In which I park a car

I'm tearing myself away from the hockey playoffs to add a few thoughts. A wise (and cool and severely talented and wacky) illustrator told me today that the important thing was to just keep writing even if I don't have pictures to add to the blog. So here goes.
The reason I don't have any pictures is that I don't really have a camera. We have some kicking HD videography equipment, but it doesn't exactly fit in my purse. The camera I used in Italy was on loan from my parents, and my cell phone is an antique. So, no pix for you.
But I HAVE to tell you about Saturday. Kate and I went on an excursion day - shopped for hockey equipment, dropped off the first cheque (of many) for her hockey team registration, and then went to the MULTI-AUTHOR BOOK SIGNING (YES, IT NEEDS TO BE IN CAPS) at Yorkdale Mall.
On Easter Sunday, my aunt said that she and my uncle were driving along the 401 past Yorkdale, looking at the many, many cars crammed into the parking lot, and wondering what kinds of idiots would be trying to go to the mall the day before Easter.
Well, book-loving idiots, I guess.
We drove around and around and around every section of that parking lot, hoping to luck into an empty spot. Then we tried the lurking technique - you know, the one where you just camp out in an aisle and just wait for someone to leave. But we couldn't even find an empty aisle where some other lurker wasn't already camped out.
Then we resorted to stalking. This is not entirely unlike going fishing. You cast your line and wait for a tug. Sometimes, the fish gets away or gets eaten by another, bigger fish. Sometimes the little bugger just eats your worm. In this case, we followed one lady from the doors to the far end of the lot only to discover that a lurker (aka "the other fish") was already waiting right by her car. Another guy was just dropping off Round One of his purchases (worm-eater!). And the last lady decided, at the last minute to take a left turn at Albuquerque. But we were damned if we were letting her get away. With Kate cheering me on, I whipped around an aisle, honked, and waved frantically at her. Mercifully, she waved back, pointed at her car, and grinned at me. It was right on an end corner, and I had to position myself in such as way that made it clear to any and all comers that THIS was MY SPOT so BACK OFF. But that position also meant that once the lady left, I then had to back into the spot.

Victory is mine!

Anyone who knows me at all knows that I SUCK at backing up. Truly. Kate, beside me, was laughing at me in advance (thanks, Kate-O). It took a couple of goes, but I did it. In spite of her Highness chanting repeatedly, "Parking fail! Parking fail!"
All in all, it was about a 20 minute adventure.
And yes, folks, I remembered to take note of where I parked. :)

The MULTI-AUTHOR BOOK SIGNING, featuring Helene Boudreau, Cheryl Rainfield, Mahtab Narsimhan, and Neesha Meminger, was great fun. I'd met Mahtab before at OLA (lovely, of course!) but  it was the first time I'd had a chance to meet my Facebook friends Cheryl Rainfield and Helene Boudreau in person. I was very excited!! I'd promised Helene that her book Real Mermaids Don't Wear Toe Rings would be (and was) my first Kobo purchase so I didn't buy that one, but I did pick up Cheryl's Scars which she autographed for Kate, and Mahtab's second book, The Silver Anklet. Some good reading ahead of me! And Kate, of course.

Mahtab, Cheryl, Me, Helene, and Neesha

Cheryl and Kate with our freshly autographed copy of Scars.

And in case you haven't noticed, yes, fine, I have a couple of pictures. We have a fairly crappy and unreliable point-and-shoot that sucks disposible batteries dry in a matter of moments. I don't usually bother carrying it because of its aforementioned unreliability. But just this once...

Don't get used to it.

RIP Little Red Kettle.

As my husband, Troy, pointed out, when you have a kitchen the size of a kleenex box, expect things to get knocked off of counters. Alas, my little red whistling kettle plunged to its death on Easter morning.

Its cheery whistle will be missed.