Day 206. Mean Spirited

Remember how excited I was yesterday?  I could smell Spring in the air.  Do you also remember the last sentence I wrote?  No worries.  I’ll refresh your memory:  “Mother Nature can be a real bitch, you know.”

Well, she was certainly right on cue.  Went to bed Tuesday night listening to howling wind.  And I do mean howling.  But there’s more.  We also had a combination of swirling snow and rain.  Went on all night.  Was still going strong yesterday morning.  Now we’ve got piles and piles and piles of heavy, ugly, dirty, messy, disgusting slush!  Ponds at every street corner, too wide to jump across.  So guess what?

Yep.  No other choice but to wade through them.  Up to your insteps, if not higher.  Sidewalks are a royal mess.  Roads are a royal mess.  And God help us if it gets cold.  Because it will all freeze; and then driving and walking will be absolutely hazardous.

So yes, Mother Nature can be a real bitch.  She’s certainly proved it over the last two days.  Can’t you hear her cackling?  I can.  And, while I’m no shrink, I think she’s also unstable. Hormonal at best.  I wonder if she’s ever tried taking Evening Primrose Oil.  Might be a good idea.

Can you do me a favour?  If you’re talking to her, try suggesting it.

Day 205. Spring Fever

I woke up yesterday morning with a terrible case of Spring fever.  Hit me suddenly, too.  Could be because it was so bright and sunny, so early in the morning (must have been my mother’s doing.  She passed February 26, 2007, but she was clearly being her usual, cheerful self, sending me a message and saying “Hi”).

Not a cloud in the almost over-saturated, beautiful, blue sky.

Could also have been the influence of my two cats, who were far more ‘lively’ than they’ve been in a while.  Full, and I mean full, of piss and vinegar.  As if they’d just woken up after a long, deep sleep.  Chirping at me, jumping on and off the bed.  On.  Off.  On.  Off.  Dancing on my head.  Butting noses with me.  Purring madly.

As if to say, “Come on, mommy.  Get up.  Get up.  Get up.  Time to drag your sorry ass out of  bed!  Look outside.  It’s Spring!!!”

Whoa!!!  Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

But I have to admit, I felt it too.  I had more energy, myself.  And it was a ‘different’ kind of energy.  It wasn’t the

Day 204. A Confession

Yes, yes, I know.  I recently ranted about award shows.  Said I most certainly wouldn’t be watching last Sunday night’s Oscar telecast.  And, at the time, I meant it.  But I’m a woman, after all.  I’m not ashamed to admit I like fashion.  I’m not a slave to it, but I like it.

Guess I’m trying to find a way to tell you I have no resolve.  Because  I caved.  I watched the Red Carpet.  Okay, I’m weak.  What can I say?

Truth be told, I also watched the show on and off, as well.  But I’m only going to talk about the clothes.  Except for these three comments:

1. I thought the addition of the musical numbers helped relieve the tedium.
2. I thought it was sweet when Dustin Hoffman looked up, up, up, up at Charlize Theron and told her she was a good dancer.
3. Why can the Brits always manage to say “thank you” briefly, eloquently and elegantly, while the Americans blather on, incoherently, forever?

Back to the clothes.  Personally, I was disappointed.  As I have been, throughout the award season.

Frankly, I long for the good old days.  Before stylists got in on the act.  Before designers got in on the act.  Before ‘stars’ were

Day 203. Blue Skies

Well, the skies have certainly cleared since I wrote yesterday’s blog post.  At least, the skies over my apartment.  Give me a minute and I’ll explain.  Regular readers of my blog know I’ve got a moratorium going on accepting awards, at the moment.  They know, because I mentioned it, the last time I blogged about an award I’d just received.

It was a decision I made for no other reason, than I felt I had been given more than my fair share.  And it was only fair, and right, to give a chance to some of the other equally worthy WordPress bloggers in our community.  Those who hadn’t, as yet, been recognized.  Or as recognized as I’ve been.

Today, however, I’m making an exception.

Yesterday, I wrote about my frustration with inaccurate weather forecasting.  And a fellow blogger, Pete, gave me the Sunshine Award.  While I know he was (and is) saying he enjoys my blog, what I love most is the ‘poetic justice’ between my

Day 202. So Unpredictable

I can’t believe how often the weatherman is goofing these days.  It’s like they hardly ever get it right.  At least in my neck of the woods.  Don’t know about yours, obviously.  It is SO annoying.  Because I am NEVER wearing the right clothes.

When I have my umbrella, it doesn’t rain.  Even though rain was predicted.  When I go out without boots, it snows.  Even though it was supposed to be sunny and relatively mild.  Well, everything is relative.  Mild for winter.

When the temperature is supposed to be plus 6 Celsius (42.8 Fahrenheit) and I go out without a hat, I end up freezing to death.  Yesterday, the weather report I read said it was 1, but felt like minus 4.  So I wore a warm sweater, a cashmere scarf and a hat.  Plus a down-filled coat.  I was melting.  It was making me feel quite sick,

Day 201. Flawed Thinking

My post yesterday generated some very interesting comments.  Several people mentioned good news doesn’t sell papers.  Which is the reason why newspapers and magazines and news and current affairs shows, on both television and radio, are almost exclusively full of bad news.

The thinking being, when you scare people they listen.  And watch.  And read.  You get their attention.  You attract an audience.

At least that’s the conventional wisdom.  That’s what folks in the biz say.

Well, I’m here to tell you, I think they’re on crack.  Not those of you who read and commented on my blog yesterday.  You’re only repeating what you’ve heard and read.  I mean, the media honchos, who are drinking the Kool-Aid.   Hell, they’re not merely drinking the stuff.  They’re making it!  And forcing us to drink it.  Or at least they’re trying to make us drink it.

No Kool-Aid for me, thanks.  It’s never been on my list of favourite beverages.

Day 200. Trying Times

Yesterday a reader commented, on my post, about avoiding the news for the last few months, because of how depressing it is.  It’s true.  It’s terribly disillusioning.  To prove it, I decided to get yesterday’s Globe & Mail out of my recycling bin and give the headlines a quick scan.  To see if I could find anything remotely positive or pleasant:

Let’s start with the front page.  “Why Generation Y Should Fear Retirement”.  Hmmm.  Shoot me now.  Not that I’m a young adult, but still.  Moving further down the page, “SNC bribery probe widens to Algeria”.  Not exactly cheerful, either.

So then I checked the index, to get an idea of what I had to look forward to, inside the paper.  Not much, as it turned out. “Montreal’s mayor declares he is not under investigation after a raid at City Hall by anti-corruption police.”  “Ottawa’s new ambassador of religious freedoms is at risk of being marginalized by Foreign Affairs, an expert warns”.

Jumping for joy yet?  NOT!

“Former US. congressman Jesse Jackson Jr., the son of the famous civil-rights leader, pleads guilty to spending $750,000 in campaign funds in personal luxuries.  “A day after home crowds booed the team off the ice, the Buffalo Sabres

Day 199. Simply Awful

“Show me a hero and I’ll write you a tragedy”. F. Scott Fitzgerald

So true. Unfortunately. I have to say I am really saddened by the news, or what we know of it, about Oscar Pistorius. Far be it from me to try and convict him without knowing all the facts, but you’ve got to admit, it’s not looking very good.

Even if it was an honest mistake, it’s still a horrific event. A young woman lost her life needlessly. And a young man who overcame so much, and become so victorious, has also lost much. The respect and adoration of millions; and, almost certainly, his future.

Regardless of the judge’s verdict his life, and the lives of many others, will never be the same again.

Can you believe it? I can’t.

One minute he was the world’s first double leg amputee to participate in the Olympics in London, in 2012, followed by a gold medal win and a new record set in the 2012 Paralympics. And the next, he was being

Day 198. Missing Them

February is a difficult month for me.  Oh, I know, lots of folks suffer through February.  It can be a dreary month; and by the time we’ve gotten through November and December and January we’re worn down by winter.  And can’t wait for Spring.

But that’s not my problem.

Three beloved family members have been taken from me, in February.  Stolen, I sometimes think.  My cousin, who was more like my sister.  My mother’s twin sister, who was my other mother, my confidante and friend.  And my mother.

Cheryl (my cousin) passed a long time ago. In 1976, when she was only twenty-four years old, of what was diagnosed as fulminating hepatitis.  Which it couldn’t have been, because her dad died of the exact same thing when she was thirteen months old.  Clearly she’d inherited something.  So much for the accuracy of autopsies.

Anyway, she died on February 15.  Her mother, on February 3, 2000; and my mother on February 26, 2007.

Bizarre, isn’t it?  That the three of them would all die in the same month.  Like some strange, twisted, cruel co-incidence.  Or, maybe not.  I’ll never know.  Or will I?

What’s really a bit spooky is something my mother told me, not all that long before she died.  She said she’d been having

Day 197. One Left

Are you as sick of award shows as I am?  I don’t know about you, but I feel like they’ve been going on forever.  But after this coming Sunday night’s broadcast of the Academy Awards, I think we’ll be done.  Thank The Lord!

I am SO bored with them.  Bored with all the promos.  All the commercials.  All the contests.  All the articles.  All the ads.  All the speculation.  All the talk.  All the gossip.  All the guessing.  The lead up, in other words.  It feels like we’ve been leading up forever.

I am bored with the vanity.  And the egos.  And the name-dropping.  And the ass-kissing.  And that’s just among the on-air personalities.

I am bored with the breasts.  The butts.  The backs.  The ‘leg’.  The shoes.  The bags.  The hair; and why it’s wrong.  Or right.  The make up.  The lips.  The lashes.

Really, I don’t care which designer dressed which star.  I don’t care how many millions of dollars worth of