Carole’s mother catches her flight from Timmins to Whitehorse today. Unfortunately, she’ll have to wait in the Vancouver airport overnight before boarding the plane for that last leg. They also make you claim your checked luggage for evening layovers, but at least YVR has some pleasant waiting areas — including benches that don’t have armrests all the way along so that you can actually stretch out — and lots of West Coast First Nations’ art to admire.

If colouring books actually contained drawings of mothers-in-law, I'm sure they would look something like this, but perhaps even more spangly.

Once she arrives, she’ll have a chance to rest and recover in the room we formerly called “the office,” but should be properly named “the how-high-can-we-stack-unnecessary-possessions room.” This week’s task is to convert those two things into simply “the guest bedroom, filled with bright blue bins that are, yes, stacked to the ceiling.”

Then comes the awkward decision of what to call my mother-in-law: Mom? Lorraine? La belle-mère? That lady trapped under the fallen bright blue bins?

I think I’ll skip the French option, as the various forms of address for types of mothers is confusing to the English speaker with only high-school-level bilingual credits:

I believe I’ll stick with trusty old “Lorraine.” Bienvenue au Yukon.

Unlike many, I’m averse to writing about personal matters on my blog. For the most part, I stick to jargoned wisecrackery.

I’ve been in Toronto for the past two weeks to be with my father, as has my brother, Iain, who flew in from Korea. My father, Henry “Hank” Rogers, died last night as Iain, his spouse Dennis, and I stood around his bed in the living room of his Scarborough home.

We are well prepared for the flurried activity that will occupy us throughout the coming week. Following that, the schedule is less certain.

While my cooking style tends toward the lowest end of the cuisine spectrum, I recently pulled off quite a dish in an effort to use up all of the fresh smoked salmon that we had in the freezer (Carole knows a guy). Of course, it’s hard to go wrong when cooking with salmon, butter, and whipping cream.

A-ha-ha-ha-ha!

Start water boiling and add:

• One pack fettuccini or linguini, or whatever noodles you like

Sauté, in a largish pan:

• 1/2 of one of those large garlic thingies, minced
• 1/4 cup butter

Once the garlic starts to go translucent, add:

• 2-3 cups of shredded and deboned fresh smoked salmon

Reduce to medium heat, and cook for another two minutes, stirring frequently, then slowly add:

• 2 cups of whipping cream
• 1/4 cup grated parmesan or, better yet, asiago

Keep stirring for another five minutes or so. The sauce won’t thicken appreciably. Once the noodles are done, mix in all of the sauce. Serve in big bowls and top each with:

• dash of fresh parsley
• warm diced tomato
• freshly cracked pepper

Buon appetito! Non è raccomandato per coloro che sono intolleranti al lattosio, sperimentando la sofferenza coronarica, o con i cibi kosher.

You won’t find “fifi-i-nini” in any dictionary, not even one for crossword puzzle aficionados. Suffice to say, it means “finished” in some French Canadian vernaculars. Also, it’s a terribly satisfying way to announce the completion of a lengthy challenge:

Hey! No peeking.

Carole and I slaved away into the wee hours Saturday night, but it wasn’t until this afternoon that we pencilled-in Calder Trophy-winner “rookie” for the final clue.

The solution will be published in The Globe and Mail on January 2nd.

I’ve spent the past hour virtually touring Prague. Much more interesting and seamless than Google Street View: www.360cities.net/prague-18-gigapixels

See if you can spot:

• smoking dude with lemon drink and little white dog (hint: circle to the east),
• smiling boy hanging from bars surrounding the ball court (due west),
• garden oasis above the abandoned and graffiti-splattered tour operator (just past the hanging boy), or
• sweethearts gamboling through the park (forested park to the north).

Sorry, no prizes for finding any of that, but there is some sort of treasure hunt going on within the photograph.

I love the central courtyard design of housing blocks in Old Europe. Must be noisy though. I wonder if they outlaw elevators to limit the building heights. Shame about the satellite dishes everywhere.