Tis the season.

Where do I begin? If last night was any indication of what Desperate Housewives is going to be like this season, we are indeed in for a treat! The middle of last season was a tad lack luster and I didn’t think it would ever completely recover. How wrong I was!

I am sure you will all agree, that Bree had the best plot line (and one liners) last night. The opening sequence that began revealing Orson’s past was a delicious smorgasbord of classic moments from film and television. His demands around the house were smacked of Sleeping With The Enemy and the parrot that blew the whistle on him was very a la Twin Peaks. “Leo no. Leo no. Stop it. Stop it. Hurting me. Leo no.” Classic! The closing scene of poor Orson’s wife about to be entombed in concrete at his country club was reminiscent of Knots Landing when Abby buried Peter Hollister under the children’s playground. It is comforting to know that even in Hollywood they recycle.

We also giggled and blushed when she exclaimed she did not engage in sex of the oral variety because she is a Republican. Hee hee. And then her “mild stroke” turned out to be an orgasm.

What else happened? Who cares? Actually that is not quite true. Lynette going head to head with Tom’s ex-lover was exquisite. It took me a long time to warm up to Lynette, but I now think she is FAB. I thought she was going to kill that kid when he came out of the bathroom. I wonder how the cake made out sliding across the floor like that. And thank God Tom finally got a spine.

Edie’s efforts to off load Mary Alice’s house were also comical. Especially when she gave Mrs. McCluskey the boot for telling potential buyers about all the murder and mayhem that has taken place in the house. I want to know what open house has food though.

Gabrielle’s storyline continues to showcase, well, her. And only she can pull it off. From threatening to deport her baby oven to driving off just as Carlos starts to express his disappointment with his life. Bitch. Good, but a bitch.

And then there is Susan. I have said it before and I will say it again. Emmy or not, please get rid of her. That is just my humble opinion. Yawn.

Concord-a-licious!

It is about time I shared another recipe. My favourite cooking season is officially here so I am sure "lightandflaky" will soon be awash with comfort food recipes.

I am so pleased with the grape pie I previouly mentioned, that I have now made it twice. For those of you who want to experience something a bit different in a pie, here you go:

Take 5 c. of concord grapes. Pinch the guts out of the skins (but save them). Boil the pulp in a saucepan for 5 minutes. Press through a sieve to remove the seeds. Add the skins back in with the pulp.

Stir in 1 c. of sugar, 1/4 c. of flour, 2 tsp. of lemon juice and 1/8 tsp. of salt.

Pour into the bottom of a pie crust and seal with the top. Cut your steam vents and bake for 35-40 minutes at 425.

The above is as per my retro pie book (love you Girls in the Dollhouse). Two personal suggestions are, cut LARGE steam vents and/or really seal that top crust. This pie loves to bubble and separate your crust. Also, bake at 425 for 25 minutes and then slip a baking sheet under the pie, reduce to 375 and bake for 40 minutes more.

Don't forget the vanilla ice cream!

With friends like these......

Not that I have any enemies (that I know of), but if I did, I would modify the age old expression to “With friends like these, my enemies better watch out!”

My August 17th entry “I Wonder….” seems to have rallied the troops and I apparently underestimated the number of those who would help me out of a sticky situation. In addition to my original list, I can now add:

Mother. I naturally assumed that she would stand by my side (as I grabbed one leg of the corpse, she would take the other) should the need call for it. She kept (and still keeps) three relatively well behaved children in line and must protect her investment. After all, what would the neighbors say if I got caught? She also has ready access to the Grand River and numerous farmers fields; excellent places to conceal a body.

My sister-in-law. Apparently she has been searching the alleys and laneways of Fenelon Falls for a body to test my loyalty. Bit of a drive dear, but I would be game. Just make sure it’s fresh. If anything would get me, it would be the smell. Not really a fair advantage though, your husband is a higher up in the local police department. He could make all sorts of things disappear in that neck of the woods. I am picturing an ABC movie of the week. “The Case of the Pink Glove Murders - A small town housewife and her gay brother-in-law try to outwit local authorities.” And PS, if you want practice, borrow your beau’s gun.

Shaniqua. A co-worker who apparently wants on the help-Bobby-move-a-corpse bandwagon. What can I say baby, bring it on. Glad to have your support. And since you did just move, you have lots of boxes. Any good size coffin shaped ones? We would need to line them with plastic first but we could do an entire “Rear Window” theme.

My cousin Ruth (aka Callooh). Much like CJ, she is family and really, if I called on her, would have no choice but to help. She lives in Chicago and what is one more body on the streets there? As long as we made it look like a mob hit, they would think it was Al Capone. He, much like Elvis, is still alive despite all the reports to the contrary.

Then there was a text from Michael from across the pond. Now THAT is dedication. Flying across the Atlantic to help me! I can just picture him at customs. “What is your business in Canada sir?” “Oh I am here to help my friend move a body.” I bet they haven’t heard that one before. Actually, I think a transatlantic cruise would be better. Dump it overboard at night with a few bricks to weigh it down and no one would find it. Hmmmmmmmmmmm.

Honey, about that life insurance……….

Here we go again!

The humidity has faded, the leaves are starting to turn and the prepping of sweaters and boots for winter is well under way.

Tis also the season when Lord Fauntleroy, KitKat and I gather each Thursday night to watch TV fluff that goes by the name of Survivor. We squeal as the hotties peel off their shirts (this season JP, Adam and Brad are generating a good number of cat calls), booing those we despise and cheering for our favourites (Colby, Bobby Jon, Jed, Robb and Burton are a few of my picks). Being the dizzy queens we are, we even lay claim to “my” man. We are still waiting for the Survivor Hottie tour to hit the ACC. Or my living room. You know, whatever.

Before sitting down in front of the boob tube for the season premiere, we toasted with greyhounds, feasted on Leek and Potato soup with Fennel and Watercress, Pork with rice stuffing and roasted zucchini. This was topped off with grape pie. I know! Grape pie? I had never heard of it myself but the Girls in the Dollhouse gave me a retro pie book recently and there it was. Yummy!

A storm of controversy has preceded this seasons “Cook Islands” installment of our much loved (and friendship forming) show. The four tribes have been divided by ethnic background. White (P.C. Caucasian), Black (P.C. African American), Oriental (P.C. Asian American) and Hispanic (P.C.?). If anything, I think this “social experiment” (as CBS is calling it) has made the show this year. For anyone at CBS who happens to read this, our Survivor Club would like to suggest a couple other sure fire hits:

1 – Gays vs. Lesbians vs. straight boys vs. straight girls

2 – The UN season. Each contestant only speaks their native tongue and no two speak the same language. Picture it, someone speaking Hindi to someone from Holland? A translator’s nightmare to be sure, but oh what fun it would be!

KitKat is a Halfanese (half white, half Japanese), Lord Fauntleroy is an immigrant and we are all gay so we feel we have license to make a few non-PC comments during the show. For example, the first immunity challenge involved puzzles and brain power. “The Asians have this one in the bag” I said. And sure enough, they won.

Second was the Hispanic team. There were loads of shots of JP’s huge pectoral muscles and we all screamed with glee as his team climbed to victory (secretly wishing we were the ladder). I have to admit I then started to cheer for the white team. But that had more to do with keeping Adam on the show than anything else.

In the end Sekou got the boot and deservedly so. As in every other season, the first one to lay around on the beech saying how hot it is, is the first to go. He wasn’t much eye candy either, so our use of tissues was minimal. Except for when KitKat spilt his drink.

Darn it!

The other day I set about preparing my tea for the afternoon. Aside from the usual debate over which fruit to enjoy and fussing over a selection of sweets, I was faced with the challenge of what task I would undertake.

I have organized a book club and Tess of d’Urbervilles was sitting on the coffee table. I know I had best get reading sooner rather than later. There was also packing that needed to be done but why bother when I was just moving down the hall? And then there was a pile of mending that needed to be done. Rather than move work, I thought I might as well finish it and be done with it.

My great grandmother’s wicker sewing basket was in need of some TLC. Long ago turned into a jaunty picnic basket, the satin lining had come loose from years of use. I set about fishing a needle throw the wicker so you wouldn’t see the thread on the outside. That, of course, would never do.

I also had a zipper to fix and the hem on a pair of track pants needed repair. I am not great at sewing, but can mend and repair with the best of them.

The last thing needing my attention, were socks. Now normally, I wouldn’t bother with such a thing as darning, but the socks in question are Burberry. And while I was at it, I did a couple other pairs as well.

I remember, from when I was but a wee chap, my dad sitting in his chair in our family room doing this very thing. At the time I thought it foolish and a waste of time given the very reasonable price of socks. I now know that good socks are NOT cheap and darning is a relaxing, almost meditative, practice.

Wondering if people bother with such menial tasks in this day and age, I packed away my basket (the picnic one) and put my needle and thread back in their proper place. I then returned to the couch and my tea; admiring my toes as they wiggled about in their toasty Burberry home. Ahhhhhhhh.