Yeah, it’s me.

Remember when I used to drop in things for you to read? Things my sister would say were too long but I would insist were worth it? Here’s one. Gorgeous writing.

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The Pirate King & his Loathsome Gang

So the Pirate Drumpf secured a fine ark from a hapless seller who would soon find the bullion he held as payment was actually lead painted gold. It was sturdy and kitted out with heavy artillery and holds stashed full of the most tremendous stores, and he anointed to his circle of bandits those who praised the cut of his jib, even though that jib wiggled and wobbled not a little in firm breezes.

Each more loathsome than the last, his gang was noted for his or her unblinking service to the Pirate King, scarcely noting the sticky feel of blood that stuck to their shoes as they thrust forward to receive his blessing, his attentions, his tweets. We have waited all our lives for this moment, thought many, this chance to rape and pillage with the abandon of our forefathers who had no pesky people to record or take note, or who at least left behind none who could testify. The glory days, they called them.

Below decks were the sorry tangle of those who would be pulling the oars, supplying that blood and ruing the day the Pirate King had pulled into their harbour. Half were there of their own volition, promised jobs and a future on an island of constant sunlight, endless stores of food and fine maidens. They’d never been to sea, most of these fool soldiers, had no idea that the days they now dreaded would become endless weeks many would not survive. Oh, but the promises! The Pirate King had been many, many, many times, he assured them, as he furiously asked someone to go read Moby Dick for him, but who instead brought him a copy of the musical The Pirates of Penzance.

But the other half below decks were those who were held hostage, those taken against their will. They were the first to point out to other half that they were all ball and chained together, below decks in the dark with scarce rations. We’re in this together, they explained, as those on the other ends of their chains still rattled and clanked and told them they had it wrong. We are free, they exclaimed, freer than we’ve ever been! We’ve been promised sunlight and fine food and fair maidens, they cried, as they squinted in the relentless dark and gnawed on their leather belts. The fair maidens were up top, tearfully, yet futilely, trying to avoid the lecherous advances of the Pirate King and his Loathsome Gang who told those below their sacrifice was noble and would honour their families.

Fighting each other like the rats they were sharing quarters with, the huddled masses listened above as the Pirate King and his Loathsome Gang sent some of their number to the swirling depths from the end of a plank, for crimes both real and imagined. He called me fat, glowered the Pirate King, who was indeed fat, but owned everything in the world save for a mirror.

The weather was storm after storm, sending those below hurling against the walls of a thrashing ship as well as each other. The Pirate King’s quarters were lined in feathers but when that proved insufficient he had them relined with men pulled from the below decks. As the sky remained dark and the rain came day after day, the Pirate King, in incoherent and unpredictable fits of rage, took to sending even members of his own Loathsome Gang from the plank.

Those in the hold against their will asked yet again of those who had chosen if this did not give them pause. He is charting new territory! they hollered, their eyes sunken and their clothing in shreds, though some came to see those who had not chosen the Pirate King as their leader were finding solace in supporting each other, something those who had willingly followed were not.

The Pirate King and his unholy gang careened the seas, shooting up small fishermen and giant yachts, taking down cruise ships and tankers. There was no limit, because even two fish one lowly man no longer had meant two more for the Pirate King. Insatiable in his appetites, reckless in his movements and miserable to his core, he had only to look around at his Loathsome Gang of see himself reflected.

Below decks, diminished, distraught and realizing there was to be no permanent sunshine, no unlimited banquets and no fair maidens, those voluntarily in chains came, in time, to speak to those shackled by the fraud of the Pirate King. There are more of us than them, they all concluded. They are loud and they are armed and they have planks, but we have numbers.

And we have all been had.

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Life with cats…

cat cartoon

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Tap tap tap…is this thing on?

Things have been a little busy around here lately…what can I say.

Well, I just wrote an entry here and pulled it to be a Motherlode for next week. Sorry, folks. So close….

Hope everyone is well!

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Three years ago….

This was my blog. Open that link. Oh, my.

I can’t imagine Roz’s place without Bob (who came inside ten seconds after she took that pic, I swear) and I’m sure Zena still loves Euguene. No, she didn’t change his name.

Another little Missy strolled by a few weeks later, and she is Sweet Pea who is curled up beside me right now. Roz’s Cat Factory has been shut down now (she still feeds and houses MomCat and Robert when he remembers to check in. She recently told me of a newbie who has been showing up periodically, a butterscotch baby I named Werther. Not sure if he’s a permanent resident or just passing through.


That is why I’m a Crazy Cat Lady. What can I say.

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Geez, I never blog anymore

Sorry. Been hectic summer, heading out to track now, plus, Webgod is working on a new site so I’m sure it’s just because I have that I’m-gonna-get-new-boots-and-I-don’t-wanna-wear-my-old-ones kinda thing. Well, I love my old boots, all of them. But I can’t wait for a spanky new website.

Lemon Aid got renewed for this coming fall – yippee!

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When Motherlode breaks a heart

Sometimes, my worlds collide.

Most Motherlode readers know me as mom of Christopher and Ari, sister, daughter, friend and catmaster. I made that last one up.

I have a whole other life, where I write and talk about cars. A lot. I have a column and I take trips and I have a TV show and I drive a lot of amazing cars and a lot of normal cars and deal with winter tires and leasing agreements and rust and warranties and buy this, not that.

I love what I do, but I always say that Motherlode is my heart, and my Motherlode readers are my lifeblood.

Last weekend, in a totally unexpected turn of events, I got to combine the two. I had the use of a Lamborghini Aventador, which for car people is a $563,000 fantasy and for non-car people is the Batmobile in the latest movie.

I decided to spend the weekend giving Twitter followers rides; I designated spots and people came out and we took hundreds of pictures. This car is an absolute work of art, and the chance to share it is probably the best part of my job.

More amazing than the car? Hamilton area readers. I got told over and over that people had been reading Motherlode for years. This is humbling. It’s kind. Many of you knew about the car because you follow me for Motherlode, and the resulting conversations were a lovely mix of “nice to finally meet you in person, I feel like I know you” and “wow, will you look at this car.”

For me, this is the best of both worlds.

Everything was going smoothly until a series of muckups meant I had to leave my second rendezvous location ahead of schedule. With a missing phone and other things that can only be called excuses but which still led to me fumbling the ball, I headed to the next allotted spot.

Two hours later, with my phone back in my hand, I saw the first of two missed messages.

“You just left the parking lot!!! My son is crushed! Are you coming back?”

calebThud. My heart. The other note was from Martin, who I contacted and who was super cool and kind about my screw-up; but “my son is crushed!” was more than Motherlode could bear. Here was the worlds colliding thing playing out: in Car World, things can happen that you can’t control, and it’s always about the car. In Motherlode World, I’d let a kid down. I asked his mom for their address.

“He’s going bonkers right now. Are you sure?”

Yup. I was sure. The car can be heard from a couple of blocks away, and Caleb and his sister Elena were waiting for me as I turned the corner of their street. Caleb was jumping up and down. Bonkers, indeed.

I was apologizing as I got out of the car, but Caleb was just staring at the Lamborghini.

I flipped the doors up and told him to hop in, and his eyes widened. “I can get in?”

I laughed and told him I’d take him for a ride, all while signalling his sister that she was next, and off we went.

“Oh! There’s my friend!” Caleb squeaked as we turned a corner, pointing to a young lad loping down the sidewalk. I slowed the car to let his friend get closer, and turned to Caleb.

“Caleb, I am about to tell you one of life’s most important lessons. The only thing better than driving in a supercar, is having one of your friends see you driving in a supercar.”

That should mend a broken heart.

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Maggie is at the cottage

I crashed in on Rozzy and Daryl at the cottage for a few days. There’s just something about showing up empty handed and letting them wait on me hand and foot that I find appealing. Call me crazy.

She pointed out something I’d never noticed: MAGGIE IS IN THE WALLS.

In the paneling in the bathroom, MY BABY IS RIGHT THERE, OVER AND OVER. I couldn’t believe it. I took about 6 pictures but mostly I wanted to rip it all down and bring it home with me.

I miss my baby.
maggie panelling

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This was taking place as I worked today

I’m not sure how to comment. So I won’t. Only that Cairo needs a copy of the office rules. Pea has also requested a meeting with HR.
Cairo pea

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Lamborghini Aventador LP 700-4 Roadster

lambo header
It’s the car’s official name, like mine is Ms. Lorraine Joan Sommerfeld. Yeah, just like that.

I have this supercar, which is awesome. It really is. I’m spending the weekend taking Twitter followers for rides; laugh at social media if you will, but I believe it’s a fun, effective way to reach people. And I want to reach people who don’t get a chance to sit in a car like this. I’m staking out two locations in Toronto tomorrow, and then doing Hamilton/Burlington on Sunday. Yes, I’m working this weekend…but look at that car!

V12 engine, 700 HP, zero to 100km in 3 seconds. Ari is driving my chase vehicle tomorrow – a Mustang convertible that will be perfect for the videographer; I’m lucky to have it for this gig. And a kid who doesn’t mind spending his weekend with his Mom. Well, I’m paying him. But still.

Oh, and the truth behind these kinds of pics?
getting out
all photo credits to Cort Reithofer

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