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A Bizarre Amount of Cooking

Mar26

 After my trip to Mexico and Belize, followed by two and a half weeks of “Bill” in the house, I found myself terribly behind on lunches for friends. To catch up, I ended up scheduling almost back-to-back meals, lunches and dinners alike.

On Saturday, I made Ina Garten’s panko-crusted salmon with Amish pasta salad and a green salad for Chad and Miranda. Since it was Chad’s birthday, I also baked a vanilla layer cake with strawberry cream icing. The next day, Marie came for lunch, and I whipped up her favourite: Cactus Club-style chicken lettuce wraps.

Tuesday was Petra’s birthday, so I hosted a dinner for the Crones. The menu included chicken thighs in Dijon cream sauce, scalloped potatoes, a sweet-and-sour cucumber salad, and a tossed green salad to start. After nearly a week of kitchen marathons, it was a treat to meet Gitte for lunch at Joey’s. All I had to do was eat—and drink. Sadly, cocktails nearly cost as much as the main meal, so you really have to want that drink. I always do.

Wednesday Patricia came for lunch. Since her birthday had just passed, I made a fish stew, kind of a bouillabaisse with mixed seafood in tomato sauce, and toasted sliced baguette smeared with a roasted red pepper and garlic mayonnaise for dipping. It turned out very well, if I do say so myself.

Tomorrow Elsa’s coming for lunch, and Saturday Sylvie’s coming for dinner, so the cooking continues. Like Alison’s mom Pauline, I love sprawling on the couch, flipping through cookbooks, and plotting my next culinary experiment. So far, no one’s complaining.

I’m going to haul dozens of containers down to Osoyoos and fill them with dirt and probably pansies. I need to pretty-up Mom’s house and the property in general. I don’t have any time for the garden here in Kelowna that’s for sure, though I’ll plant my usual dahlias as that’s where I draw the line on sacrifice.

Thinking of the contents of Mom’s house is terrifying. I’ve harboured this strange fantasy of someone buying the house and saying they want to keep everything in it. But why would they? It hasn’t really been updated in forty years, so it’d have to be someone with a strong yearning for the 80’s.

Well, never mind. The nieces are coming for the May long weekend for a small family good-bye to Mom and Gerry (both boxes of ashes are side by side in Mom’s closet), and I’ll see if the girls are interested in any of the items there. For instance, Mom has at least 100 paintings, so that’s a big problem.

Between my fear of becoming a hoarder and the glut of items I’m about to face at Mom’s, I decided it was time to clean out my linen closet. It was scary to see how my mind works. Does anyone really use 18 tablecloths? Why did I buy the three matching towels with the giraffe-themed border?

I know what you’re thinking. Didn’t I say Elsa was coming tomorrow? Yes, she is, and yes, we’re doing our usual treasure hunting prior to lunch here. I just have to pray very hard to the Muse of Not Finding Anything to descend upon me tomorrow.

Living in a Viper’s Den

Mar13

Spoiler alert: I’m the viper. People ask, but how did you get here, and I reply I’m not exactly sure. However in January I needed someone to stay with the mutts while I went to Belize. My garden and yard helper, let’s call him Bill, had moved to Nova Scotia, didn’t like it and wanted to return to Kelowna at the very same time as my trip.

I then said well come and stay here with the dogs, and then you can start looking for your own place. I arrived home late on February 24th and Bill said, good news, he’d found a place, however it wasn’t available until March 15. Gulp. He’s a very nice person and all, but we aren’t close buddies, if you know what I mean.

So then cohabiting with an employee began, and there were many bumpy moments, all on my part as I discovered I cannot stand living with another human being. I adore travelling with Margaret, or staying with Alison, but for me, having to live with someone I really don’t know turned into a harrowing experience. For Bill.

At one point he admitted he didn’t feel comfortable, and I thought maybe it’s because of the icicles forming all over my body when we’re near each other. I explained to him that I’m unaccustomed to living with anyone, and so I hope there’s no offense taken if I pick up my laptop and move into another room. I said I can’t do this otherwise. He seemed to understand.

In the midst of this, I’ve also been to the courthouse four times with my probate forms, only to be sent home with corrections. I figure the fifth time’ll be the charm. If I can get those accepted, I’ll be halfway to my goal of settling all of mom’s life. My last trip to Osoyoos I once again filled the car with books, tablecloths, bowls, pans, and many other things from 80 years in the same house.

The reason for this is that I decided I can’t take the stress of owning mom’s property and it will be put up for sale. First time ever as my dad bought the land in the early 1930’s for $200. Of course it’ll be very sad to say goodbye to that, however whenever I’m there, I see all of the things that need to be done to maintain an old house. I already own an old house here in Kelowna and am dismayed by it.

Luke is balking at cleaning up his yard, but the realtor insists the place has to look neat and tidy. I’m hiring Luke’s pal to come and do some painting to spruce the place up. The private 90 feet of Osoyoos Lake that goes with the property is probably the biggest draw, so I plan on staining the deck and maybe prettying it up with planters of flowers.

The irrigation man was here yesterday digging a deep trench around my fruit trees and beds down in the vegetable garden where the greenhouse is. I had called the company to say I don’t want to continue moving hoses around down there all summer and requested underground irrigation that I can just turn on or off at will. It’ll be like the invention of the light bulb, a miracle.

But in the meantime I have two more nights of Bill and I bumping into each other in the kitchen or the only bathroom. Yes, we have to share a bathroom. When I went to Osoyoos Jan, being a Thai Buddhist said it was nice I had a friend staying. I said he is not a friend, so she said “oh good for you, you do good thing to help him.” And I said no, Jan, I want to kill him, so it’s not a good thing.

Beautiful Belize

Feb26

Mom would have been 101 today, and the amaryllis she received more than seventy years ago is blooming again in my home. It’s the coral variety I’ve seen in Hawaii, the one that keeps its leaves and stays bright green all year long. It reminds me of her: vibrant, enduring, effervescent.

Instead of simply staying in Mexico this year, Margaret and I decided it would be fun to visit Belize, just south of Quintana Roo.

My trip began slowly. There was a sick passenger on my flight who, for reasons unknown, took ninety minutes to disembark. By the time I finally landed, I found Margaret waiting patiently. We took a cab to collect our rental car and arrived in Akumal quite late. Despite having a unit number and entry code, the Spanish-speaking security guards made us wait another half hour before letting us in. You can imagine our moods by then.

Still, we spent two lovely days enjoying Akumal, a cenote visit, a beach day, and dinner at the Beached Bikini Bar & Grill, which has sadly declined since Covid. In fact, much of Quintana Roo seems to have followed suit; prices are now comparable to what you’d pay in Canada.

We drove south, returned the rental car in Tulum, and took the ADO bus to Chetumal, not the most appealing city, and later we learned, not the safest either. Our Airbnb was memorable for its single fork with bent prongs. One taxi ride featured a very cranky woman who repeatedly shouted, “¿Dónde está?” while we kept responding, “No habla español.” It was not our finest linguistic moment.

Fortunately, Belize was next, specifically Ambergris Caye. Our little beach cottage in San Pedro was absolutely charming (I’ll post a photo on my Nuttier than a Fruitcake Facebook page). On the morning of our departure, we discovered there was no water due to a main break affecting the entire street. You truly don’t appreciate water until it disappears.

We visited Caye Caulker, which, like Ambergris Caye, is ruled by golf carts. Add motorcycles and the occasional car and you have quite the traffic ballet. Lobsters were being grilled right on the beach, but having just eaten breakfast, we assumed we’d find similar stands in San Pedro that evening. We did not.

One unforgettable highlight was snorkeling with enormous manta rays and nurse sharks. Hol Chan Marine Reserve is sadly overrun with tourists, much of it feels picked over, with fewer fish and little vibrant coral, but swimming beside creatures of that size was exhilarating.

Because we love ruins, we took the ferry and shuttle to San Ignacio. Lucy, our enthusiastic driver, gave us an education on Belize along the way. Did you know the Mennonites dominate the agricultural sector? We even saw horse-and-buggy Mennonite communities that looked straight out of another century.

Xunantunich, built by the Maya around 600 AD, was spectacular. Despite my fear of heights, we climbed El Castillo and were rewarded with a sweeping 360-degree view. An 82-year-old woman from Quebec was horrified by the lack of railings, but we’ve grown accustomed to the minimal safety standards at ancient ruins. We were careful, not dismayed.

Our San Ignacio accommodation was adorable and just a two-minute walk from the best restaurant I may have ever experienced: The Guava Limb Restaurant & Café. The food, drinks, service, setting, and ambiance were exceptional.

We also visited the Belize Botanic Gardens and explored Cahal Pech, small but fascinating ruins right in town.

Then things became complicated. News broke of cartel unrest in Puerto Vallarta, and Ted, our driver from Belize, had insisted we take a taxi from the Belize–Mexico border all the way to Tulum. By the time we were in the cab, Ted was long gone, and I handed over a substantial sum to Xavier, our driver, muttering, “Thanks, Ted.”

My conclusion? You can skip Quintana Roo — it’s now priced like Canada — and head instead to polite, charming, beautiful, and still-affordable Belize.

Spooky Mild Winter

Feb7

Not to complain about the lack of snow and the 7 degree C daily temperatures, but it is a bit fear-inducing when you’ve lived through a forest fire-filled summer season, and therefore know what awaits us come July. Unless we get an awful lot of rain in spring we’re doomed to endure choking smoke all summer.

But the good news is the hens are enjoying the balmy weather so much they’re laying as though it’s summer. Even Condoleezza the black hen, who hasn’t laid an egg in at least six months, has started to produce again. There usually is a silver lining somewhere. Plus, of course not shoveling snow is a huge perk.

Next Friday Margaret and I are off to the Yucatan and Belize so I’m ga ga with excitement. Belize has the second largest reef after Australia so the snorkeling should be excellent. We’re taking carry-on luggage as we have to use public transport quite a bit on this trip so don’t want to lug huge suitcases on the bus. It’s a fun challenge to see how little one can pack and still live.

We’re so fussy we usually take our own coffee and French press, but due to space restrictions I said to Margaret I’ll bring the coffee, but we’ll have to cope with a drip machine in the Airbnb’s. Our first stop will be at a grocery store to get tequila, limes and canned milk. Strangely, there is no cream in Mexico. We learned the term leche evaporate and are good with that.

I’ve completed the probate forms and am now waiting for the Wills Search document so I can get everything notarized and filed. The paperwork looks like it was designed to frighten off ordinary humans but compared to the building permit nightmare for Mom’s property, probate was almost friendly. If the will is straightforward, I’d honestly say skip the lawyer and DIY—it mostly requires patience, persistence, and a very cooperative printer.

So, with that behind me I can concentrate on cleaning mom’s house up and getting it ready for sale. The beach front that goes with it, and where we have a very private deck and little bar, should help it sell. The property has never been for sale before as dad bought it for $200 in 1930 or 1931. It’s sad to say goodbye to it but I live too far away and I’m not leaving Hall Road.

Not that Kelowna’s anything to write home about but I adore my property and this neighbourhood. I’m a seven-minute drive from several thrift stores, and I don’t think anyone can beat that. People ask would you move to Osoyoos, and I reply no, there are no thrift stores there. Easy.

Old Gilles the garden handyman is actually willing to stay here with the pets so that’s a big help as I go on my holiday. Calvin works, plus he lives downstairs, so the dogs get too lonely if left with just friends dropping in to visit them in the day. This way there’ll be someone hanging with them all day and then all night, too. I can enjoy Mexico and Belize with a clear mind.

But one interesting thing about this winter is the shockingly cold arctic front in the East has also messed with Belize where the weather was unseasonably cold. It’d be horrible to leave an unnaturally warm northern climate to arrive at a strangely cold one in the south, but this could happen. I have to be prepared for anything including snorkeling in a jacket.

The Year of the Fire Horse, anything and everything could happen.

Sure, I Eat Fruit

Jan23

I was in Osoyoos last week on what I thought would be a simple errand: dropping off Mom’s will at the Bank of Montreal and the Credit Union. Silly me. What actually happened was the closing of one account, the transferring of another, several forms, multiple online identity checks involving unflattering close-up photos of my face, and, because why not, a scheduled phone interview with someone in Eastern Canada. Apparently even dying now requires follow-up questions.

Nothing, as it turns out, is easy in this process.

While there, Luke and I got to talking about fruit. He said he eats two or three peaches a season. That sounded about right to me, I probably eat the same.

When I got home, however, I immediately polished off a box of cherry cordials from Purdy’s that my friend Jerralynn had brought me. She knows I like them enrobed in dark chocolate.

Afterward, I thought, See? I do eat fruit.Granted, the cherries have first been bleached in a lye bath, dyed with Red Dye #3, soaked in high-fructose corn syrup, and then sealed in chocolate, but still. I don’t know why I’m so hard on myself at times.

People are aghast that I should have the audacity to attempt to do the probate forms myself. I say piffle to that. If I get to a place where I simply can’t go on then I’ll hire a lawyer. But for now everything seems to be ticking along: Form P1 sent to the nieces, requested a Wills Notice Search, asked for and received a Date of Death Valuation Statement. All good so far.

The hardest part of the forms is the medium, not the message. Trying to figure out Adobe was fun at the beginning. When I was finally able to email the first form for Calvin to print for me, it was named “Form P1,10th Try.” But you have to hand it to me, I don’t give up easily.

I’ve sent a parcel to the kids in Japan which is always a shock as it’s very expensive. However if it brings a few chuckles to the grandkids it’s worth it. I added a jar of peanut butter as I read it’s very expensive in Japan and Nick plus the kids are crazy over it.

I also saw on one of the YouTube channels I like about Japan that fruit can cost hundreds of dollars per piece. In the “luxury tier” a musk melon can go for around $200. Special mangoes sell for $50 to $100 for a pair of them. I feel better when I see that and realize how much money I would save if I lived in Japan.

Every time I leave Osoyoos I fill the trunk with items for thrift. Now when I go to shop with Elsa I see all kinds of items that used to be Mom’s. A very nice person sent me a message on my Fruitcake Facebook page saying they’d found some type of plaque with Mom’s name on it, so had Googled her and were fascinated by all that she accomplished in her life.

I know, it seems heartless to get rid of all of that kind of stuff, but trust me, I kept all of the “good accolades.” That includes the Order of BC and her Jubilee Medals from the Queen which were awarded for volunteerism.

So now when people say so are you enjoying your free time without all the things you had to do for your Mom, I reply steely-eyed, “you have no idea.”

Wood Horse vs Fire Horse

Jan9

I was born in 1954 which in Chinese astrology is the Year of the Horse. This year is the same animal, however they’re vastly different horses. The year I was born, it was the Wood Horse, but this year it’s the Fire Horse. I had wondered why I was feeling this intense burning desire to get things done, and then realized wood feeds fire, so this is going to be a hot and turbulent year.

Not only am I the executor of mom’s will, so have to figure all of that out, but I want to list and sell her property and when I think about the amount of stuff in that house beads of sweat form on my upper lip. So what I need to do to calm down, is to hang around with Goat people, and that includes those born in 1967.

The Goat is the Horse’s best friend. This is perfect as Margaret was born that year, and we’re off to the hot Yucatan and Belize next month so we’ll see if she can provide a cooling effect. In general, though I have to be mindful of not acting in a speedy manner and have to be strategic in all that I do. If the property doesn’t sell, it doesn’t sell. I have to be patient.

The one incredible ace in the hole we have is that the property can be used for short term rental.

I want to write a memoir of life with Mom, but I’m avoiding it entirely and have written a book for kids ages 7 – 9 instead. This makes sense as I figure just like with cold water, I need to slowly ease myself into it. It turned out to be quite enjoyable to write this little book as I used Louie and Frieda as dachshunds who fancy themselves the crime stoppers of the neighbourhood.

Because of the age group I’ve asked Trevor to show me ten illustrations that would go with key points in each chapter. As usual, it’ll cost hundreds of dollars to put this little book on Amazon that may sell a dozen copies. I’m obviously not in this for the money.

I’m relieved and celebratory to have made it to the 30 days past mom’s death date so that I’m now in charge of everything. This is a normal stipulation in a will, but with mom and her voodoo it was always spooky. Once Freddie had died, she was all cocky and would say “we’ll see who’s gonna die next.”

I would get crazy with ire and tell her to stop putting a curse on me, to which she’d shrug and sniff, “I’m just saying, you never know.” Then I would reply “please stop it.” To which she would say “These days anything could happen.” And this would go on until I would leave the room and go outside to scream. I say to people, I argued with Mom until five days before she died.

A few weeks ago I was driving my neighbours to the airport, and as Jim has mechanical skills, and in fact has replaced all four of my brakes, I said to him my headlight dimmer isn’t working. I said it’s fine on low beam, but when I want high beam I have to pull the lever toward me and hold it. He said “um, push the lever forward.”

I said, “Oh my God I’ve had this car for almost nine years, and I’ve been pulling the lever toward me to get the high beam.” He said, “that’s for flashing your lights to warn drivers.” I’ve laughed so hard since then thinking of all the times people must’ve thought there was some hazard up ahead and slowed down looking for it. I’m a complete idiot.

First Christmas without Mom

Dec27

I wondered what it’d be like to enter Mom’s house the first time after she was gone. I’d picked up her ashes, and it was a melancholy feeling to bring them back into it. Three days before she died, when in hospice, she said, “I don’t think I’m gonna see my house again.” She didn’t say it sadly, or angrily, but stated it as a matter of fact. I replied I didn’t think so.

As I carried in the ashes, I thought nope, you’re not gonna see it, but you’re back, in the house that you lived in for 80 years and loved so much. I was scared I was going to reignite my nervous system and go into a bawling fit but I pulled myself together and put the box of ashes right beside Gerry’s in Mom’s closet.

In case you’re wondering, Mom promised she’d haunt me if I paid for an expensive urn as she wanted the ashes in a plain cardboard box, given she wants us to scatter them. I was expecting a dog fight at the funeral home, but the Nunes-Pottinger people were so nice they didn’t do any upselling and, on the contrary, provided a lot of additional services that are helpful.

And so, Christmas in Osoyoos was different, but still fun. Luke made a ghastly concoction of whiskey, Kahlua, egg nog, and coca cola and asked if I wanted one to which I said God no. I find there’s no way I can get around the Caesar at 4:00 PM. Like the character Karen Walker on the old Will and Grace show, I look at it and say, “Why are you so good to me?”

On Christmas Eve I slept in the house alone, albeit with the mutts, and I can report there was no ghost. Jan’s refused to enter mom’s house or garage since she died, which is really inconvenient for her and everyone else. She has to lug her bike up their steps now, and she’s also been unable to check the mail as the key’s in Mom’s house.

She will enter the house if other people are in it, so she brought over a basket of laundry, which has also been building up. Their washing machine’s been broken for months but we all know Luke’s never going to fix that, so she’s just walked over and used Mom’s. But not now. So before we sat down for Christmas Eve’s nice seafood dinner, Jan had to start the washing machine.

I don’t know how long this shunning of Mom’s house is going to continue as there are houseplants in there that will need water. Asking Luke to do that is like asking him to fix a broken washing machine; it’s not going to happen so why waste the energy? I think you can see how the next while is going to go between me, Mom’s house, and Luke.

You’ll find this adorable. I’m the executor of Mom’s will, but I don’t have a freaking clue as to what I’m to be doing. It’s kind of like I used to be in either the fruitcake or the vocational rehab business, wherein long reports would be due. In either case I’d sometimes do nothing at all and hope the elves would come and do it for me overnight. They never did and I’d have to work like a frightened idiot to make up for lost time.

I’ve sold approximately 60 copies of my memoir, Nuttier than a Fruitcake, and have 13 five-star reviews so I feel pretty good about that. I’m now going to map out my next book which will likely kill me as I have Mom’s journals and want to do a memoir about our turbulent and complicated relationship. Have you read Running with Scissors by Augusten Burroughs? Something like that.  

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.