Thursday, December 15, 2016

A new business idea

I saw a button business at the Holiday Sale I was in on the weekend.  I've been thinking I should go into this business.  My eldest son said this to me recently while we were chatting and I think  it would make a great button:

"Mom! I can hear you farting, you're hard of hearing, I am not!"

He doesn't think people would wear this button

I'll have to think some more.

Monday, October 31, 2016

This might be the most excited I've ever been about being published anywhere.  Please have a read and if you laugh, share!

Thank you,

Tuesday, April 7, 2015

Butterfly Conservatory

Kim, Bob, their kids, Dad and I went to the Butterfly Conservatory when they were home last June. Pretty amazing place.

Thursday, March 12, 2015

I'm a WINNER! sort of...

I entered a 24 hour short story contest and I honourable mention!  It takes so little to make me happy, I am over the moon happy!  I won a free eBook and a magazine subscription.
Check out my name in the Honorable Mention section (4th from the bottom). Way cool huh?

They publish the 1st, 2nd and 3rd place winners on the site and they are great stories. I really liked the first place winner.

Here was our prompt:  We had 24 hours to submit a story.


A blizzard raged outside, battering the cozy ski lodge.
Merry skiers drank hot chocolate and hot toddies, excited
about the fresh white powder they'd be conquering tomorrow.
Smiling, she took another sip, her eyes briefly wandering
from the man sitting before her, to a different gentleman
across the room. He was sitting alone, and staring at...

(Stories only needed to touch on that topic in some way to qualify.)

Here is my story:

The Anniversary Gift

The blizzard raged outside, battering the cozy ski lodge. I’d gone outside to walk in the storm as I’d never seen snow before this trip. Not only does it not rain in southern California...

My husband and I had decided when we got married that we would celebrate our anniversaries doing something we’d never done before. In the past we’d gone to the Galapagos Islands and para-sailing over Mexican beaches. This year, our third anniversary, we were skiing in Colorado. Well not actually skiing, more hanging out at the chalet looking like skiers.

I’d finished my not terribly pleasant walk and was headed back to my room. The elevator jerked to a stop. The man standing in front of me cursed softly and started pushing buttons. Nothing happened. “Well,” he said, “isn’t this lovely?”

I looked up and I saw Stephen King looking back at me.

I was stuck on an elevator with my favorite author. I had so many questions to ask him and I wanted to tell him I am a huge fan. In fact I wanted to say something terribly clever, like, “I’m your number one fan”, and wink at him trying to look as loony as Kathy Bates looked in the movie adaptation of his book, Misery.

All I could manage was an unearthly whinny which I followed with a barking cough.

Oh good, now he thought he was trapped on an elevator with a woman who does animal impersonations.

I struggled to think of something witty to say to explain the strange sounds. While I was thinking, I was grinning like I’d won the lottery and I forgot to swallow. Suddenly, I felt drool running down my chin.

Mr. King was looking a little frightened at this point.

I swiped at the drool and my hand slipped in the greasy spittle and I ended up punching myself in the nose which brought tears to my eyes.

He no longer looked frightened; this man was now terrified and stuck on an elevator with what was scaring him.

The thought of him being afraid of me struck me as hilarious and as I opened my mouth to laugh A sneeze worked its way through my nasal cavity.  My mouth was open, and we were locked in a tiny space, the sound was enormous.

He actually jumped away from me.

I needed a tissue and I didn’t have one so I wiped my nose on the sleeve of my fake fur jacket. Some of the fake fur hairs detached from my jacket and stuck to my nose.

I was beet red with a wet chin and a furry nose and teary eyes when suddenly the doors opened and he ran off without saying a word to me.

I went back to my room and didn’t tell my husband the story. It was just too embarrassing a tale to share.  We had reservations for dinner in the hotel so I showered and got ready.

The hostess sat us at a table where we could see the snow falling. Merry skiers drank hot chocolate and hot toddies, excited about the fresh white powder they'd be conquering tomorrow. Smiling, I took a sip or my wine, my eyes briefly wandering from my husband sitting across from me, to a man at the table next to us.  He was sitting alone, and staring at me.

His eyes changed and I realized he recognized me. I wanted to explain. I got up and approached him and he started to stand. I put out my hand to shake his but instead I caught the glass sitting in front of him and red wine splashed out all over his white sweater. I reached for the napkin on his table and as I jerked it up, his cutlery flew into the air and the steak knife touched the back of his hand. It touched hard enough to draw blood.

He said nothing, turned his back on me and ran from the restaurant, I started to run after him to try to explain.

My husband grabbed my arm and said, “I think you should just leave him alone, you were obviously making him uncomfortable.  I think that so far this is the best shot we’ve got of being in a book.”

“Oh, you have no idea honey; I cannot wait to read his next book.”

“Well I still think I have a good chance. ‘Accidentally’ knocking John Saul down the hill into the path of the Komodo dragon and then saving his life still might get me in a book before you. But then I still can’t believe E. L James hasn’t added our nude para-sailing to a book yet. I mean it’s not like she couldn’t have noticed, we landed right in front of her"

Sunday, March 8, 2015

Disney World2014

Jim and I took Shawn and Erin and Kevin and Ashley to Disney World in Florida in October 2014.  We stayed at Disney in the All Star Sports section. It was the BEST vacation I have ever had!  I had a blast with these people. They certainly kept me laughing and man, oh man did we ever put  some miles on our sneakers!

We took nearly 2000 pictures between us!  It's too hard to pick "the good ones" so I just randomly picked a few to post on here.

Thursday, January 15, 2015

Woe is Mii

The Globe and Mail published another of my stories last fall.

I hope you enjoy it.


Woe is Mii as I Wii into shape for my son’s wedding

I recently became engaged! To be a mother-in-law. I decided it was time to lose weight and get in shape to go along with my new title.

Ah, titles; I’m already a mom, wife, banker, daughter – and my husband was once the president of his horseshoes league, which makes me the Former First Lady of Horseshoes. But let’s get back on topic.

I went out and bought a Wii Fit, then sought out the assistance of a person to whom I gave birth 20-odd years ago; a person who, due to his romantic streak, was the cause of my miserable weight-loss quest. I have explained to him many a time that as a result of this life-giving thing I did for him, he is obligated to assist me with all things electronic. Forever.

We got it hooked up to the television and working. I had to create a Mii, pronounced ME, and mine looked just like me – complete with glasses and blond hair, though I believe she may have been a natural blonde.

I stood on the platform that comes with the Wii Fit, and the screen told me that it was going to weigh me and calculate my Body Mass Index. After a few moments, I heard a little “bloop,” and suddenly my Mii was fat!

My son was greatly amused. He was also dismissed from the room.

The Wii asked me step on and off the platform and mimic Mii on the screen while it sounded out a rhythm. Understand me, now: This is simply walking to a beat. I scored 62 per cent. Apparently, 38 per cent of the time I walk like an idiot.

Next I tried the balance program. It involves a lot of standing on the platform on one foot while doing stuff with other parts of your body. I am 57 years old: If I am standing on one foot, I am paying close attention to simply balancing so that I won’t fall and break my ankle – or worse, my wine glass. I am not capable of doing other things while impersonating a drunken flamingo. It was time for something different.

I pushed a button on the remote and nothing happened, so I pushed some other buttons and still nothing happened. I pushed all of the buttons and the Wii turned off and nothing I did would make it come back on.

I hollered for the aforementioned kid to return to my queendom for a moment, and this time not to bring anything he might leave behind for me to pick up. After the usual Old People Versus Electronics harassment, followed by the Parents Possibly Not Helping to Pay for Said Kid’s Wedding discussion, he turned the Wii back on and found the strength-building program for me.

Those Wii folks are nuts. I was worn out watching my Mii do one-armed pushups, let alone doing one myself. I tried a regular two-armed pushup, and if my arms had little faces their mouths would have smirked sarcastically.

It hurt so much that I thought I should stop and make a note for my family, just in case. I wrote on a Post-it note, which I stuck on the controller, that should I die from excessive exercising my final wish is that I be cremated. And, since I am afraid of the dark, I would like to have my ashes scattered under a light post at a 24-hour Walmart. (I doubt this is legal, but I will be dead and therefore ineligible to be placed under arrest, so this will not be my problem.)

Then another thought occurred to me, and I wrote another Post-it note and stuck it to the platform. I have spent more than $7,000 straightening my teeth, closing a big gap between my two front teeth and capping a couple of back teeth. Before they cremate me, they are to embalm me and suspend me from a coat rack so it looks as if I’m welcoming folks to my funeral. I asked that they ensure the undertaker arranges my mouth to show off my perfect smile.

That ought to help knock down the wedding-guest numbers a bit for my son. Surely a few of my older, equally out-of-shape relatives will collapse at the sight of me greeting them.

I walked to the kitchen, no doubt for 38 per cent of the time looking as if I’d just got new feet, and found a bag of stale potato chips in the back of a cupboard.

I returned to the living room, parked my generous backside on the sofa and fiddled with the Wii controller until fat me disappeared and was replaced by Charlie Sheen, who looked pretty good considering he has allegedly done much worse things to his body than I ever have. Maybe this whole getting-fit thing wasn’t necessary.

Then again, maybe I need to lace up my sneakers and take a walk to the store to return that insulting, blooping Mii maker and her evil little platform.

My son tells me I look fine and shouldn’t worry about dieting. I am onto him, though; he is afraid. When he told me about the engagement, he was emphatic that there will be no speeches at the wedding. I begged to differ: There will be at least one speech, and I’ll need at least five minutes, no more than 20.

Now to decide which of the embarrassing stories I will tell, and which I will hold back as ransom for further assistance with electronics.

Sharon Gerger lives in Waterloo, Ont.

Sunday, May 18, 2014

I've entered another CBC contest.  This time we had to write 500 words on a bloodline story and today my story got chosen to be published on the website. Not a huge deal, lots of stories have been chosen but still pretty cool.

Here's the story:

In 1912 my great-grandmother Caroline died in England. Upon her death, her three children were taken from their home and sent to an orphanage. My grandmother, Rose who was eight years old at the time never knew why she was taken from her father, William. She never saw him again.
My family learned the rest of the story when another of William’s great-granddaughters connected with us via We discovered that he married another woman after Caroline died and they had eight children.
The story of William having three kids with a previous wife and about her thinking him an unsuitable parent was a story passed around through the generations. Caroline became very ill. She knew she was dying and she felt her husband was too volatile a man to raise their three children alone.  She made arrangements with a Catholic nun to take the children upon her death and hide them from her husband in an orphanage.
The timing was fortuitous as the kids likely passed as Barnardo Children. Thomas Barnardo founded homes for poor orphans and sent many of them to new homes in Canada. We don’t know how William learned of this subterfuge or if he ever tried to find his kids. We don’t think he knew that his children were eventually put on a ship, The Corsican, and sent overseas.
Upon arrival in Canada, the kids were split up, each going to different farms in southern Quebec. The middle child, a boy named after his father was sent to live hundreds of miles from his two sisters. My grandmother believed that her brother went back to England, joined the armed forces and was killed during the First World War. The two sisters kept in touch and eventually settled in the same community. My great-aunt, Mae had a son and she and her husband moved to California to live with him when he grew up. 
My grandmother stayed on in Canada where she had married a first generation Canadian descendent of Irish parents. My grandfather, a farmer, liked to drink and that’s what he did from the moment the money came in from the crops in the fall until the money ran out in the spring.  It meant my grandmother had to raise their five kids and manage the farm on her own for most of the year. They had a herd of milking cows as well. It must have been a very hard life. 
Just before I was born she did something practically unheard of in those days, she took her only child still at home, a teenage daughter and she left my grandfather and moved to a nearby city where she got a job cleaning in a hospital. 
She died twenty years later without ever knowing her father had not voluntarily given her up.