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Ruth Schiller is No More

Dec11

My dear old mom died in hospice in Penticton on Tuesday. She’d come home from hospital on December 1st and I tried to take care of her at home but it wasn’t possible. So on Friday she was taken to hospice where she felt very comfortable and cared for. I visited her every day and we had good conversations.

However by Monday she was already much weaker and more tired and when I arrived on Tuesday she was already in a very deep sleep, unable to be awakened. I sat by her bed and told her dad, granny, grampa, Freddie, Twig, they’re all waiting for you. I imagined that final scene in Titanic when the old woman dies and she is greeted at the Grand Staircase by Leo DiCaprio and other passengers who had died.

I was a physical and emotional wreck for the time leading up to mom’s passing, but once it occurred I felt a tremendous calm come over me. Mom was nearly 101, not able to do anything and very much wanted out of life. She’d accomplished her goal, and I was very happy for her.

I’ve written an obituary which will certainly go into the local Osoyoos Oliver Times Chronicle. But I was shocked it’d be nearly $1000 for the Province/Sun and much more for the Globe and Mail. But it’s as Penny said, you want Jean Chretien to read about mom’s passing. So I guess I have to bite the bullet and submit it to that paper for sure.

And this is the most pared-down version of an obituary I could write due to mom’s endless list of accomplishments. I had to omit the Queen’s Silver, Gold and Diamond Jubilee Medals, as well all that she did for the Town of Osoyoos. She was one of the pioneers, arriving in 1939 when she said there were still wooden sidewalks.

I worked for mom in her fruit stand, as did several of my friends over the years. I remember one morning when it was still a bit chilly, we had put sweaters on over our tank tops and shorts. Mom saw that and said “Get those sweaters off. Tourists don’t want to see people cold.” She allowed us to go out and stand in the sun as a compromise.

My friend Ron said he thinks of Mom every time he’s in a restaurant and the server removes a plate before all of the people have finished eating. He was fortunate enough to experience that in person when mom had to explain to a server that’s very bad manners. Mom’s made a lasting impression on so many people.

Those of us who know mom have all had your clothing re-arranged for you. She’d unbutton or button a shirt, depending on the aesthetic she was trying to achieve with your look. Sometimes she might come up, remove your scarf, and saying “That looks a hundred times better.” Mom was the arbiter of how an outfit should look.

She always looked fabulous and was an incredible sewer, knitter and crocheter. Mom’d buy a Vogue magazine, find a pattern of something similar, then fashion a very au courant outfit in which I’d parade around in high school. Mom could’ve been a couturier seamstress or perhaps have had her own fashion house had she not gotten stuck in Canada in 1939 when the war broke out.

Mom made the best of being separated from her parents at the age of 14. She lived with her aunt and uncle August and Anna Pfingsttag until she married my dad Fred Schiller at the age of 20. Freddie was born the following year, and I arrived (surprise!) eight years later.

Mom and Dad had an orchard where Mom would pitch in to help with picking. She said in the summers it’d be so hot the peaches would ripen by the hour so she and Dad would go out and pick all night and Freddie would come out in his nightgown in the morning looking for them.

Mom spent winters hunkered down in the basement sewing and watching the black and white T.V. In the summer she was the intrepid fruit stand owner who arrived by 6:00 AM and often stayed until 10:00 PM for three months of the year. Finally after about twenty years mom packed that in and soon had a job at Statistics Canada.

She had a yellow Pinto with no air conditioning that she drove all over southwestern B.C. drawing maps for the federal government. For fun she was involved in the Liberal party running as an MLA but being defeated, organizing a huge arts festival called Okanagan Image, and being appointed to various arts councils.

Dad was almost 19 years older than Mom, and after he died Gerry Bruck moved in with Mom. They were 77 and 87 years old when that happened which I thought was so adorable. Instead of children they adopted a poodle pup that had to make decisions and basically be the boss of the three of them. Mom and Gerry lived together until his death at the age of 98.

Mom’s last ten years were okay in that she continued to pound back litres of wine and dozens of chocolate bars and could largely get around with her walker. However, the past year saw a sharp decline and this past week Mom said she was completely ready to die. Every nurse coming and going from her room heard, “Can’t you just give me a shot? I want a shot.” You know Mom.

Mom had children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, two partners, travelled the Earth, had a lot of friends, enjoyed stimulating employment and volunteering, so for me it’s a celebration of life when someone at mom’s age dies after having lived such a full and wonderful life. She didn’t want a memorial as we had had a 100thyear celebration coinciding with my 70th birthday last year which she said was it.

In the spring I’ll invite the four grandchildren and six greatgrandchildren to joint me in scattering mom’s ashes which was her wish. Good-bye, Mom, we all wish you a speedy journey. Jan and I in particular wish this as Jan is now scared to go into Mom’s house alone as she alleges there’s a ghost in there. I will be sleeping there so, just saying.

Mom Finally Landed in Hospital

Nov27

November 27, 2025

Imagine being 100 and finally needing to be admitted to hospital for the first time in 35 years. Mom’s definitely one tough bird. I visited her today and she was able to use the walker and with help from a nurse made her way into the bathroom and back to her bed. The doc thinks she’ll be discharged on Monday, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she is.

Of course then the real trauma begins as after ten days in hospital she’ll be even weaker than she was so will need more care. She refuses to go into a home so I guess I can block off the next few months of my life. Kidding. Margaret and I are definitely going to Mexico and Belize in February.

I was heartbroken not to be a finalist in the memoir category for the Canadian Book Club awards. It’s amazing to think I would even enter something like that! But then those of us with poor self-awareness are everywhere. I’m thinking of the very heavy young woman in short shorts and a turtleneck sweater in Walmart the other day.

I’ve stopped fighting with the bots at Amazon. They removed me from my ideal category, Western Canadian Provinces Biographies and Memoirs, then when I inquired said oopsies, we’ll reinstate you, please wait up to 48 hours. I’ve been fighting with them for ten days now, no sign of it.  The latest bit of gaslighting said “Your book’s detail page will display the top three category rankings only.” Yet only two categories are displayed so I guess bots are blind.

I tried out a new recipe on Sylvie the other day as I’d invited her over for Happy Hour. I made mini beef Wellington bites, and they’re super easy to make and I think with more practice will be a very nice appetizer. Then the other day for fun I tried making mango curd, and with all the leftover egg whites made meringue shells and so made mango pavlovas. Calvin and Visini loved them.

I’m waiting for Steve MacNaull’s article to appear in Kelowna Now. I’ll use that as bait and drop it plus my book and a fruitcake off to the CBC station and see if they want to talk about my book. I’ve been posting photos from the old fruitcake days on Instagram and my Nuttier than a Fruitcake Facebook page and so people are inquiring as to where and how to attain the fruitcakes, to which I reply buy Okay I’ll Bite, the recipe is in there.

It really was adorable when a nurse phoned me when mom was admitted so that I could answer a bunch of questions as mom was in a delirium so couldn’t. She asked if mom used drugs or drank and I said she drinks wine every day. The nurse laughed nervously and said, “you mean like a glass with dinner?” And I said, “oh no, at least half a litre a day. Probably more. She drinks that to go along with the three Ritter Sport chocolate bars.”

The nurse then said,” Do you think she’s in withdrawal?” I said, “oh god no it takes an awful lot more liquor than that every day for our family to go into withdrawal.” I still remember being a few weeks pregnant with Nick and feeling sick as I had a cold and my dad’s advice was to take a shot of vodka. Mom screamed saying “She’s pregnant.” To which my dad looked at both of us with a look that clearly said “So?”

But today I didn’t smuggle any wine into mom’s room, though I did take some chocolate. As she’s enjoying the food at the hospital, she might not even want that which is clearly a new sign.

How I Became a Baseball Fan

Nov13

I would never have predicted this: the World Series made me a baseball fan, however briefly. I flew to Toronto on Friday of Game Six of the World Series and was surrounded by fans wearing Blue Jays gear. The man seated beside me was heading straight to the game to meet friends and he was pretty much vibrating with excitement, sure this was it; the Jays would make history tonight.

I took a cab to Alison’s place and when I arrived, they were of course watching the game. Sure enough, I got totally into it and began peppering Jim with annoying questions. “Do they get to bat again?” “Why is he out?” and then the most important question of all that night, “How is that a wedged ball?? It was NOT wedged!”

We went to bed greatly disappointed by the results but were sure Game Seven would be a glorious victory. We had tickets to a great play that night, called Tell Tale Harbour, written and starring Alan Doyle of the Great Big Sea. As it ended and we left the theatre people were buzzing, “The Jays are ahead 3 to 1.” We drove home in great haste.

You all know how that night ended, not with a bang but a whimper. Though I know the basic rules of baseball, having played it at Osoyoos Elementary Junior High School, suddenly it was over and I went “What happened? That’s it? It ends like that??” Jim explained it always ends abruptly. I was shocked and also surprised at my own roller coaster ride over a baseball game. Who knew?

The rest of the visit contained less adrenaline and a lot of enjoyment. I saw two more plays, attended a performance by the National Ballet, went to the art gallery, drove to a fab consignment store where I bought two things, visited Allen Gardens which is a plant conservatory, walked the ravine to the Brick Works market, and went to divine restaurants for delicious food.

Because I was there during the Toronto International Authors Festival, Alison booked us into a talk by two memoir writers, Susan Swan and Catherine Bradbury. Of course I found this very inspirational. At the ballet Alison introduced me to her friend Roxana Spicer who wrote The Traitor’s Daughter, which is a memoir.

Alison said to Roxana, “Moni wrote a memoir.” This is like saying to Wolfgang Puck “Moni makes a nice fettucine al Fredo.” I immediately did the two palms up saying “um, well, mine is self-published on Amazon, so….” and Roxana could’ve been all snooty but instead she was magnanimous and kind.

She said she has a friend who’s a published author who decided to go the Amazon route because he was tired of having to flog his works to publishers all the time.  Roxana added there’s nothing wrong with self publishing. I left there feeling quite buoyed by this nice writer.

As soon as I got home it was back to the old routine and I quickly made bran muffins for mom, baked a cake and got groceries for Osoyoos. The dogs and I drove down and spent two nights as usual, however this time for the first time ever mom said, “I’m sure you must be glad to be driving away from this crazy place.” I of course then said “no, not at all”, thinking oh yeah….

But I myself am crazy so shouldn’t judge anyone else. Imagine me yesterday, proudly mailing off my passport application, only to remember the moment after I mailed it, I forgot to sign the photos.

When Bots are Stupid

Oct30

Imagine my surprise to see that Amazon’s bots decided to write this about my book: “Customers find the content of the book wonderful and great for kids. They describe the writing style as delicious and unique. Generated from the text of customer reviews.” One reviewer had said they thought it was a kids’ book, then wrote NOT, as she read it and discovered it was for adults.

Though now I hope parents buy it for their kids because they need to learn the importance of cannabis and alcohol early in life. It’d be fun to give it to a twelve-year-old who then says to their mom, “Can we make cannabis cookies, too?” Or give it to a ten-year-old who can expand their vocabulary with four-letter words that mean ka ka.

As usual I panicked, and because the liquor stores were closed and it appeared no end was in sight, I stocked up on a lot of vodka, and some tequila. Of course, soon after the hoarding was complete, the strike was over and now I’m left with the most interesting assortment of brands. The small independent stores soon ran out of the normal stuff I buy (nice cheap Smirnoff) and so I had to take whatever was available. Fear not, it’ll get drunk. Or I will.

Great joy as I remembered my old pal Steve MacNaull from the Kelowna Daily Courier and decided to google him to see where he was. It turns out he’s now working for Now Media, and so I met him there today in their absolutely gorgeous office space on the 16th floor overlooking the lake and the autumn trees now changing colour within the neighbourhoods below.

We reminisced about the old days when he’d write articles about the government contracting business, Rucastle and Schiller Workskills. Then we talked about the fruitcake madness and how all of that went over the years. I gave him my memoir and told him to read it as I said, “you’re in it.” He immediately tried to look in the back and I said, “there’s no index, so you’ll have to read to find it.” Cagey, right?

I also baked fruitcakes a few days ago and brought him one of those. He very kindly got a knife and plate, and cut a piece then took a few photos of me holding my memoir in one hand and the cake in the other. When I saw the pictures, I was quite dismayed and said why oh why is my right eye so much smaller than my left? It’s not normal.

When I left, I asked about Now Media, and he said this story about my book will appear not just in Kelowna Now, but Prince George Now, Kamloops Now, and many other Nows. I don’t mind telling you I’m very excited about this as perhaps as we come up to fruitcake season, the article will arrive just in time to give people the nudge to buy the book as a gift for someone.

I’m off to Toronto tomorrow for a week of fun and am all packed and ready to go. Will just take a carryon for that amount of time. Actually, I took a carryon for my two weeks in Europe and when my male cousin arrived to drive me to the airport he looked at what I had and said “that’s it? For two weeks?”

Trevor and I are hoping today’s the final day of re-taping certain areas of the book that didn’t come out right. I’m willing to ignore all of the annoying swallowing just to get it over with, but there are some words that are just plain wrong and it has to be fixed.

Dog Germs

Oct17

I went to Osoyoos for the Thanksgiving weekend, and our friends Jim and Federico came from Vancouver. Having people at mom’s along with me makes the time there a lot more bearable. As much fun as it is to hang with a morose, cranky 100.5 year-old, it’s still way better with friends there.

We decided to have the big dinner on Saturday so that we could eat leftovers for Sunday night. Since we were all leaving on Monday it made no sense to leave all of that delicious food behind. I’d made the usual turkey and stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, broccoli, yam casserole (the one with marshmallows on top) and Jim and Fede made stuffed acorn squash.

The next day I didn’t want to eat turkey leftovers for both lunch and dinner, so decided to keep the noon meal kind of light. I had a bunch of carrots that I hadn’t cooked for the dinner given the glut of vegetables so thought a carrot salad would be a nice accompaniment. I grated a few and added a dressing made of mayo, sour cream, a finely diced clove of garlic and a squeeze of lemon.

The new food was then placed on top of the night before leftovers and suddenly the whole pyramid of bowls started to tumble. I grabbed at some of them and was busy peering into the fridge for new places to put all of this, when I realized the bowl of carrot salad was on the ground, right side up, minus its saran wrap. I heard slorping sounds and looked to see Louie scarfing back as much as he could.

Undeterred, I simply put the remaining salad into a smaller bowl and put it on the table when it was time for lunch. There was a green salad, and I’d heated some pork tenderloin from Friday night’s meal, and so no one noticed nor cared that I didn’t want any of the carrot salad. Happily, it all got eaten, and I restrained myself from telling them about it afterward. It’s our secret.

Nicky’s always said “Mom’s hobby is food tampering,” but this time it was an honest mistake. But then I was raised never to waste food, so what a dilemma, right? Anyway, if any of them report worms I’ll act completely shocked.

I’ve been pleasantly surprised at how well my wee memoir’s being doing on Amazon. I’m also shocked at people telling me “I couldn’t put it down.” However, the unfortunate part of marketing a book requires the use of Instagram, and I’m a mentally fragile Boomer who dislikes technology. However, I now have a handle, Moni Schiller Writes, so I hope to God I get the hang of it very quickly.

I’ve discovered I’m not a candidate for intermittent fasting, as it can trigger a migraine. I know what you’re thinking, but I’ve tested it out, and all signs point to me eating like a horse from the moment I wake up until I fall into bed. Fortunately I go to bed early.

I had last eaten at 7:00 PM on Sunday and then waited until 11:00 AM on Monday to eat, and wham! Migraine aura followed by feeling very bad for the remainder of the day. Why would I want to do that to myself when my fridge and cupboards are calling? Oh well, another weight loss method to add to the list of those tried, including Scarsdale, Atkins, Pritikin, and Keto.

Elsa and I went to thrift yesterday and I sent her a message after I’d tried everything on saying I wasted $10 but still had fun. She replied, “Still cheaper than the movies!” It’s a sickness.

Centenarian Tests Nerves

Oct3

Mom’s caregiver Karen who used to come for an hour a day, five days a week, has taken time off, likely with no hope of her returning. So now I have to find someone in a terrible hurry, and decided to just go with Interior Health, which we’d wanted to do originally. However when mom found out she’d get a different person each day she balked, and that’s why we went with Karen.

But now at 100.5 years of age, and with a very diminished mental capacity and zero physical stamina, I think she’ll just have to accept the revolving caregivers, right? It’ll be a lot of fun actually, because with just Karen and Jan mom couldn’t tell them apart or know which one was which. So add five care aides per week, and throw Jan in for fun in the afternoons, and look out.

I’m busy trying to market my memoir and am going to have to learn Instagram and use it. At first I thought I’d have to do it all on the teensy weensy cell phone, but luckily it can be done on my sainted laptop, where all creative things are made. Margaret set Instagram up for me on my phone, and the icons that came up were so small I needed not just glasses but a magnifying glass to see them. I realized this wasn’t going to work at all.

So now I’ll have to consult with my friend ChatGPT to figure out how to post on Instagram. I imagine myself as minor film director skulking around my house and yard for fitting reels. Then sneaking up on pets with my camera capturing them doing adorable things. Given my memoir is about food, I suppose the odd baking demo might be fun.

I’ve sold a dozen copies of my book, and am hoping this continues, reaching a crescendo in November when people shop for Christmas presents. The book is about fruitcake after all, so what could fit in better than that? I plan to make some of my Totally Decadent fruitcakes and pair those with a copy of the memoir for marketing purposes.

It’s still sunny and warm, blue sky without a hint of clouds and the garden is beautiful. I have to get outside and rake as living within a ponderosa pine forest one has a lot of needles to contend with. Nicky planted a chestnut 30 years ago and this tree’s now huge and sheds approximately one ton of chestnuts per year. All onto the driveway which has to be raked and swept for hours.

I spent $75 on very chi chi cheese at the Grate Cheesery here in Kelowna, as Margaret was coming and we were headed to Osoyoos for lunch with Denis, Luke and Mom. I made chicken souvlaki, Greek salad and roasted potatoes, so for dessert had the cheeses and grapes. I’ve never spent that much money on cheese in my life but it felt really good to do it. Freeing.

Yesterday I had some of this fancy cheese around, so I made a gourmet macaroni and cheese dish with them. I’ve never done this before, but you put the uncooked macaroni, cheese and whipping cream plus milk into the oven for 45 minutes and voila, very creamy baked mac and cheese. And then made with the decadent cheeses it was mighty good.

Trevor’s coming today to complete the re-recordings for the audiobook, and I’ll give him the leftovers because at around 1000 calories per serving a dish like that isn’t really good for me. It’s good for him, though, as he’s normal sized, actually quite thin.

Mom continues to eat at least three Ritter Sport chocolate bars a day and has no desire whatsoever to rein that in. And really, why would she when she’s in her 101st year?

A Very Bad Hen

Sep19

I had three black Araucana hens, two of which died, one by a predator, one from unknown causes. The one remaining hen, who I named Condoleezza, lays the beautiful blue eggs for which the breed is renowned. However in April she went broody for about four months recently snapping out of it and now again this stupid damn hen is at it again. She sits on useless eggs that’ll never hatch and of course then doesn’t bother to lay her own.

I’d just been proudly handing out blue eggs to people like Trevor and Elsa, but now we’ll have to wait months for more of them. I know, I could get another Araucana or two, but then if they also like sitting on the nest all day it wouldn’t be worth the gamble. I’ll just eat the other hens’ more normal coloured eggs and put up with this idiot of a chicken.

I need to renew my passport as Margaret and I are off to our beloved Yucatan in February, and I said to Calvin I decided to just get the paper copy and do it the old-fashioned way. He said he had to do it that way himself, given despite having a Bachelor of Computer Science, he couldn’t bust the Government of Canada website to do it online. So if he can’t do it, no one can.

And speaking of technology that could cripple a Boomer, I’m now waiting for Trevor to format my memoir, Nuttier than a Fruitcake, in preparation for its launch on the Amazon book site. Then we still have to meet to fool around with pricing, and I’ll have to write some preamble or other, and hopefully with God’s good grace, we can have an ISBN by September 30.

Why September 30 you ask? Because the Canadian Book Club awards require a submission by that date, and they have memoir as one of their categories. Vain and impossible, I know, but I’m doin’ it anyway. I’m going to enter my book and see what happens. Stranger things have occurred, right?

Mom remains a handful and mainly because she still believes she’s the queen. I was there a couple of days ago, and Luke and Jan came for dinner as usual. No one but mom wanted dessert, and at that point Luke stood up and said his back hurt and he wanted to go home. Jan was surprised he was leaving but then left with him.

As mom was chowing down on the prune cake with whip I’d made, she decided to get pissy, and just as Jan was going down the stairs she called her back. I waved Jan on. Then I came in and said what did you want to tell Jan? Mom said I want to tell her never to leave the table when someone is still eating. I said well from now on, unfortunately, things like that will occur and you won’t be able to control them.

Mom’s still scared shitless of dying, too, so that kind of hard control of everything makes life very difficult. She worries about so many useless things that at 100.5 years of age, one would have hoped she would have come to terms with them. She’s no Buddhist, I can tell you that for sure.

Meanwhile I revel in simple joys, such as learning how to make a nice yeast dough for the aforementioned prune cake. I’ve been frightened of yeast in the past but just decided to take the bull by the horns and give it a try, and then what happened was a lovely, fluffy bottom crust. As I said if you don’t try you’ll never win. Fingers crossed for my book.

The contest won’t announce anything until November, so I’ll have to try to be Zen.

Road Trip

Sep5

Luke and I went on a trip to Maple Ridge last weekend to celebrate Sunny and Mike’s 25th wedding anniversary. We’ve been there twice before together, once in ’20 for Freddie’s memorial, and again in ’22 for Twig’s. This time it was for a far happier occasion, however as with the other two times, car issues arose.

The first time Luke insisted on driving his old Honda civic, and somewhere near the summit of the Coquihalla it overheated. We had to pull over, he opened the hood and steam poured out. I was sure we’d miss the event, but because he already knew it was a piece of shit car, he had brought bottles of water for just such an emergency. After a bit of a wait, we were back on our way.

On the second trip we went in my Jetta because I didn’t want a repeat of the first one. All went well until we left Sunny’s place to drive to Julie’s where we were spending the light when the red oil light came on. We were both shocked by that as I do the regular oil changes every six months. The next day however we went straight to a gas station and while it was low, it was somehow overreacting, and all was well for the drive home.

This time Luke picked me up in his 1997 Crown Victoria. As we drove down the driveway and turned onto Hall Road, I said “it sure squeaks.” But the car ran fine, and as we neared Merritt Luke said we were low on gas but should be able to make it to Hope. I said maybe you should just go into Merritt and get gas, but he said no, that’ll waste 20 minutes we can make it.

This is what I really don’t want to hear when driving along. “Uh oh, I think that gauge was wrong, we only have 2 litres of gas left, I hope we make it.” Jesus, I hate that. So I just decided to think positive, pray a bit as well for good measure, and somehow after the car dinged the third and final warning that we were about to run out of gas, we turned off for Hope and into a gas station. Phew!

The party was a lot of fun as I know so many of those people, and I was able to visit with my grand nieces and nephew a bit. They were busy bartending and visiting with their friends. Amber is 11 and can make a very good Caesar. The event was catered and there were tons of food leftover which they planned to divvy up and freeze.

The next day the drive home was very painful for Luke as he was hungover. I felt fine, so I asked him if I should drive but he said no, he could do it. Imagine our shock when we arrived at my house to see Joan lying flat on her stomach in front of the steps. We asked what happened, and she said she’d fallen the night before, and had crawled this far and couldn’t get any further.

We got her up onto a chair and plied her with water. As Luke still had to get to Osoyoos, and given his state, he said he had to leave and drove off. I tried to help Joan into her car and couldn’t so called Old Faithful, aka John Patterson, and he drove right over and helped us. You know what they say, a friend in need, is a friend indeed.

I then went to Osoyoos where mom appears able to walk minus her walker, but only when in a trance. One night she walked down two steps to her old bedroom, slept in that bed for a while, then returned to the upper part of the house. I said to her see? you think you can’t walk, but it turns out you can. Isn’t that spooky? It means she’s still able to stalk people, coming upon them without warning.

The Care and Feeding of Mom

Aug22

It’s difficult taking care of someone who’s 100 and a half, and who’s basically crazy as a result of it. The other day mom phoned at 5:30 PM and said “Get me a doctor, I need help. Call anyone.” I said “Do you want me to call the ambulance?” and she said, “Yes, call anyone, I need help.” So I quickly called Luke and got him and Jan to head right over and told them to let me know what happened.

Half an hour later I got an e mail from Jan saying “Gramma was mad. She was out of wine, so Luke had to go to town to get it.”  Those are the typical kinds of emergencies I have to deal with. Often she calls saying “My phone isn’t working”, to which I explain it likely is, given she’s speaking to me on it.

Mom’s got macular degeneration and is almost blind as a result, so when I say I would prefer to clean a public toilet outside of a market in Thailand to hers, you get the idea. But one thing she can see no problem is food, and she has a voracious appetite. The other night she had two helpings of lasagne followed by a large bowl of peach clafoutis for dessert.

Often by 10:00 AM she’s nibbling on chocolate and drinking wine with it. I guess when you’re that age it’s pointless to pay attention to the time of day. In fact, mom will call and ask what time it is, and when I say 9:00, she says, “In the morning??” to which I calmly reply, “uh huh.”

Next week I’m going to start recording my book, Nuttier than a Fruitcake, so that I’m ready for all versions to go onto Amazon by mid September. I’m going to enter a reader’s choice contest which has a deadline for the end of that month, so I’m cutting it kind of close, but I’ll get it done because I have a good feeling about that contest.

We’re in the midst of another heat wave so I’m watering like mad, and I can see the results of it on my electricity bill. My well is powered by electricity, and with the irrigation system running three times a week all night long that takes a lot of juice. First you pay for the well, then you pay for the power to run it so the water’s not exactly free. But I still love having my own water source.

Hence for the next seven days I believe this is all I can do: water and work toward my book’s completion. Trevor, my illustrator’s coming on Monday with the recording equipment, so I have to get serious and stop fooling around.

Elsa’s going to be in Vancouver so that should cut down on thrift store shopping, and as I don’t usually go on my own, that’ll free up some of my time. I often marvel at how I worked, had a husband and kids, a yard and garden, and now I can barely do the few things I have on my list in a day.

I also won’t be returning to Osoyoos for a couple of weeks, which will help as I find my nerves are pretty much shot while I’m there, and then it takes a day to recuperate from it when I get home. Mom’s conversations are often puzzles. She says “Jan comes in and washes the dishes, then sits down and talks to me and I can’t understand a word she says. I wish she would talk first, then do the dishes.”

I reply, “But what difference does it make if she does the dishes first and talks second when you can’t understand her anyway?” To which she replies emphatically, “Exactly, it makes no difference.”

A lot of Lunches

Aug7

It’s interesting, but I’ve become a kind of a ghost placeholder for widowers. First my friend Ron, Rhonda’s widower came, and I made a ground pork, cheddar and noodle casserole, which he liked a lot. We talked about dear Rhonda and how wonderful she was, and I sent him off with a hug and a piece of chocolate cake.

Then came lunch for my friend Patricia where I had cleverly made extra of the casserole, and we had that however with a different salad. She loves cherries so I made a lettuce salad with cherries and a delicious dressing, and cherry clafoutis for dessert. Google those as they’re easy to make and delicious.

Elsa and Marie came for lunch on separate occasions and those are largely stress-free events as they happen so frequently. Then I made a new friend, and this was my junior high school friend, Bobbi’s widower, named Chad. He came for lunch, and I made us butter chicken, then he came to Osoyoos a few days later where we scattered some of her ashes.

Mom’s peaches, Glo Havens, are ripening in Osoyoos and they’re one of the nicest varieties around. She has 19 trees on her property so that’s a lot of compote, jam and pie. I was just there for my usual visit and picked around 25 pounds and want to return for more, but how when my nerves are shot from the drive as it is, so adding in an extra trip isn’t a good feeling.

Here’s another weird feeling. I now weigh 5 pounds less than I did when I got married 40 years ago. So the other day when I was cleaning out old stuff, I found my wedding dress and noticed it was a size 11. Should be perfect, right? I unzipped it and pulled it up over my hips and slid my arms into the sleeves then reached around to pull up the zipper.

Well. Do you know I’d need an extra foot of fabric to close it? How is this possible? I weigh less, yet can’t get even get close to zipping a dress I actually wore comfortably when I weighted more. I failed physics, you know, and this is another puzzle for me to ponder. I took it off, folded it and returned it to the trunk, to be tried on again in twenty years, I guess.

The other night while aimlessly scrolling through You Tube wondering what to watch, I saw Sumo Wrestling championships in Nagoya Japan. I thought what the hell, you can only watch so many plane crash and people slipping and falling shows, so clicked on that, and found out I just adore it. It’s so quick I’d hate to be there in person as you really need the slow mo replays to fully enjoy it.

What you get are two lard-filled behemoths crashing into each with such force their thigh fat ripples. At other times it’s like Bugs Bunny and the charging bull, he just steps aside, and pa-wang the bull hits an anvil. In this case a cagey wrestler steps aside at the right moment and his opponent steps out of the ring. End of match.

The other day I dyed my hair the colour of your standard mouse. Getting the Miss Clairol mix just right is hard, and see above, physics wasn’t really my thing. I guess this is more like chemistry as I mix two colours together, but now that I think of it, I failed chemistry as well. I’m not a math/science student by any stretch of the imagination.

But if you want a nice lunch made while reminiscing about your significant other, I’m ace at that.