Did you miss me?

I've been at my cottage where the bears run free and the internet access does not. Despite the rainy and unseasonably cold weather (oh gee, shocking, because we didn't have a summer like that LAST year) it's still great to be at the lake.

To make up for being incommunicado, I give you a few scenes from my cottage. I will be back on a regular basis, just not until the end of the summer.





Enjoy your summer! Except for my Australian readers who are frolicking in the snow about now. I'll raise a glass of gin and tonic in your honour.

Guinness is Celebrating and You're Invited

I wrote about my love of Guinness a while back simply because I love the stuff. It's got less alcohol than Canadian beer, a heck of a lot more taste and it's healthier (although to be honest, even if it was unhealthy I would still drink it.) I get a kick watching the foam roil around in my glass before I dive in for a big, creamy, gulp. The goofy mustache is a bonus.

Now, Guinness is celebrating its 250th anniversary of signing the lease at St. James Gate, and Guinness Master Brewer Fergal Murray is asking Guinness lovers to tell him where their most remarkable place to drink Guinness would be.

Fergal's most remarkable place is the Keg Plant at St. James' Gate Brewery, Dubin, home of Guinness.

Mine? I had to think about this. I could name many "remarkable" places, but truthfully, the best places for me have always involved family celebrations. For example, my father-in-law always stocks up on Guinness at Thanksgiving and sets it up in a cooler on his back porch. While my mother-in-law cooks the turkey and putters about the kitchen, the rest of the family (twenty+ and counting) go to the park across the street in Sainte-Anne-de-Bellevue, Quebec for a pick up game of touch football, one that involves kids from pre-teens to eighties. After the game, we come back for a game of home-style miniature golf around their house.

Now, bear in mind my inlaw's house is not big, and the lot it sits on is tiny and set on a corner of a bustling little village main street so there's not a lot of room for mini-putt. My father-in-law spends several days in advance to set up the 'golf course' using empty tuna cans for holes. The hazards are natural and challenging - a narrow passage between a 10-foot cedar hedge and a back porch, a paved driveway where the ball is in danger of bouncing into traffic and rolling down the sewer grate, a cement wall leading to the garage, and a vegetable garden full of squash and tomatoes - to name a few.

There are only two clubs which must be shared, every stroke counts no exceptions. We cheer, we boo, we keep the dog from running off with the plastic balls.

After the game, we come inside and and scores are tallied. Over a Guinness or two, we argue over who had the longest shot or the most challenging shot ("Come on, I held up traffic and shot into the bush beans then made my putt in two strokes. That's gotta count for something?" "Yes, but I salvaged a shot from behind the garden gnome, richocheted off the mailbox and landed in the potatoes while narrowly missing the pigeon on the roof.")

So, as I sit on my cottage porch, Guinness in hand, and wait for more guests and family to arrive at the lake for a weekend of swimming and barbeques and dancing under the stars, I have to say I think the best place for a glass of Guinness is wherever your loved ones are.

If you want to have a look at some of the amazing ways Guinness is celebrating, go their website. There is a trip to the depths of the sea to enjoy a Guinness in a deep sea bar, a visit to a recording studio to listen to the Black-Eyes Peas and a trip into space with Sir Richard Branson (don't even bother entering for that one, because I'm going to win it. I've already sent my space suit to the cleaners.)

Fred/Rocket/JustPlainCat found a home!

Meet the orphan, or should I say, former orphan. Oh, I tried not to care, I really did. But it was no use. I fell hard for this little one.
The cat I called Fred (and my daughter called Rocket because of the way it rockets around chasing moths and chipmunks and blowing leaves until it conks out and curls up in an exhausted ball) has officially found a new home.

I talked to so many shelters and vet clinics and rescue operations who refused to take one more abandoned pet that I began to despair I would never find a place for this little critter. I knew I couldn't bring her home. Never mind that my husband was adamant about no more cats (he threatened to eat hummus every night for the rest of our lives, and since I have been blessed/cursed with a keen sense of smell, this was a cruel threat indeed.) No, the two rescue cats I already have would eat this one for breakfast. My dog Buddy, to his credit, behaved like the gentleman he is and the two got on like bread and jam but his opinion counts for nothing in this house.

One last fond farewell to the porch that was her home for five days....
Every story should have a happy ending. And this one is no exception. Today, the little stray cat who showed up at our cottage, starving for both food and companionship, has found a new home. The chance encounter with the woman on a plane many years ago has given this little foundling a new life. Three cheers for Laura G.!
The End.

Found, One cat. Lost, One Heart

It started when my youngest daughter phoned me Saturday night. We were catching up with old friends at the lake, and she was back at our cottage. There's a cat outside, she said. A kitten, actually. What do I do? Tell her not to feed it, said my husband. Too late, she replied.

At first I tried to ignore this little cat. She hung around the cottage, meowing hellos every time I walked by a window.

She followed me up the road, and disappeared into the woods towards one of the rental cottages next door. I figured someone must have brought her up to the lake and she escaped. Maybe she'll find her way home.

She turned up again the next morning, and wrapped herself around my ankles. My husband took one look at my face and said "absolutely, positively, NO MORE CATS." I could hear her pitiful meowing in the woods that night, and prayed one of the hawks or local foxes wouldn't find her. In the morning, she was back again and for the past four days, she has slept under the porch and popped out from under the steps every morning. It's your fault, said my husband. You fed it. It won't leave now, it won't ever leave.

No More Pets, he said again. Then he left for the city and I stayed at the lake with Fred. (Well, I have to call her something.)

I posted notices. I called every shelter, vet and animal rescue place I could think of. I fed Fred and resisted patting her. I didn't want to get attached. But her fur was so soft, and she has a habit of reaching up and batting my hands with soft paws until I relented. She bounces up to reach my hand, closing her eyes in rapture.

I posted notices. I phoned neighbours. After calling every shelter, vet and animal rescue place I could think of, I called Hilary who runs the shop where I buy my pet food. She suggested another couple of pet rescue places but they too said no sorry, too full. The problem is, everyone moves on July 1st in Quebec, and many people (too many) dump their pets. So the SPCA and shelters and vets are full to the rafters with abandoned pets and if I give up Fred she will most definitely be put down.

Hilary then thought of someone she ran into at the grocery store the other day, a former customer who had lost her cat and was considering another one.

I called, we talked and I explained the situation. Fred is a lovely calico cat, with an engaging personality. She is sweet and gentle and comical, everything a cat should be. She is not afraid of Buddy, in fact she walked up to him and sniffed his nose, then rubbed against his chest. When I pick her up, she flips upside down and stretches out fully, then drops to the ground as though made of liquid.

As the woman and I exchanged information, she called me by the wrong name. I laughed and said how odd it was to use that particular name, as it's an unusual one here in Quebec and it's my daughter's name. Then when I corrected her and gave my full name, there was a pause and she asked if my husband was a dentist.

Turns out we met on an airplane many, many years ago, as we both flew back from London. We exchanged stories of lost luggage and delayed flights. Then we learned that she knew my niece from soccer. Small world, we chuckled. What a coincidence, we agreed. And we got off the plane and never spoke again.

Until today.

I've tried for three hours (and counting) to email a photo of this lost cat. Now I'm trying one last time to get a photo up on my blog. I'm hoping this works and that Fred will be adopted. She's too sweet not to go to someone who can love her.

So here is Fred, the cat who showed up on my doorstep this week.

Here's hoping.

Vicki Pettersson and City of Souls

This impossibly gorgeous, funny-as-hell friend of mine Vicki Pettersson is not only an amazing novelist and brilliant workshop leader (seriously, her workshop at last year's SiWC was inspiring, moving, and simply one of the best classes I've ever attended) but Ms Vicki is a former Vegas showgirl.
She just posted this Showgirl 101 video on YouTube in which the "bevel" and the "full slap" are explained. Maybe you've always wanted to give it a go. Vicki tells you all you need to know. I would try it, but it turns out I'm just not tall enough. Otherwise, I'd be covered in glitter and feathers and strutting my stuff, oh you know it, baby.

Vicki's latest book in the Zodiac series, CITY OF SOULS, is coming out June 30th. Go to Vicki's website for more info (she's doing a live podcast on July 2nd) and if you haven't read any of her books, just stop what you're doing, right now, and go get 'em. The first one, THE SCENT OF SHADOWS, has just gone into its SEVENTH printing!)

Go Vicki!!

The Pioneer Woman Cooks up a Book!

Bless Ree Drummond's little country heart, her alter ego and mega-blogger extraordinaire The Pioneer Woman is publishing a cookbook.

Now a lot of her recipes contain more butter and cream than my local superstore's dairy case, and that's just....well...that's just...oh for crying out loud, if I'm being honest, that's pretty awesome actually. What's wrong with a bit o' butter and cream?

AB-so-lute-ly noth-ing.

That's where taste comes from, people! Do I make her chocolate sheet cake everyday? No. Do I want to? Never mind. The point is, that chocolate sheet cake is perfect for special occasions, like days that end in 'y'.

Some of The Pioneer Woman's recipes have become family favourites. Take Penne a la Betsy. (If you can - you have to move fast in this house because it disappears quicker than teenagers when it's time to do the dirty dishes.) The only recipe I haven't like so far is the Asian Noodle Salad - far too salty and garlicky for my tastes, but I just made a few adjustments like cutting back on the soya sauce and garlic and voila - crunchy, healthy awesomeness. And you can have chocolate cake for dessert, guilt free.

The Bacon-Wrapped Jalapeno Thingies is the next recipe I'm going to taste-drive. We have a cottage party coming up, and they look like the perfect appetizer to serve with cold beer on a hot summer's night by the lake. I'll let you know how they turn out.

The Movie UP

My son, my eldest daughter and her boyfriend, all in their twenties, invited me to join them to see the movie UP. We went on a whim to a matinee, knowing nothing about it except it was a Pixar film. I knew I would be in for a treat. Pixar never disappoints.

UP is a beautiful, funny, soulful film with a deep abiding message of hope and love.

Then I saw this article today which is making the rounds on blogs and news sites. It seems to be legit, as Snopes has nothing on its site to dispute it.

HUNTINGTON BEACH – Colby Curtin, a 10-year-old with a rare form of cancer, was staying alive for one thing – a movie.

From the minute Colby saw the previews to the Disney-Pixar movie UP, she was desperate to see it. Colby had been diagnosed with vascular cancer about three years ago, said her mother, Lisa Curtin, and at the beginning of this month it became apparent that she would die soon and was too ill to be moved to a theater to see the film. After a family friend made frantic calls to Pixar to help grant Colby her wish, Pixar came to the rescue.

The company flew an employee with a DVD of Up, which is only in theaters, to the Curtins’ Huntington Beach home on June 10 for a private viewing of the movie.

Colby died about seven hours after seeing the film.

Pixar not only went out of their way to grant this child her dying wish, but they are downplaying their involvement. They refused to release names of those involved and declined to comment on the story. This is a company with heart.