Peanut butter pockets 10 times fast

"Say peanut butter pockets 10 times fast."

"Peanut butter pockets 10 times fast."

Sam laughs. "No, no. Say peanut butter pockets, 10 times fast."

"Peanut butter pockets 10 times fast."

Laughs and groans from Sam. "OK. Say peanut butter pockets."

"Peanut butter pockets."

"Now say it 10 times fast."

"It-it-it-it-it-it-it-it-it-it."

"MOM!"

And so it went. While Sam and I were lost in the twisty turning Bermuda Triangle that is backwoods Muskoka, I drove him positively bonkers playing dumb and managing to avoid saying peanut butter pockets 10 times fast.

"What?"

"Are you doing this on purpose?"

"No, I'm doing what you say."

"OK. In quotes," and he makes quote marks with his 11-year-old fingers, "Peanut. Butter Pockets. End quote." Fingers make end quotes. "Got that?"

"Yes," I say. Rolling my eyes with great overstated fervour.

"Now, say that."

"That."

"MOM!"

Maybe it was the sweet smell of Don's Bakery goodies wafting up from the back of the Jeep. Maybe it was the hot weather deep frying our sense of humour like a Scottish Mars bar but Sam and I had the best time Friday afternoon. Having been given the afternoon off, a Friday afternoon on a sunny summer day which is as fine a gift as baccarat crystal filled with Dom Perignon champagne, I decided I would drag Sam to the Butter Tart Festival being held by my company in Port Carling, Ontario. We got to Port Carling alright but there were SO many people and SO many cars and so (all cap it yourself) much everything that we never found the festival. We tried unsuccessfully to park a few times before I said to Sam, "let's just go." And he said, "Great!" Because he doesn't even like butter tarts. (Insane, I know. It must be because of the time I dropped him on his head.)

Since we were in the area anyway, and since I had a fever for butter tarts, we decided to go to nearby Bala, home of the world famous Don's Bakery. I spent half a week's pay on perfect butter tarts, incredible chelsea bun, egg bread and cookies. Fifty drooling dollars worth of awesomeness. Then we decided to go visit my blogging friend Debbie, who lives not too far away.

Now, I had only been there once. A long time ago. But I figured I would remember. Well, we did find it. Forty-five minutes of back roads and wrong turns and getting unbelievably lost later, all the while driving Sam into gales of giggles trying to avoid saying peanut butter pockets 10 times fast. He laughed, I played dumb, butter tart fumes made the Jeep smell like a bowl of brown sugar heaven and I must say it was the best afternoon I had ever spent with my youngest son. Possibly ever. So thanks, Sam. And this is just for you:

Peanut butter pockets. Peanut butter pockets. Peanut butter pockets. Peanut butter pockets. Peanut butter pockets. Peanut butter pockets. Peanut butter pockets. Peanut butter pockets. Peanut butter pockets. Peanut butter pockets.

Bitchy people, wrinkles and blogging buddies

I'm fecking old. Look at those wrinkles. Time for Old of Olay.

Quiet day here.

There's a fire in the wood stove, a chicken defrosting on the counter. Ben, the white cat, is sitting in the windowsill, licking what used to be his balls. I'm doing laundry, in spite of the fact that it costs more on a weekday (stupid Hydro), because I'm preparing for my surgery tomorrow. Whenever I prepare for anything – a camping trip, dinner guests, cataract surgery – I do laundry. When the beds have clean sheets, when every last towel is clean and smells fresh, I feel fully prepared for whatever lies ahead. Probably if I was ever called away to some emergency the first thing I would do is throw in a load of whites.

***

Yesterday something funny happened. Me and Dave (Dave and me? WTF, I'll never get it straight) went to Scrawl-Mart to pick up an office chair for my son, Sam. And some carrots, because I eat 10 pounds per week – I'm not shittin' ya. I think my skin is tinged with orange.

A woman came up to me in the produce section. She had a warm, curious smile on her face.

"Are you Cathy?" she asked.

I nodded. Unsure. Did I owe her money?

"I read your blog," she said. "I wasn't sure at first if it was you but then I saw Dave and I knew!"

I laughed. "A blogger friend of mine named Alan Davidson says Dave is the most photographed man on the internet."

We had a great conversation, standing by the carrots in Wal-Nuts. Sue lives just up the road from me, near Bracebridge, Ontario. She has just started beekeeping and she runs a nifty blog called Backyard Bees. (You should pay her a visit – her poor blog is kinda lonely and she has funny stories about backing into trees and runaway roosters.) Anyway, Sue was LOVELY. I was thrilled to meet her. Truth be known, I think bloggers are the nicest people. I've never come across a blogger I don't like. (Here's a link to the time I met Alan and Laurita Miller.) My dream is to meet all of them. Sue Harding suggested chartering a jet and fly around meeting everyone. Wouldn't that just be the cat's ass?

Another blogger friend of mine, Shelagh Duffett (an amazing artist, photographer and writer) went to a luncheon for all the local bloggers in her neighbourhood. You have to go and check her post. They had amazingly gorgeous, luscious food and, I'm sure, plenty of fabulous conversation. I know from past experience that when you meet other bloggers, you never run out of things to talk about. They're like best friends you didn't even know you had.

As for meeting Sue, I have another thing to confess: if truth be told it was also AWESOME to have somebody stop you in a store and RECOGNIZE you from your BLOG! I mean, come on, you'd be lying if you denied it! I walked around on Cloud Nine the whole rest of the day! Back in the days when I didn't say back in the days, I wrote a column for a community newspaper, part of my job as a reporter. It was common to have people come up to you in the grocery store and say, "Aren't you that arsehole who works for the paper?" But this was the first time it has happened since I started blogging a couple years ago. Thanks so much, Sue!

Some day I'd like to host a tea for the bloggers in this neck of the woods. I'd have to invite Sue, my friend Deb, Malcolm, Sarah and Ed, for starters. I just know we'd have plenty to yak about.

***

It's been a weird few weeks, being at home, unable to see clearly. I was hoping to have gotten some writing done but, honestly, I can't see well enough to do it. Heck, I was playing cards with friends the other night and I couldn't see what cards were turned up. I had to ask. Their answer was always, "That's the Queen of hearts." I believed them the first 18 times they told me that. Tomorrow is the surgery. I'm excited to be able to see again but I'm nervous.

Somebody asked me, "How can you blog if you can't see?" Answer? I can't! Good thing I touch-type. Good thing I have spell-check. Good thing I can blow up my computer screen, like, a million per cent.

I called the Huntsville blood clinic to ask if I could squeeze in some blood work before the surgery. I have to fast anyway so I thought I'd get my cholesterol checked at the same time. I've been holding on to the requisition form for a while now because it's such a pain in the ass to fast and then get to the clinic, blah, blah, blah.

So I phoned the girl to ask if she thought I had time and, MAN, WHAT A BIATCH! She was the grumpiest of all grumpy-assed-grumps I've talked to in a long time! I was polite, and nice, and told her I had to be at the hospital at 9 a.m. for surgery and did she think I had time for blood work? You'd think I'd ask her for her LIVER. Feck! Not surprised, though. Every time I go there I am dazzled by the complete rudeness. The nurses are OK but the people who do the paperwork are just ignorant! (So sue me! It's the truth! You think people LIKE fasting and getting blood work done? You ever think they're not well and maybe you should be NICE to them?)

***

Yesterday I used all my Shopper's Drug Mart Optimum points (and some of Dave's money) to buy a bunch of Oil of Olay products (thanks, honey-bun). Since I lost 56 pounds (and still am going for more) my face has sagged. It's like someone popped a friggin' balloon. I went from lovely fat-puffed skin to an old lady in less than six months.

Don't bother shoring up my ego. It's true. The only good thing about fat is it pouffs out your wrinkles.

Normally I ignore the ads on Facebook but I saw one for a skincare test for Oil of Olay and I was bored so I did it. The recommended a bunch of skin care products for old bags such as myself. (If you want to do the test, go here.)

Already I've used it twice and, by rights, I should look like a teenager again.

Pfffft.

***

If I die on the slab tomorrow, please, will someone please finish my novel? It's 75% done. I'd appreciate volunteers so Dave can give you a call if I croak.

Also, to my kids and my husband and my family and you, of course – I love you all. Even though you're a big pain in my ass sometimes.

***

P.S. I've got Weight Watchers tonight and I think I'm in trouble. I had french fries the other night. NECTAR OF THE GODS. And now I think they're stuck on my lily white ever-loving, growing-smaller arse. Can you see them? Yep, that's them. Swiss Chalet specials.

God I miss junk food. God I miss seeing. God I'm long-winded. Sorry.

P.S.S. I've got lots more letters to come in my Letters from a Friend series. If I don't croak tomorrow, I'll post them when I get a chance. Just so you know I haven't forgotten y'all. (I love saying y'all.)

Pay it Forward Blogfest

I don't know how I get sucked into these things. I woke up this morning with no intention of joining any blogfest, then Stephen Tremp mentions I got mentioned on Laura Eno's website and I see my pal Laurita Miller is doing it and, hell, I'm nothing if not a cool-kid wannabe... so.

HELLOOOOOOOOOOO PAY IT FORWARD!

(Man, I can't stop thinking of Kevin Spacey's iron-burnt face and Twister Helen in her tight-ass jeans looking for bottles of hooch in the kitchen light and that kid, that poor sad-faced little kid who did a bunch a sad-faced movies and then disappeared into kid movie star notoriety. I'm bad at names. And way too lazy to google 'em, cause really, who the hell cares?)

So here's the deal: I mention three blogs I really really like. And then you go visit their blogs and give 'em a follow, because you will love them as much as me, I promise. Then off I go like Red Riding Hood with a pic-i-nick basket and a Yogi bear in tow, off to visit as many blogs as I can muster. If you feel the need to get sucked in, here's the link to the linky list: http://alexjcavanaugh.blogspot.com/2011/09/paying-it-forward.html

Here's the hard part: narrowing down my favourite blogs to just three.

One of my favourite blogs, very, very favourite ones, doesn't have a lot of followers, doesn't get a lot of traffic and doesn't really care. My Great White North may have eschewed popularity but its purveyor, Deb, embraces humour, photography and a love for Muskoka, the rugged, beautiful place we both call home. Give Deb a chance to win you over. She will, I promise. Since I've been blogging she has become a friend and an inspiration. You can visit her blog here: http://mygreatwhitenorth.blogspot.com/

Lake Muakoka from the vantage point of Deb's deck.
Photo by Deb or Dave at My Great White North.

If there's anybody who can make me laugh out loud, it's Siren. I've mentioned Siren Song a few times because I can't get over how crazy-funny she is. Her latest thing is posing dead, dessicated frogs (or maybe they're toads – it's hard to tell they're so mummified), photographing them and putting words in their mouth through cartoon bubbles. Ridiculous fun but scathingly, cuttingly sharp at the same time. Yesterday she blogged about her Halloween display of zombies. Gotta love her. You can visit her blog here: http://sirentist.blogspot.com/

I feel a little lax about blogging lately, if truth be told. I'm trying to write a novel (hahahahah - how ostentatious does that sound!) and all my extra time that I used to devote to blogging and writing short stories is now devoted to novel-writing. I'm no Laura Eno or Stephen King. Every chapter comes down onto the page encased in blood. So I apologize for being distant - it's not that I don't love you all... because I do. You know I do. Blogging has changed my life, gave me the confidence to write this book, this tome, this blood-spattered albatross around my neck.

Seagull Cottage by Shelagh Duffett

I have one more blog to mention and it's one I think you'll enjoy. Shelagh Duffett is an artist living in Nova Scotia, Canada and she blogs at Alice in Paris Loves Art and Tea. This blog puts a smile on my face with its colourful whimsy, the chatty conversation of its host and its remarkably happy paintings. One of these days I'm going to dust off my credit card and buy one of her paintings, just because they make my heart smile. Shelagh blogs here: http://aliceinparislovesartandtea.blogspot.com/

One of the things I most enjoyed over at Shelagh's blog was her posting of this simple song. Take a minute and enjoy... it will make your heart smile, too. I promise.