Tag Archive | writing

This Should be Interesting

Sep15

I phoned my GP’s office and said even though there’s nothing wrong with me, I’d like to come in for a general check up with my doctor. The receptionist looked up my file, and said, “Oh yes. I see you were last here two years ago, so you can have an in-person appointment.” I said, “great thanks,” thinking wow, what if I had made the mistake of calling earlier. I would’ve been told I could have a phone appointment, I suppose.

One of my friends who shall remain unnamed is looking forward to this with great anticipation. She hardly drinks but has had blood tests showing elevated liver enzymes. My last blood tests of a few years ago showed my liver being “fine” according to the doc which made her shake her head in wonder. She’s now hoping for similar results on my new blood tests which the doc will presumably order.

This is why we’ll all be waiting with bated breath for these results. Tomorrow when I see the doc, I guess she’ll do the usual and ask how many drinks I have in a week. This then causes a few moments of mental consternation as I begin to cipher it out. “Let’s see. Three times seven is, no wait is that six plus two? um I think it’s around ten drinks a week.”

She then probably writes down twenty which is more like it. I believe we’re supposed to have a limit of one drink a week, or something nuts like that. This will never work, just like once-a-week watering in the Okanagan summer heat doesn’t work either. And really folks, with AI threatening human extinction, is it reasonable to follow some of these untenable rules?

How embarrassing if I have to report I also have elevated liver enzymes. My parents would be so ashamed. There was one thing they always agreed on: you can’t trust a teetotaler. It was one of the worst things you could say about someone.

I’ve been in some kind of writing mania for the past several days as I wanted to enter the San Miguel writing contest that closes today. I also wanted to finish the third and final kids’ book featuring the dachshunds as the neighbourhood crime watch. And now those things are indeed behind me, so I can fully concentrate on the impending reunion weekend in Osoyoos.

Alison’s arriving from Toronto on Thursday, Penny from the Island on Friday, and we’re heading south to party with Phyllis and Mary. It’ll be grade ten all over again, just with more liquor, better food and heavier participants.

You’ll recall I sent photos and wording for a website on Mom’s property to Luke but I’m sorry to report we are nowhere with that. I don’t know how to get that kid to move. He’s been like that since he entered kindergarten though so I shouldn’t be surprised. It’ll be nice when done, but by then the house may have crumbled into the ground.

We did pass the inspection on the modular home and so that hurdle’s behind us. I just wish someone with imagination and ambition sees the potential in two houses on one acre with a hundred feet of private beach across the road. I like to imagine a couple who adore cooking and hosting running a high-end Airbnb or else creating an artists’ retreat.

In the meantime I just have to wait and hope. It’s not unlike the writing contests.

Dangerous Yoga

Aug18

As usual, I wasn’t sky diving or practicing tight-rope walking when I hurt my back this morning. Instead, I was doing some yoga moves that I’ve done many times before, but this time my low back decided it didn’t like those poses. And now I’m so crippled I had to ask Calvin to water my fig trees as I can’t lift the heavy water jugs.

Instead I’ll have to work on my writing which I always like to avoid doing. It’s strange to have a hobby that one dreads. Why do it then? It’s not possible to explain to anyone who doesn’t write. But as difficult as it can be, I find it’s one of those activities whereby hours go by without me noticing them passing. And of course I like to see the final product, so there’s that.

Unless one is dissatisfied with the final product, as I was with book 2 of my series featuring the wiener dogs as crime fighters. I had to re-visit and re-write parts of it so that I could go onto book 3, the final one. Once that one’s written, illustrated and for sale on Amazon I’ll let you know. I think they might be nice as Christmas gifts for people with small kids.

Just as it took years to realize I was retired and could do whatever I liked, it’s finally starting to dawn on me that without caring for Mom, I have more spare time. I was very wrapped up in the probate forms and then getting the property ready for sale. Without having to drive 100 miles each way every two weeks I find I have many more days to do whatever it is that moves me.

To whit: Yesterday I drove to Trail Appliances and spent money like a drunken sailor. I bought a gorgeous induction oven, an upright freezer and a dishwasher. All high-end and I didn’t even blink at the bottom line because that’s what I wanted, so that’s what I got. Being retired turns a person into a bit of a narcissistic maniac.

I feel particularly enamoured of my new stove. Though it cost more than my first Honda Civic, the interior is cobalt blue. The exterior is white. I think I’m in love. The reason for the stove finally hit full force when I tried to make one of those roasts where you start them at 500 then turn off the oven for two hours. I made that for Calvin’s visiting friend from Hungary, and it was a disaster as my oven doesn’t hold heat. After that I went, that’s it. Cooking and baking are my hobbies.

And as these are my hobbies, I have to invite people over to eat the stuff. In the past two weeks I had Rhonda’s widower Ron, then Petra and on another occasion Marie here for lunch. I also had Mike the Eccentric House Painter here for a farewell lunch as he leaves to find his fame and fortune in Terrace, BC.

I’ve discovered brining and am nuts over it. Have you ever tried it? I got some of those extra thick cut pork chops and wondered what on Earth one does to ensure they’re done, yet not dry. Looks like brining is the answer. I put two of these massive chops into four cups of water with four tablespoons of kosher salt and left them for eight hours. Delicious and moist.

Thursday could be a dangerous day given Elsa and I are going treasure hunting. We haven’t been in several weeks which likely means the back seat heaped and the trunk full. This is another hobby that I enjoy very much, but which can also cause consternation.

 But with this bad back I may as well shop as God knows it’s probably the best therapy for it.

Sneaky Yoga

Jul3

It’d be wonderful to be able to say one had been injured falling from a bike, riding a horse, water skiing, but no, my back is wrecked thanks to yoga. I’ve been alternating weights one day, yoga the next so imagine my surprise to find it was the yoga that injured me.  So simple, just kneel, put your left leg forward into a lunge, raise your right arm and bring it to the outside of the left knee and look toward the back corner of the mat. Just a simple twist, but for some reason, my body balked.

I’m taking advantage of it by doing even less than I would normally do, physically that is. I still have to work on my kids book as I want to complete the third by the end of this summer. Then I’ll have a nice little series of three featuring the dachshunds as the neighbourhood crime watch. You’ll be absolutely stunned when you see the illustrations an artist is doing for them.

It’s kind of insulting the way the dogs act when I clean or put on makeup. It’s like I never do these things, so when I do they think something’s up. And I suppose it must be true, as dogs are creatures of habit. When I put on makeup, I’m generally going out, or else someone’s coming. I always clean before a guest comes due to the mountains of cat and dog fur everywhere, so it makes sense.

But when I’m just at home, deciding to clean for the hell of it, no-one coming, I do feel the sting of the dogs’ quiet judgement. Alright, already, I’ll vacuum and dust more frequently if that’s what you’re on about.

Remember Joan Rivers’ old joke? You vacuum, make the beds, clean the bathroom, do the dishes, and why? Six months later you have to do it all over again.

Yesterday I made a very poor-quality roast for Calvin, Visini and their guest Dominic from Hungary. I stupidly decided I’d try something different and make a medium rare kind of roast, whereas I’m really best at the well-cooked pot roasts and stews. And of course it was tough as shoe leather, though I’d prepared for that with an immense number of fatty sides.

I’d also made my four-layer chocolate cake and distributed large pieces topped with ice cream. All of that seemed to take their minds of the dreck roast. I said to Visini the next time I say to you I’m going to experiment with something new, stop me.

Here’s something absolutely disgusting and terrifying: Calvin saw a very large rat in the storage room downstairs. About a month ago when Sylvie came to feed the cats as we were away, she said she heard a scrabbling sound. I said probably some half-beaten animal the cats dragged in. But no, it’s a healthy rat, enjoying all the Purina Cat Chow it can hold.

I wondered why I would have 7 empty cans of cat food in a day and now I know why. I’m terribly disappointed in the cats for not killing it and its kin, of which I imagine there are many given the endless supply of food. I’ve now removed all cat food and will get a few nice big strong rat traps and hope to Jesus I rid the house of them. Can you imagine?

By the next time I write, I will have celebrated the first birthday of my life without my mom. I had 71 of them with her, so that’s quite an extraordinary number. Mom being the kind of person she was, she always held large outside galas on her deck in the Osoyoos heat. This year I’ll be busy setting rat traps instead and that’s fine, too.

Bears, Deer, Ants

May21

Imagine my surprise to enter the chicken coop to find the feeder pulled down off the chain and thrown out through the coop door; the Tupperware of chicken feed was opened and dragged, and plastic was torn from the wall in one corner. I emailed Calvin and said some crazy raccoon must’ve gone into the coop. An hour later I got the video taken by our outdoor camera of a black bear zipping in and out of the coop.

A chicken would come out, then the bear, then two chickens went under the coop followed by the bear. All chickens survived! It was quite a dusty ruckus out there, and where was I and the dogs? Right here in the house calmly washing dishes, listening to YouTube and napping (dogs). This was all going on just meters from the house and I had no idea.

So then I got a company to come in and build a fence to keep bears out, and that’s a topic for a psychiatrist’s couch. Very traumatizing to come home to something that resembles a high security prison wall and has all the charm of one used for a firing squad. And the thing is, it still won’t keep out a determined bear so whatever all of that was about I have no idea.

Then a few days ago I heard intense barking and came out to two deer just inches from the dachshunds. They were barking furiously and I know a deer can mess up a little dog, so I was screaming for them to come. Suddenly one got crabby and gave Lou a push with her foreleg, like, get outta here, dog. He wasn’t hurt and both dogs finally came in.

We have millions of ants marching into the house at all times. Calvin got big pails, filled them with borax and put them into the yard hoping to attract the pests, but no, nothing. Today when I was gardening I suddenly felt something in my ear, and sure enough, an ant. I think the entire attic of this house must be a giant ant’s nest, but whatever. They have to live too, I guess.

On the long weekend I went to Osoyoos as did my nieces and their families for a farewell to Mom. I stupidly didn’t have anyone take pictures for me on my camera, so I have none. I’ve begged the nieces for them but can only hope they take pity on their old aunt. I was going to ask our neighbour Lynne to come and take a group photo but neglected to do so.

All of the food I’d prepared was eaten with great joy. On Friday night we had lasagne, and on Saturday it was roast pork. Sunday’s dinner was chicken Marbella. I’d also baked (see last blog) and all of that except for a few muffins got consumed. Dinner for 11 twice, and dinner for 8 once was a challenge, but a very doable one.

You know how competitive I am, so I’m going to enter the Canadian Children’s Society of Children’s Authors, Illustrators and Performers (CANSCAIP) writing contest. My books featuring the dachshunds as the neighbourhood crime watch is for kids ages 7 – 9. The very nice thing about this contest is that it’s super cheap and they also provide feedback which is the most valuable part.

I made the worst lunch ever for Mother’s Day for my friends Gitte and Roxanne, as I thought I could make vol au vent shells from frozen puff pastry. Luke’s coming tomorrow to help Calvin work on a car so I’ll make dinner for the three of us and will hope for more of last weekend’s successes.

Beautifying Mom’s Property

Apr9

 I had to do all the things on Mom’s property that I hire people to do on my own. Nearly killed me. I was there for four days over Easter, painting, cleaning, planting, pruning, decorating, all in an effort to get the place looking as lovely as it can be. I feel quite satisfied with the interior, and I have Trent, a friend of Luke’s doing paint touch-ups on the exterior.

What I’ve found tremendous fun is gathering the adorable things I want to put on the lake piece. I’m getting Trent to paint the deck and I’m going to put some hanging pansies on the giant wooden wall our neighbour has erected between properties. I’ve also bought a giant colourful umbrella, matching pillow, and tin signs for the bar Luke and Calvin constructed.

I told the realtor I need at least a day’s notice prior to the drone, video and photographs because I want to fix everything up. I plan to put two glasses and a bottle of wine on the bar, and I have a cute blue and white tablecloth to give it that totally French country look. The goal is to build the fantasy in the buyer’s mind, right?

Sadly, the worst of it all is the perimeter of Luke’s house as well as the garage. Both give the opposite effect of the lake piece, one of oops, you’ve accidentally crossed over into a garbage dump. It’s not what I want at all, and neither does the realtor.

I made everyone’s favourite breakfast casserole, the one made from toasted croissants as a base, and then you add bacon, cheese, and an egg and milk custard. Leave it overnight in the fridge and bake the next morning. Everyone weeps a bit as they’re eating it. I also made those naughty chocolate, peanut butter and fruity marshmallow squares. Again, much blubbering from joy.

I went into the Osoyoos Museum with a few copies of Okay, I’ll Bite along with Nuttier than a Fruitcake as they had invited me to do so. I was thrilled as I’d forgotten all about marketing and that reminded me, oh yeah, you have to market these books if you expect them to sell.

That then got me back into seeing where else I might flog them and happened across the Okanagan Regional Library which allegedly stocks local authors. In any case I applied, so maybe? Even if they don’t, I can use the Osoyoos Museum and the 15 five-star reviews on Amazon as I drive around trying to sell my wares.

I’m reverting to my childhood as I now have several Barbies all nicely dressed and held up in special holders so that I can sit and admire them. You probably don’t know that in the 1950’s and 60’s Barbie’s clothes were influenced by couturier designers like Balenciaga, Dior and Chanel. They were hand-sewn in Japan and used real zippers, finished linings, and real leather and suede accessories.

I’m fortunate to have a few of these beautiful clothes and I also inherited several from my friend Bobbi. I have her Barbie dressed in a black strapless gown called Solo in the Spotlight, made in 1960. I know you probably think I’ve finally lost my marbles, but no. It’s more a trip down memory lane but with lovely vintage things.

Or perhaps an escape from the next big hurdle since I conquered probate: sell mom’s house!

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.”

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.

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.