tonight

I’m sleepy and want to go to bed, but I have to do an interview on a radio station in a few minutes.  They want to talk about life and my books and what-not.  Apparently, it’s a heavy metal radio station.  I’m fine with that.  I figure all kinds of people, listen to all kinds of music and maybe they have kids that might like Porcupine.  Besides, they are the ones who tracked down Melissa at my publishing house, so somebody at that station must like my writing. 

I made swordfish tonight on the BBQ.  I’ve never cooked swordfish before.  I made up a marinade to brush the fish with.  I was a little worried, because I just poured some stuff into a cup and chopped and diced a few things and added a splash of this and a dab of that until it tasted like maybe it would be good.  Don watched in horror, because he was the one who splurged on the swordfish and was afraid that I was going to ruin it. 

I was afraid I was going to ruin it too, but that made it even more fun, like I was doing a high-wire act without a harness. 

Well, the swordfish was a huge success.  And the fresh corn and pot of wild rice were tasty as well. 

The only problem was, I was worried that the smell of the fish cooking would bring a big black bear snuffling around.  I brought the dogs out with me and they seemed fine, so that was good.  But around forty-five minutes after dinner, they started going crazy and whining and barking at the door and Don let them out and they went racing down the hill through the woods towards the creek barking their heads off. 

Oops.  I have to go and get ready, set up for the radio show.  A glass of water, etc.  So, I better wrap this up quick.

There may have been a bear lurking and maybe not.  The dogs were acting like there was something out there, but I didn’t see it. 

Will loved the fish and was a little disappointed ( a polite way of saying, grumpy) when I said, “Well, enjoy it, honey, because I have no idea what exactly I put in the marinade, or the portions, so you won’t ever be eating this particular dish ever again.”

Posted by Meg Tilly on Friday, May 23, 2008 in Chewing the Fat

My friend Gerry just sent me the following quote

It made me laugh so I thought I’d share it.

Warren Buffett’s economic comment (March 2008):
“You only learn who has been swimming naked when the tide goes out -
and what we are witnessing at some of our financial institutions is an ugly
sight.”

Posted by Meg Tilly on Thursday, May 22, 2008 in Chewing the Fat

The below posting is interesting to me, but probably not to most…

On the news it said that the tourism trade here in Canada has reached the low levels last recorded in 1972.  It also said that one in ten jobs in this country are tied to tourism.  Restaurants, shops, bed & breakfasts, hotels, museums, etc.  So, obviously this potentially represents a huge problem for Canadians.  Because if one tenth of all the jobs are shaky, that effects the rest of our industries because if there are huge job losses, people will have to cut back on other spending even more than we already do because of the huge surge in food and gas (which are not included in the core index inflation computations) as well as the rise in all the things that are.

However, what is so surprising to me about this whole thing, is that so many people didn’t see it coming. 

In February 2002, I was concerned about the US dollar and even though everyone said, “you have to keep 1/3 of your portfolio in US companies and/or dollars, I didn’t feel comfortable with that.  I looked at the situation in the States and decided to go against conventional wisdom and went for a mix of Australian, New Zealand, Euro, metals, and Canadian.  At that time you needed to pay $1.59 Canadian for $1 US.  When I bought the Euro (not many, should have taken a bigger position, and got out of it too soon) You could buy one Euro for 83 cents US!

I got very lucky.

But anyway, that is why tourism is grinding to a halt here in this country.  The prices on our menus, on our clothes, on our books, on our hotels, are still the same that they were when the US dollar was worth 50 percent more.  Now the US dollar is worth less than the Canadian dollar and actually, the US dollar has nose dived with regards to almost every currency in the world (minus currencies like Zimbabwe of course.)

The US, to the rest of the world is a bargain.  Who doesn’t like a bargain?  I read that the fun thing for the ladies-that-lunch to do is to take a charter flights from Europe to New York to shop.  I’ve read about bus-loads of Canadians going across the boarder to the States to load up on inexpensive goods. 

I understand why the policymakers in the US are allowing their dollar to slide.  As Richard Russell says, “INFLATE OR DIE!” The debt load the States has accumulated since Bush took office is MIND BOGGLING.  And they are having to BORROW money just to pay the interest on the massive debt.  So, of course, there is no choice.  The only way they can manage the debt is to devalue the money so that it is cheaper to pay off.  Not to mention it makes their exports more desirable.  And yes, exports from the US have picked up.

Hmmm...I was going to go on, but I just realized that for most of you, this is probably very boring.  I could go on-and-on-and-on, but I shall do the wise thing and sign off.  I’m supposed to be working on my manuscript anyway. 

Posted by Meg Tilly on Thursday, May 22, 2008 in Chewing the Fat

Last night’s shing-ding

Karen’s sexy voice turned into a major cold, complete with fever, coughing and what-not.  So, she asked me to step in and take over a speaking engagement that she had committed to.

“Sure,” I said.  “Happy to.” I figured, it was the usual, introduce myself, do a short reading, and then a rousing Q&A. 

Well, last night turned out to be a little something different, not that that would ever phase me.  Something different is my middle name. 

Karen did mention that they were businessmen.  Hey, only difference between them and me is they have to wear a suit to work and I can work in anything I damn well please. 

She also said there might be an interpreter.  No problem.  I’ve done the whole interpreter thing in my old life as an actress.  Bring it on.

I emailed the guy who was setting the whole thing up on Saturday, asked a few questions, what they expected, what was the format and so on. 

Monday, I hadn’t heard back, so I emailed my friend who was languishing in her bed.  I was thinking perhaps they called the whole thing off when they found out she couldn’t come.  Nope.  Not that she knew of.  She gave me a phone number.  I called and the next thing I knew, I was chatting with a very charming Frenchman named Franck. 

Yes, it was on.  They were delighted I could come.  Yes, I could speak, read, whatever.  It was very informal.  And so on.  It was going to be a group of French bankers, from France, and they like to give them a taste of the life, the place, the people who live here.  So that it is not just doing business and numbers, but it is human, about community.

Very interesting, admirable, this was going to be fun. 

My husband, decided that he didn’t feel like going to play ball hockey after all, but would rather come and keep me company.  Right.  If I was going to speak to a knitting club, I doubt that he would have felt such a violent need to cancel. 

We arrived at the hotel a little bit early.  I brought my little purse with the dangling dancing fowl all around the opening that my sister, Jenny, gave me.  Because she bought it in Paris, and even though it clashed a bit with the dress I wore (that she also gave me) I figured if there were any female French bankers, that would probably put me in good with them.  Like, I might not know what to wear it with, but at least I had the good taste to buy such a cute purse. 

Don and I sat down in some chairs outside of the conference room that I was going to be speaking in.  Someone else was in there now, giving a very professional presentation with a projector and graphs and such. 

I didn’t have any graphs.  I didn’t have any power point presentation.  I didn’t have any stats.  All I had was me, and my sister’s purse with my books tucked inside.  Not to mention, my husband who was hovering in a testosterone induced haze of “mine” emanating from him.  Which is really quite ridiculous.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad he’s delusional about how desirable I am.  It’s funny really, but I have to say, how he sees me is totally not based in reality. 

Whatever.  Who am I to pop his little bubble? 

Franck came out into the hall and we talked until it was time for me to go in. 

I wasn’t nervous at all.  Why would I be?  There was no way I could prepare.  Prepare for what?  It wasn’t like a Keynote speaker gig.  I was just supposed to talk about me, my life, my work.  Do a few questions and answers, well one can’t prepare for that either.  Someone asks a question, I open up my mouth and speak.

And I did. 

I didn’t read.  It was clear to me when 3/4 of the room went to get the little earphones to hear the interpreter that a reading would not work at all.  So I talked, and I talked and then I took some questions and then I talked some more.  And beads of sweat were popping out on the poor interpreter’s brow. 

Now when I’ve worked with interpreters before, I would answer a question and then wait for the interpreter to do his thing.  But I was told, to just keep talking and he would keep up. 

Hmm...I think a lot of what I was saying fell through the cracks.  I would answer in the long winded way that I do, and then he would say, a sentence or two. 

I don’t know if it was a disaster or not.  I don’t know how much got through.  I don’t know what exactly I was supposed to do, or if I did it. 

I do know that I had a real good time.  I do know that I couldn’t go to sleep that night.  Turning over the day in my head.  I do know that even though it was a little confusing and even slightly awkward at times, that in between the expected questions, I was asked some very interesting and unusual questions as well.  Ones that really made me think.  Like “Do you believe in God?” “Are you a political person?” “What is the differences between dancing, acting and writing and what are the similarities?” “Forgive me for asking this, but do you find Vancouver, how do I say it?  A little boring?” “If you were in charge of the world what would you do?  What changes?  What would be a perfect world to you?” “What is your philosophy of life?” And so the questions went. 

None of the women at the back of the room asked me any questions.  I was a little disappointed by that.  I usually get on with women.  Maybe they were intimidated by my purse?  HA!

Anyway, it was very interesting.  I can’t believe that they are going to pay me for the experience.  In Euros even.  Whoohoo!

Posted by Meg Tilly on Tuesday, May 20, 2008 in Chewing the Fat

Good Morning

Don is whipping up a storm in the kitchen for breakfast.  It seems to be building to a grand crescendo.  I wonder what it’s going to be?  Smells savory. 

We have a new game going on the kitchen table so Will had the good idea to eat in the dining room.  We’ve never eaten breakfast in the dining room before.  I don’t know why?  It’s pretty in there.

Now Will is setting the table, carrying drinks and silverware and glasses in there.  It will be time to eat soon and then I shall head into my writing room. 

Don just said it’s “Time to eat.” Bye for now.

Posted by Meg Tilly on Monday, May 19, 2008 in Chewing the Fat

Oh my goodness

It is sooo hot.  Yesterday and today, I don’t know what happened, but all of a sudden...POW!  It’s summer.  Add that to my own bodys thermometer going crazy and thinking it was summer even in the dead of winter when there was snow on the ground and it is not a pretty thought, let me tell you. 

Phew!  I’m hot.  I’m dressed in shorts and a tank top and I’m still hot.  Thank God that crazed hairdresser cut off all my hair, because honestly, I don’t think I could take the extra insulation. 

I checked out the weather for the next few days, and I know what I am about to say is sacrilegious and all the rain-drenched Vancouverites are going to hate me, but I was SO happy to see that it was going to start cooling off and raining again next week.  I think I’d better seriously start thinking about moving to Antarctica if these hot flashes don’t start abating. 

By the way, I’m dealing with edit notes on Try And Stop Me, but I’m still stubbornly trying to continue on the new/old manuscript as well, because I don’t want to lose it.  I’m doing double writing duty, so I’ll probably be doing a few less blogs for the next couple of weeks until I finish the Try And Stop Me edits and am just working one project again. 

Thought I better give you the heads up.  I didn’t want people getting worried, or thinking something was wrong.  Everything is great, it’s just a crazy busy time right now.  xo

Posted by Meg Tilly on Saturday, May 17, 2008 in

maybe it’s not?

I went for a walk with my friend, Karen (aka K.C. Dyer) today. 

“How’s the rewrite coming?” she growled in this deep sexy Lauren Bacal esque voice.  Now, Karen’s regular voice is perfectly nice, but anyone who knows her would be surprised by my description.  Now, she never gets sick, so this new voice of hers, must be because she too watched the Dallas-Detroit game and screamed herself silly watching Dallas squeak out a win.  NOT.  I’ve never asked the hockey question of her, probably because the very idea of Karen partaking in the pleasures of hockey watching is ludicrous to the extreme. 

Tender-hearted, vegetarian, environmentally conscious, whose house is filled with rescued pets.  Nope, I don’t think she’s a hockey fanatic.

Although, as I typed the above sentence, the face of my friend Stephanie sprung to mind.  Every single description that I just typed about Karen would apply to Stephanie EXCEPT the hockey thing.  Stephanie loves Sidney Crosby almost as much as my husband does. 

Anyway, back to my story.  “How’s the rewrite coming?” Karen growled. 

“Well, today was good,” I said.  “I was able to get my pages pretty fast.  The thing is, I thought I was going to be able to use a lot more of the old manuscript, but I’m already at a little more than forty pages in and I’ve only used maybe a total of five sentences of the old draft.

“Meg,” Karen said, stopping in her tracks.  “That’s not a rewrite.  That’s a whole new book.”

Hmm...I hadn’t thought of that.  I think she’s right.  It certainly feels like a new manuscript.  Everybody, everything is different.  The only thing that is the same is a few of the names and the place.  It’s quite an exciting idea actually.  I’m not doing a rewrite.  I’ve sh_t-canned that.  I’m in the middle (okay, maybe 1/5 of the way through) a brand new project.  Whoopee!

Posted by Meg Tilly on Thursday, May 15, 2008 in Chewing the Fat

One of those days…

My boy, Dave is here and that is really nice.  I started writing right when Don went out the door to drive Will to school.  That way I was sure to get a nice hunk of writing done before Dave woke up. 

My writing didn’t flow the way I wanted it to.  As a matter of fact it didn’t flow at all.  Dave woke up around 10 o’clock!  Which was a real shocker.  But I was really happy to hear his footsteps tromping down the stairs, because it gave me a legitimate reason to flee my writing room.  Normally writing would take precedence over preparing a second breakfast, but Dave is only here for 24 hours so of course writing is relegated to the trunk of the car.

I whipped up some more batter and watched my boy eat an enormous waffle with butter, maple surup and a side of bacon.  There is something very satisfying about watching my children eat. 

Then Don and Dave went downstairs for an triathlon epic battle of air hockey, ping-pong and some NHL video game were they sit on the sofa with these little consoles in their hand wiggling their fingers and thumbs wildly with a great deal of manly grunts and groans erupting from their mouths.  It is more physical than one would think. 

Anyway, one would think with all that going on, that I would be able to tuck down into a great spell of creativity, but no. 

There was an email to deal with.  I’d inadvertently hurt someone’s feelings.

There was another email from Audible.com.  Who are going to be carrying my audio versions of Gemma and Singing Songs.  I am delighted of course, but first there are all these business details to deal with, and forms to fill out, and high resolution copies of the book covers to track down.  And I know I will manage, but the language of the documents kind of scares me.  Like what is a “Metadata Spreadsheet” and how am I ever going to figure it out.  There is something about the word Metadata that causes me to break out into a cold sweat. 

And I think that the stuff I did manage to write today, is way off base.  It’s probably crap and I’m scared to read it over because then I will be certain that it is.  And that is always depressing when that happens because then it feel like the time that I spent writing it was wasted time.  There is nothing worse than finding out that you’ve wasted time when you were trying to be good and virtuous. 

Why did I want to be a writer?  Why did I decide to re-write this manuscript for the sixth time?

And to top it all off, we had guests last night for dinner and I tried to cook well, but my head was in my book and I’m not sure, but I think the food sucked and everybody was being polite because they didn’t want to hurt my feelings. 

Boy, aren’t you glad you read my blog today?

Posted by Meg Tilly on Wednesday, May 14, 2008 in Chewing the Fat

A fresh start

I feel very happy today.  A quiet peaceful happy.  I talked with Laura today and I really liked her, so she will be my literary agent from here on out. 

It’s a good feeling not to have those unfinished dangling ends nagging at me when I’m trying to write, saying “You really need to deal with this, Meg.  It’s all well and good to be writing away in your room, but who is going to submit these manuscripts?  Tundra wants to do Try And Stop Me.  Who’s going to handle that?”

Laura is.  A new beginning.  I feel lucky. 

Posted by Meg Tilly on Tuesday, May 13, 2008 in Chewing the Fat

Hello everybody

Just wanted to share the good news with you.  Porcupine was chosen by the TRISTATE YOUNG ADULT BOOK REVIEW COMMITTEE as one of their “Books of Note.” Whoohooo! 

My thanks to the public schools, public libraries and private schools in Pennsylvania, New Jersey and Delaware who decided to include my novel on your Books of Note list.  I am thrilled!  There is something very distinguished sounding about having written a Book of Note.  Makes me feel ten feet tall.  Well, for a while anyway.  I’m sure the feeling will dissipate tonight when Don takes himself off to play ball hockey and I return to my writing room for another wrestling bout with my new/old (formerly The Big Muckle) manuscript. 

Posted by Meg Tilly on Monday, May 12, 2008 in Chewing the Fat

Unusual, but good

I was going through my purse and I found an unexpected gift in it.  A small candy encased in a brown and gold and red shinny wrapper.  It had all sorts of interesting writing on it that was in a foreign language that I couldn’t read.  And when I made the happy discovery of it, I instantly remembered where I had gotten it.  Boris from The Northern Voices Conference was at the BC Book Prizes Soiree and I’m not sure how we got on the topic of candy, but somehow we managed, and he pulled a handful of these candies from his jacket pocket and I was the lucky recipient of one. 

I offered him one of my own, but since they were not exciting and were not wrapped and were rolling around in the bottom of the cute little French quilted purse with dangling decorative fowls dancing around the opening that my sister Jenny had given me, he decided to decline.  The interior of the purse looked quite clean, but I guess Boris was squeamish.

Anyway, I have this candy in my mouth as I type this, and I have to say, it is quite unusual.  Very fruity.  A strong (I can’t quite place the fruit?  Cantaloupe?  A melon?  A tropical fruit?) taste.  I know the minute someone would place the flavor I would say, oh yes.  Of course. 

Oops.  The last fragment of the candy has just dissolved.  So now, there is no way I’ll be able to pinpoint it for you.

I’m glad Don wasn’t here when I found it in my purse, because he probably would have confiscated it.  He doesn’t trust anything anyone gives me, unless it is from him or my kids or my sisters of course.  He’s over protective by a long shot. 

Anyway, it was just Boris.  I sort of know Boris.  And I was curious.  And it tasted good.  And I’m not feeling any unusual pain or discomfort in my stomach, so all’s well that ends well.  We just won’t tell Don is all.

Posted by Meg Tilly on Sunday, May 11, 2008 in Chewing the Fat

Dinner in the big city

We were going go to someone’s house tonight for a BBQ but they came down with the flu.  So we decided that going out for a delicious King Crab in the city was what was called for.  Don called our favorite Chinese restaurant and lo-and-behold, they had a King Crab that was still up for grabs.  Don reserved both a table and the crab.  5 pm, because the minute he knew a crab dinner was in our future, his mouth got very hungry and impatient.

We got to the restaurant five minutes early.  No one was in the lobby and there was the loud noise of someone pushing an industrial vacuum cleaner around and the clanking of dishes.  We waited.  So pleased that we had come up with this good idea.

Dinner was delicious.

We declined dessert.  Don and Will probably because they were full, but me?  I was thinking ahead.  I was planning on waiting until we were out on the street to hit them up with the old, “Hey, anybody want to walk over to Robson for a caramel apple?”

As we exited the doors of the restaurant, Don groaned and said, “I’m so full.”

“Me too,” said Will. 

I wasn’t.  I’d saved room.  No worries.  There was no law saying that just because they were full didn’t mean that they wouldn’t be happy for a little after dinner walk, with me.  Robson street always feels like an event waiting to happen.

I opened my mouth to make the caramel apple suggestion when we came across a rather small person with their upper body curled up around them-self, face down in the dirt.  The hips twisted slightly, legs dangling down the cement flowerbed wall, next to a full garbage can.  The yellow tulips were in bloom and there were some pretty pink delicate flowers as well.  One of this person’s arms was tucked under the body.  The other was hunched into itself, the hand gnarled around into almost an exaggerated claw.  The fingers of the arm this person was lying on looked feminine, delicate, swollen and a reddish purple color because, I don’t know, lack of circulation.  I could see a few thin red scratch marks in her dirt matted scalp.  Didn’t know if the dirt had been embedded in the hair for a while or if this person had been in a different position in the dirt before the torso curled itself into this modified fetal position.

There was a middle aged man, bottle thick lenses on his glasses.  Holding a plastic carry bag in his left hand.  “Are you alright?” He was saying.  “Are you alright?” He was shaking.  I walked over, Don and Will followed.  “I’m worried,” he said, looking lost.  I tried to rouse what I thought was a woman, with a mans haircut to keep her safe on the street.  No response.  “Listerine,” the middle aged man said.  “It’s poison.  People die from it.” At first I didn’t know what he was talking about, and then I noticed the Listerine smell.  So strong my eyes smarted.  “I’m scared,” the middle aged man said.  “I don’t want this person to just die on the street.  I...” he was staring at this person like maybe it was himself he was seeing.  “I feel terrible.  I am just coming from the liquor store.  I walked down to get a bottle of wine to bring back to my apartment.”

I put my hand on the shoulder of this curled up person.  Gingerly.  She was breathing.  “Are you okay?” I said.  Nervous that she was dead already, but scared too, that she would come too and roar at me.  Bite my hand.  Or that somehow, by touching her, I would become her.

No response. 

We decided to call 911.  Don had his cell.  The operator on the other end asked us to describe the person.  Hard to do when the person is lying face down in the dirt. 

“We are supposed to roll her on her back,” Don said, listening hard in the phone, his other finger stuck in his ear.  “I’m going to roll you over,” I said.  I tried first gently, but the person’s body was stiff, hard.  “I can’t,” I said.  “Are you sure that’s what we’re supposed to do?  What if she throws up, she’ll choke on it.”

“We have to roll her over.” I put more muscle into it.  And got her onto her back.  She had some straggly whiskers on her upper lip and coming out of her chin.  She was way younger than I had thought.  Late twenties maybe.  Her mouth moved.  “You have to tip her head back.”

“It is tipped back,” I said.  All of a sudden a grey haired woman in her late fifties, early sixties, was at the woman’s head.

“We have to tip it back more,” she said and she did.  Her hand hovering over this persons mouth.  “Her breath is regular.” She said, to Don who told the person on the phone.  I was glad she was there.  And that’s when I noticed the hospital bracelets on the right hand. 

“Excuse me,” I said to the unconscious person.  “I’m going to check your wrist.” The name on the band was a man’s name.  I felt embarrassed.  Hoped he hadn’t heard me somewhere in his unconscious mind saying he was a woman.  That he had a woman’s hands. 

There was the sound of sirens.  A fire truck screeched to a halt.  A second later an ambulance jumped up onto the sidewalk and we were surrounded by professionals.  One of the guys from the fire truck, got within four feet and said.  “Listerine.  Now that’s what I call fresh.” And then they got busy.  I don’t know if that is from a TV ad or something, but they didn’t need us anymore, so we left. 

Nobody was interested in ambling down to get a caramel apple.  And I wasn’t sure if I wanted one anymore myself. 

Posted by Meg Tilly on Saturday, May 10, 2008 in Chewing the Fat

An opinion

I thought maybe some of my readers might be interested in this paragraph that I lifted from Richard Russell’s Dow Theory Remarks today.  Richard Russell writes the incredibly brilliant Dow Theory Letters.  It is a financial newsletter, but he writes about many things.  His cactus, his family, past and present, WWII, the great depression, what it was like living in New York when one could buy a great dinner for 35 cents.  What the garment district was like in New York way back when.  How the great depression affected his father.  He is an 83 year old WWII vet.  I’m pretty sure he was B52 bomber pilot, I know he was in the fighter planes because he has generously shared many of his memories, but I’m can’t remember for sure what his particular job was up there in the air.  He has lived through many presidents, I believe he is Republican (I don’t know if he still is) Anyway, here it is for those of you who are interested.

“In less than a year, George W. Bush will leave us. He’ll leave with some of the lowest approval ratings of any president in US history. He’ll leave us with 81 percent (April poll) of the American people believing that the country is on the “wrong track.” He’ll leave with the US heavily in debt. He’ll leave with the US sunk in a tragic and expensive war that has lasted longer than WW II. He’ll leave with the US disliked and mistrusted by perhaps half the population of the world. He’ll leave with the dollar, the world’s reserve currency, in tatters. He’ll leave with a US tax system that is complicated beyond description—he’ll leave with never having attempted to change it. He’ll leave with a crazy ethanol program that is taking up one-third of our corn production, and which in turn has upset the food situation in much of the world.”

Posted by Meg Tilly on Friday, May 09, 2008 in Chewing the Fat

missing Jenny

I woke up this morning around half an hour before the alarm went off.  Stretched luxuriously, wiggled my toes and thought happily, “If I hadn’t pulled out of that movie, I would be getting ready to go in a couple of days.” And it was such a feeling of abundance that I stayed on that happy thought for the next little while.  It was a wonderful way to start the day. 

My only regret with the whole thing is that I won’t be spending that time with my sister, Jenny.  Being creative with her.  Diving in to our alternate reality, the characters and their joint lives.  I wish that ________ wasn’t such a piece of work, because then it would have been so much fun. 

Actually, you know, I just thought of something funny.  It probably would have felt pretty familiar in an odd sort of messed up way.  The reason us girls dived so deeply into the make-believe worlds, pretending to be princesses, merchant’s daughters and elaborate games of Barbies that spread out all over the floor of our room with continuous stories that went on for days, was that it provided an escape from the hard work and challenges of our home life.  So, maybe working amidst yucko’s dictatorship would have felt like old times? 

Not getting to work with my sister, that’s the loss.  She was the best at make-believe.  Came up with the most exciting, inventive storylines.  Sometimes, when we were playing Barbies, Suzanne, Becky and I would find that we would drift over to where Jenny’s Barbies were hanging out, our own uninspired Barbies hanging limp in our hands, while Jenny’s Barbies went on dates and boys kissed them, and they got into all kinds of mischief.  Jenny was the ring leader growing up.  Anything she did was so much more thrilling than anything we could come up with. 

So, I’m sorry about that.  Would have loved to work with Jenny, but not on this particular project.  That would most emphatically not have been fun.

Posted by Meg Tilly on Friday, May 09, 2008 in

A writer does what one must

Okay, so I didn’t make cookies.  I was thinking about Oatmeal but I was short on raisins and Oatmeal cookies are nothing with out enough raisins so that there is a least one in every bite. 

I had the makings for Chocolate chips but I didn’t feel like them.  Ditto for my peanut butter cookies.  I played with the idea of making Pecan Puffs, but discarded it.  And then, at long last, I settled on Brownies. 

It was a good choice.  I got them in the oven at five minutes to three, dashed over to Will’s school, felt nice and relaxed in the passenger seat on the way home.  First, because (thank goodness) Will’s driving skills have much improved.  And secondly, I was thinking about the nice pipping hot brownies that I would be sliding out of the oven when we got home. 

Coming in the front door was like a miniature celebration, the chocolaty warm promising smells of delicious brownies seducing our senses.  We did not pause but made our way straight into the kitchen.  Don came loping up the stairs from the basement the minute he heard our voices.  “Is it brownie time?” he said hopefully. 

AND IT WAS!

We poured ourselves nice full cups of refrigerator cold organic milk, cut out huge portions of hot brownies and sat down at our kitchen table and devoured them.  Don plunging his up to his finger tips into his glass of milk.  Will and I stuck to taking a mouthful of brownie and then washing it down with a slug of milk.  All of us, happy.  Don and Will had to go back for seconds.  I managed to stick to one.  That is until later, when I snuck-carved a slice off another. 

Then I went back into my writing room and managed to squeeze out my writing quota.  Phew.  I don’t know if it’s any good or not, but at least I can relax for the rest of the evening. 

After dinner (Don cooked) I made an icing out of a small slab of butter, some icing sugar, cocoa, a sprinkle of salt, a little heavy whipping cream and a dollop of Kahlua.  And then I spread it on the half of the pan of brownies that remained.  Yum!  I can hardly wait until I’m hungry again so I can eat some more.

Posted by Meg Tilly on Thursday, May 08, 2008 in

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