Happy New Year!!!

Simone is thinking of hosting a come as you are, bring your own food, bring your own booze and leave early party to bring in the hours before 2010.

It's the lazy woman's version of a party. Simone would get to stay home. She'd get to see all her friends - well, she'd get to see the friends that drop by. And if she gets tired, which of course she will, she can go to sleep in her own bed and not worry about having to drive home in the morning.

Really, don't condemn the woman too much. She was up at 3 am. After her shower, she went downstairs and discovered that there was indeed a reason why she'd dreamed that the German Shepherd had voided in an airplane, causing mayhem, pandemonium and horrible smells all around.

She barked at the dog. She barked at her husband and both somehow ended up in the backyard for a time. Go figure. But she did manage not to puke when she slipped some of the colateral damage into the dog's food dish (empty, people, it was empty)for quick disposal in the toilet.

Perhaps this means that 2010 will be an extremely lucky year?

Sigh.

Un site sans pareil...

Simone adore les galettes des rois. À chaque Noël, elle en rêve. Surtout les galettes à la pâte d'amande. Et cette année, Simone a reçu une grande surprise: elle a appris que la confection d'une galette des rois était très simple. Et grâce à la recette de sa cousine, C., Simone a réussi à préparer un excellent dessert pour la fête de famille qui a eu lieu chez elle au Canada.

La recette est très simple. Il suffit d'acheter de la pâte feuilletée à l'épicerie et étaler une tranche dans le fond d'un moule à tarte puis de trouer la pâte. Ensuite, il faut mélanger 3 oeufs, 125 g de sucre, 125 g de beurre mou et 125 g de poudre d'amandes. Il faudra peut-être ajouter de l'extrait d'amandes afin d'obtenir le goût désiré.

On dépose le mélange dans le moule sur la pâte feuilletée et on recouvre le tout d'une autre tranche de pâte feuilletée, celle-ci aussi trouée. On peint le dessus avec un petit peu de jaune d'oeuf fouétté et hop! Au four pour 25 minutes...

Ah oui - n'oubliez pas la fève! Simone y a bien pensé cette fois et a utilisé un bouton en métal. Pas question de faire fondre du plastique dans sa belle tarte délicieuse!

www.marmiton.org

Lessons learned...

Simone recently returned from a trip to France and, after a series of unfortunate events (none of which are related to Mr Snicket's very entertaining books), learned a few lessons.

Lesson Number One: Check that (a) you have your tickets and (b) that you know the date and time at which you are supposed to travel.

Simone went to the airport one day before her flight was supposed to leave - hey, it's better than one day after the flight left. She also neglected to check that she had her high speed train tickets in hand prior to boarding.

Lesson Number Two: Bring appropriate footwear.

Simone left home with a couple of pairs of high heeled boots and one pair of thick winter boots that take on water. Simone had meant to, she really meant to, leave the house with her running shoes. Unfortunately, a 20 cm snowfall blasted her area the day she left and it never occurred to her to slip her shoes on or bring them in the car.

Several blisters later, she's back from her trip and enormous amounts of walking.

Lesson Number Three: Bring loose fitting clothes when visiting France at Christmas.

All the walking you will be forced to do won't even begin to make a dent, calorie-wise, in the amount of food and booze and snacks you'll indulge in.

Simone is going to limp her way over to the exercise corner of the house now... Have an awesome day!

Vive la France et le fromage, et le vin, et la galette, et...

Simone est revenue de France hier. Elle avait avec elle une ou deux bouteilles de vin, du fromage congelé et une recette pour faire de la galette. Mais par dessus tout, elle ramenait avec elle de merveilleux souvenirs d'un super séjour.

D'abord elle est allée voir un viniculteur sans pareil à Anjou.

Elle a été accueillie chez son oncle et sa tante.

Elle a déjeuné chez sa grand-mère, une entorse au genou avait mis fin à sortie au resto.

Elle est allée à Lyon chez sa tante, où elle a passé quelques jours avec ses cousins, leurs enfants et a fait une excellente visite guidée des traboules de Lyon avec l'ami de sa tante. Le marché de Noël n'était pas mal non plus, surtout le vin chaud. Simone s'est dit que Papa Noël risquait fort de préférer la France au Canada, si on lui offrait du vin chaud en France et un simple verre de lait au Canada.

De retour sur Paris, Simone a passé une soirée chaleureuse avec de grands amis de toujours pour s'aventurer en Normandie le lendemain. Et en Normandie, ce fut Noël!!! Toute la famille de son oncle et de sa tante cuisinait comme des petits fous, malgré la honte précipitée par le "vol" d'une poussette que Simone aurait malencontreusement emprunté pendant quelques jours à leurs voisins à la Garenne. Mais ça, c'est une autre histoire...

En attendant, Simone envoie un GRAND merci à toute sa famille, à tous ses amis pour l'avoir si bien accueilli.

Happy Holidays!

Simone is travelling tonight on a plane...

It's a long flight across the pond and she's guaranteed little if any sleep, because Little B, while a great kid, does not always travel well or quietly.

Still, Simone looks forward to spending time with her family. She wishes all of you a most excellent holiday season.

See you in a couple of weeks!

Un petit merci à Marcella Smith

La réponse fut simple et directe. Lorsque Simone envoya son mail à L'École, le restaurant où elle eut une expérience pas tout à fait heureuse, elle n'eut à attendre qu'une heure à peine avant de recevoir une réponse de la part de la directrice du restaurant.

Celle-ci lui offrait un repas gratuit tout en expliquant qu'elle espérait que Simone reviendrait afin de voir que le service de L'École pouvait être bien meilleur.

Touchée par les gentils mots de la directrice, Simone a remercié Marcella mais a ajoué qu'en fin de compte, elle ne voulait pas retourner au restaurant. L'expérience l'avait franchement déçu.

Marcella a répondu en indiquant qu'elle comprenait parfaitement bien les sentiments de Simone et que l'offre d'un repas gratuit tenait ferme si Simone changeait d'idée.

Même si ses employées ne font pas pareil, au moins la directrice de L'École sait comment s'y prendre avec les clients...

Dinner at L'École

On Saturday evening, Simone and some of her family, ate at the restaurant of the French Culinary Institute. The food was good overall but not memorable enough to overcome the problems encountered with the service. This is the letter she wrote to describe her experiences:

"Things started out badly when the front of the house insisted, even as we resisted, that we check our coats. We were travellers, had money, wallets, phones and other items that we did not wish to lose or possibly have stolen. Grudgingly, we were allowed our way. This proved lucky as we were directed (not led – we were told, “Well, there’s your table over there, go and sit.”) to a table so near the front doors that every time someone opened the doors, a gust of cold winter air blew in and walloped us.

When it came time to order the wine, the waitress argued with the guest in our party who ordered the wine. The gentleman happens to be a Chevalier des côtes du Rhone and he did not take kindly to her superior tone.

The waitress failed to replenish our water or anything else on our able or to even ask if there was anything she could do for us. We spent over two hours in the restaurant, with 30 minutes between each service.

The waitress paid us no attention but the reception ladies did, as we were in direct view of their station. They felt it important to correct us on several misdeeds of ours, including the fact that our three year old, patently bored with the length of time between dishes, climbed off his chair and sat and stretched out on the floor between our table and the one next to us. My husband left the restaurant with our son so as to prevent further confrontations and so missed his main course. And his dessert. His efforts, in any case, bore no fruit: more confrontation followed.

One of our guests, who spent a lifetime in the hotel and restaurant industries at a managerial level, took offence to the poor service and less than pleasant attitude of the staff, one of whom repeatedly mocked his accent by pretending she could not understand one of the words he was saying. When things came to a head, he told one of them that he would not return to the restaurant and she replied haughtily that perhaps this was for the best. Couching a sarcastic, know-it-all tone in the “right” words does not constitute good service.

I felt appalled by everything that happened. As we left, I approached one staff member, the one who brought me our son’s stroller, and suggested as gently as I could that working in the service industry frequently entails taking a deep breath and realizing that no matter what we believe the “rules” to be, the customer ultimately pays our salaries and should be treated royally. She asked tersely whether I was telling her how to do her job.

Perhaps it is your policy to hire staff who feel it necessary to ridicule and demean customers, who feel it beneath their dignity to take advice from the mother of a three year old and who insist that their rules must be enforced, regardless of the customers’ wishes. If so, I will end by telling you that you are indeed correct in suggesting that perhaps it is for the best that we not return to your restaurant. Life is much too short to endure such negative experiences willingly – and pay for the “pleasure” of doing so."

Grey Jumpsuits

M, Simone's friend, had a disturbing dream that involved health guys who wore grey jumpsuits. They invaded people's homes and ate vegetables and intimated that the meat they ate might come from... victims.

You see, the health guys in grey jumpsuits killed people in their sleep. When the grey jumpsuits got cut or torn or ripped, it symbolized a wound a sleeper had endured. And when the cuts and tears got extensive enough, the sleeper died.

In addition, as people left the building, any colourful clothing they wore would get bleached into grey by the time they returned home.

What does this mean? A deep-seeded aversion to dirt?

In any case, the idea intrigued Simone even if her friend M said, "You do what you want with it: I just don't want to read it when you're done!"

That wasn't exactly promising, was it?

Le maquillage

C'est un grand jour aujourd'hui - deux écoles secondaires rivales vont s'affronter pour un match de proportion épique. Et le garçon de 14 ans va être là pour crier comment il aime... son école.

Du coup, il veut être maquillé avec les couleurs de l'école: jaune et noir. En fait, il est tellement excité qu'il a posé la question à Simone à 4 heures du matin alors qu'elle revenait de sa promenade avec le chien.

"Est-ce que tu peux maquiller mon visage en jaune et ma poitrine en jaune et écrire le nom de notre équipe en noir?"

Simone y a pensé pendant quelques instants. "J'ai assez de jaune pour ton visage mais pour ta poitrine, il m'en faudrait beaucoup plus. J'ai beaucoup de peinture noire par contre..."

Le garçon fit une moue. "Je veux être en jaune!"

Simone se dit qu'il faudrait peut-être sortir la peinture latex...

What do you mean, the busses are running?

Oh no, the north wind doth blow... Okay, okay, so it's a western wind - but it's wickedly cold!

A Californian weather system has pushed the first winter storm, a week or so early of actual "winter", into Ontario. The wind pushed Simone sideways when she walked the dog and the wet snow that funneled from the sky slid down the back of her neck, sending chills reverberating along her spine.

Anticipating the backlash from the young ones, Simone dutifully checked the weather channel upon returning from her walk. The weather channel reported a winter storm warning for the area. The bus company reported... "There are no Lates and Cancellantion for today"

Simone checked again and again. In spite of the high winds and copious snow, the busses appeared to be running. Spelling mistakes and poor grammar appeared to be present as well.

Simone will have a quiet morning at home after all!

Il court, il court, le furet...

Hier, Simone a eu une matinée super chargée. D'abord, sa belle-mère s'est réveillée de bonne heure et lui a donné une liste d'épicerie. Ensuite sa fille s'est réveillée de bonne heure et voulait faire des biscuits.

Bien sur, il y avait un tas de tâches à accomplir et à l'heure ou elle a déposé sa fille à l'école, Simone était déjà épuisée. Mais elle n'eut pas le loisir de se reposer. Il fallait passer par la pharmacie - où elle a réussi, malgré une liste, à oublier d'acheter une chose. Un petit tour à la quincaillerie a précédé l'arrêt au bureau de poste.

Finalement ce fut l'heure du massage. Simone s'endormit à poing fermés. Si bien qu'elle avait du papier collé aux lèvres lorsqu'elle sortit de la clinique, accompagnée, bien sur, du petit B.

De retour chez elle, il y avait le chien à promener, l'épicerie à déballer et à ranger, des cadeaux de Noël à emballer, le déjeuner à préparer et à servir, les poubelles à sortir...

Et le mari voulait savoir ce que Simone avait bien put faire toute la matinée car il avait était incapabe de la rejoindre!

A new story idea

Over the weekend, Simone came up with a new idea for a novel. For a while, she had wanted to write erotica but nothing really struck her fancy. She didn't want anything truly graphic, preferring a concept that might interest a wide range of readers.

The new story, which Simone will begin writing today, will focus on a middle aged couple with a couple of older boys who have finally left home for university. Faced with an empty house and a lot more time on their hands, the couple need to learn to deal with their relationship in a new way to fill the gap left by their offsprings' absence.

They accidentally meet for lunch at a place they both frequented independently and realize that they might not know one another as well as they thought they did. "I dare you to tell me another secret that I don't know about," she laughed.

"Oh no," he replied. "That's two things. You'll have to pick one or the other. Will it be a truth you want me to tell you or a dare you'd have me perform?"

And thus began a tantalizing game of truth, dare and double dare... But because nothing is ever simple, their youngest son came home after realizing he'd enrolled in the wrong program.

Une histoire qui finit mal...

Pour l'anniversaire de Simone, son mari a apporté un délicieux gâteau au chocolat fait exprès pour elle.

Le petit B n'en revenait pas.

"Gâteau!" s'écria-t-il.

"Il va falloir attendre," lui dit son père. C'est pour la fête de ta mère."

"Gâteau," insista le petit B.

"Plus tard," répéta son père.

Dès que papa eut le dos tourné, le petit B s'empara de l'escabot et le rapprocha du comptoir où le gâteau attendait qu'on le consomme. Le petit B grimpa sur l'escabot et, perché près du comptoir, lécha le gâteau.

"Miam," dit Simone. "Ça me donne hâte d'en manger."

"Quoi? Quoi?" fit papa qui n'avait rien vu.

Quelques instants plus tard, le gâteau était enfermé dans le frigidaire, histoire de le protéger un peu. Le petit B fit l'aller-retour au réfrigérateur plusieurs fois afin de s'assurer que le gâteau y était encore.

Son grand frère le taquina. "Petit B! Le gâteau a disparu!"

Le petit B se précipita pour vérifier. Ouf! Le gâteau y était encore.

Lorsque finalement il fut servi, le petit B attrapa sa fourchette et, lui qui attend toujours qu'on le nourrisse, mangea sa part tout seul. Arrivé à l'avant dernière bouchée, il murmura, "Finit le, Naan-Naan!"

Et il vomit tout ce qu'il avait dévoré.

Ce qui prouve que pour le chocolat, il vaut mieux savourer et manger en douceur si on cherche à éviter des pertes.

N'empêche que quelques minutes plus tard, le petit B tendait son assiette. "Encore?"

I'm getting dressed!

It was Simone's birthday. She had just finished exercising and was in the process of changing into her street clothes.

When the phone rang at 7:30 am, she raced to answer it, mindful that the ringing not wake her sleeping mother-in-law. It wasn't a well-wisher, however. It was someone cancelling an appointment later in the morning due to a sick child.

Simone acknowledged the cancellation then realized that she would need to call someone else who was supposed at the 9:30 appointment. It being so early in the morning, Simone was directed to voice mail.

She proceeded to leave a message. In the middle of the message, someone rapped on her bedroom door. Simone gamely continued explaining that the meeting needed to be cancelled but the knocking became more insistent and, to her horror, the door opened.

"I'm getting dressed!" she screeched.

Then she realized that she was still holding the phone in her hand and that she had not disconnected yet...

Et la pause toilette, c'est pour quand?

Simone se disait, "Chic alors! Une journée pas trop chargée!" Du coup, elle en profita pour aller visiter une amie qu'elle n'avait pas vu depuis plusieurs mois. Une amie qui habite à dix minutes de chez elle.

Elles passèrent une bonne heure ensemble, à déguster leur thé, à convaincre le petit B qu'il n'avait pas besoin de tirer sur la nappe et à discuter comment faire pour que les écoles s'occupent des particularités de leurs enfants. Ensuite, un petit arrêt chez Tim Horton's pour acheter le café de la belle-mère de Simone.

"Un café extra grand," dit Simone.

"Deux lait, twois sucres," entonna le petit B.

Arrivée à la maison, café en main, ce fut la course: préparer le déjeuner du petit B, faire la lessive, promener le chien, lui donner de l'eau, remplir la tasse de jus du petit B, changer une couche, nourrir le petit B, prendre en note les courses de la belle-mère, tout cela avant de sortir en trombe parce que Simone était en retard pour son rendez-vous.

Arrivée à la clinique, Simone se rend compte que le petit B sent, encore une fois, très mauvais. Au même instant, son portable se met à vibrer. Le mari de Simone veut savoir si elle a eu le temps de passer à la banque pour déposer les chèques.

"Mince," se dit-elle. "J'ai oublié les chèques!" Mais elle répond à son mari qu'elle n'a même pas eu le temps de prendre une pause pipi.

"C'est ridicule," réplique-t-il. "Va au toilette."

Au fait... pourquoi pas? Il faut qu'elle change la couche du petit B de toute façon...

You, Peasant, Fetch Me a Cookie!

Little B has developed a bossy streak. It goes quite nicely with his stubborn streak.

Simone has no idea where he got any of it from. Possibly a garage sale last summer...

Yesterday, as Simone pushed a cart in the grocery store, little B raced around, calling out the numbers of the aisles. Very helpfully, he put a bag of sugar in the grocery cart. Simone had no need of sugar but little B seemed to feel that the sugar was very important so Simone left it there.

After loading up on skim milk and yogurt, they finally neared the bakery. The bakery is a place of many wondrous smells but its primary bonus is that the bakers give out a free cookie to children under the age of 10.

Once upon a time, little B did not know about the cookies. Now he won't leave the store without his free treat. He even goes as far as racing back to the bakery while Simone stands in line at the checkout, should his mother have forgotten to take him to the bakery.

So... as they neared the bakery, little B's pace increased. Soon, he was running but he came to a skidding halt just past the doorframe into the bakery.

"Hi!" He called out cheerfully to the bakers.

"Hi," said one back.

"Ah ha!" Little B must have thought. "Got one!"

"You!" said little B. "Go get me a cookie."

"Said 'Please!'," said Simone in a horrified stage whisper.

"Puh-leez," mumbled little B.

The baker handed little B a cookie with a pair of tongs. Little B grabbed the cookie and inserted it in his mouth.

"Thank-you! Say 'Thank-you'!" Hissed Simone.

"Tankoo," little B mouthed around the cookie.

"You're welcome," grinned the baker.

Thank goodness for good humour!