Gardening Project, and have left a message for local gardening guru, Don Burnett.  I’m hoping he’ll be intrigued by the idea of turning a fairly significantly sized, largely urbanized area into an organic vegetable farm.  Of course, I’m wild with excitement over the first inquiry by one of the neighbours who border on this piece of our property.

Yesterday as I was driving along I thought, “I need to get a beehive!”  I’d just driven past a stack of them, and realized that to be totally self-sufficient I will need to get my own bees.  There’ll be a greenhouse in the middle, and wouldn’t a lovely climbing rose be gorgeous on some sort of an arbour?  And then all will be lovingly pollinated by my own dear bees!

The sub-title of A New Earth is “Awakening to your Life’s Purpose.”  I think I finally have figured out my life’s purpose (for today, anyway).  It appears to involve growing things, baking fruitcakes and writing really bad fiction.  I finally submitted my first romance novel to Harlequin’s Critique Service, so will find out in a few weeks whether or not I have any potential.

Aside from frittering away my time with seeking enlightenment, I followed up with a new customer.  I e mailed the nice manager of Buy-Low Foods in Westbank to see how my product had done.  He e mailed back that they had sold out one week prior to Christmas, and that they were certainly going to purchase my fruitcakes again.  I felt so happy knowing that!

Wouldn’t you then think that a person who knows they will be selling four or five thousand fruitcakes in November and December would begin baking them?  Maybe I should just break myself in slowly, and just buy some of the ingredients.  That way, if the mood hits, I’ll instantly be ready to bake.  However instead, I am reading yet another great book, Tender at the Bone by Ruth Reichel and having three-hour lunches with friends.  Tsk!

It’s strange how I had to go all the way from Kelowna to San Juan del Sur to find a copy of the Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle.  I had never heard of him, but picked the book up from the coffee table and began to read it as I liked the topic.  He writes about the importance of remaining in the present moment, and I must say with practice I’m able to do it for longer and longer periods of time.  Try it, and you’ll see how difficult it is.

One small disappointment about San Juan del Sur was the lack of shopping opportunities.  I managed to buy two lovely pieces of pottery and a bit of cheap jewellery, but would’ve bought so much more.  People with whom I spoke said Nicaragua reminded them of what Costa Rica was like 15 years ago.  In other words, tourism is a very new concept, but all of that is going to change.

The minimum wage in Nicaragua is $35.00 per week.  The people live in open, tin-roofed shacks, with dirt floors.  However, in the town of San Juan, you can already see the odd house looking very decent.  I took a photo of one pained a beautiful pastel pink, and festooned with decorative iron work.  In a few years the $25.00 per week hotels that dot the beach will be gone, replaced by Marriott’s and Hilton’s.

At the resort we slept upstairs in the loft of mom and Gerry’s rented villa.  The ceiling is lined with bamboo, and a fan whirls 24/7.  Luke called it The Flintstone House because they build everything with stone there.  We saw two people slip and fall right down at the lower restaurant due to the slipperiness of the stairs.  It makes you walk gingerly in the middle of the night.

I had taken a suitcase full of school supplies, as the resort raises money for a foundation.  One morning we were driven out to a pre-school where we handed over the stuff.  I said that I thought this would do them for a year, to which the instructor said it would last them for three years!  We are so wasteful.

The foundation also pays for a vet and a clinic which helps both wild and domestic animals.  As a result, there are several spayed cats which live at the resort.  Gerry hates cats because he’s allergic to them, so whenever one came near he would throw water on it!  One evening at dinner, when one of the cats came close to the table, he took the ice out of his glass with his fork and threw it onto the cat, which bolted.

I said, “That is the most reprehensible behaviour I have ever seen toward a cat!” to which Gerry replied, “And imagine what the cat is saying.”  He is so funny.  Imagine Woody Allan’s dad, and that’s Gerry.