| My alarm squawks. Aargh! It's the morning
of Valentine's Brunch 2003. No turning it off
and going back to sleep. I grumble my way out
of bed and stagger downstairs to collect newspaper
that isn't there. Our house alarm, which in my
semi-comatose state I have forgotten to disarm,
explodes into gleeful beeps and whistles—likes
a chance to show off—as a bass baritone
voice growls, "Intrusion, intrusion."
Dog erupts into frenzy of protective howling.
I swear, and switch off Intrusion Man. Husband
points out that alarm has gone off. I refrain
from attempting to smother him in order to pursue
seriously disturbed spider. I don't do spiders,
but this is a smallish one and we come to an accommodation.
He goes out, I stay in.
I swallow breakfast and am ready when Judy and
Joyce arrive to collect me. Dog also ready for
Judy and Joyce and anxious to attend Brunch. I
herd him, protesting, back into the house and
we depart in plenty of time to get lost. The three
of us, busy chatting—including Trained Observer
in the back seat—drive smartly past hotel
and head for wilds of Coquitlam. After several
intriguing detours, Judy phones Judy Marshall's
lovely husband who confirms that continuing on
our current route is inadvisable if we plan to
attend Brunch. He helpfully sets us on right track.
We arrive at hotel precisely on time. Naturally.
At this point the day begins to improve. Our speaker,
Joyce, who maintains she is voiceless but manages
to talk anyway, delivers an inspiring speech that
reminds me I'm supposed to be a writer. Not a
dog-walker, mother of sons, telephone receptionist,
nurse or—God forbid—a cook. She discusses
the self-sabotage of which most of us are guilty
and suggests ways to overcome it. I vow that tomorrow
I will nurture my muse before accompanying dog
on important expedition to sniff out foreign smells
and rodents on the dike.
Bar opens. Revitalizing wine consumed. Splendid
lunch—and more wine—consumed. Tickets
are drawn for prizes. Lucky me, I win two. Judy
J. presents roses to people who helped her during
her last presidential year. I am awarded undeserved
roses for sitting in her car while she chauffeurs
me to meetings. Wish I could convince editors
to buy my books with so little effort. Moyra receives
impressively-deserved Caro Award for service to
Chapter. Brunch consumed, awards awarded and prizes
distributed. We relax and talk some more before
heading home to write. And write. We do, don't
we? Okay, okay, I admit it. I head home to feed
dog and watch Monarch of the Glen. But tomorrow
I will write. I really will. After I've thrown
balls for dog, read the paper, phoned Judy ...
JOY-CE! Where are you now that I need you?
Kay Gregory is a member of GVC.
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