Seriously... who shot a rabbit... opened their lunch... passed gas...

I'm sitting in my office catching up on emails at the end of a Friday afternoon.

There are three of us in here.  Me, the dog Ben and one of our cats, Rocky.

There is the unmistakeable odour of something gone terribly wrong in here.

I'm trying to narrow it down.  I had a goat curry roti for lunch; could be me.  Ben?  May have eaten a cat turd or two... Rocky?  Rocky just left the room and something really nasty, evil and altogether wicked followed him on the way out the door.

Apparently, he, too, had more than enough.

Me and the dog are close behind.

"Wow... it's a little crusty in here..."

These few words are not exactly what one wishes to hear laying on a hard and quite uncomfortable table in a room so cold, you can practically see one's breath.

That short statement came from the lips of Dr. Paul Daly, my cardiologist at Toronto General Hospital in the early afternoon of November 12, 2009 as he was negotiating one of the arteries leading into my heart.

I swear I could feel the 'English' he put on the catheter wires as he attempted to open this artery that was, by all accounts 99% blocked.

The procedure was a resounding success - as the image to the right will attest.  On the left side, you can see clearly to the right of a dark, shadowy 'roadway' there is nothing; this would be where the blockage of plaque occurs.  The image on the right shows that very same artery, now wide open after the painless insertion of a small, drug-eluting stent.

Amazing.  Truly.

In an earlier post I stated that I had never experienced any symptoms that would have alerted me to this condition.  There was no pain in my chest.   No shortness of breath.  Nothing.

Now, however, I feel great, energized even.

I can only surmize that my previous state of normalcy was bad -- relatively, for me.

My thanks to all medical staff at PRHC and TGH for their diligence, thoughtfulness and dedication.

Obviously, I cannot say enough about my former family doctor, Dr. Carolyn Brown... except, again, thank you!

Socialized medicine rules!

He may be (in)famous, but he does not presume...

Not to make a big deal about this, but to date, in this whole Tiger Woods thingie, one small point has stood out - to me, at least. 

In a voice mail allegedly from his Tiger-ness to one of his alleged female friends, inspite of his celebrity, the individual does not say, "Hey, it's me."  Rather, there is a hesitant, "Hey... it's, uh, Tiger."  This call was to a woman whith whom he allegedly had an affair for two years or so.

Some might say that the reason for the specific ID was to avoid confusion with other male friends... Others that he makes no assumptions and was taught some manners by his parents... Others still that he collects a royalty each time he refers to himself by name.

Thoughts?  Discuss.

Jobs for the boys...

An unusual title for an article, I’m sure you’ll agree. Allow me to explain.

In the past week or so, I've skated around something major that occurred in my life.  Nothing terrible, thankfully, but certainly made me a little introspective and most of all, grateful.

The next couple of posts will be about this incident and the repercussions from it.

The post title is an expression my Mother uses a great deal, especially when it comes to describing, specifically, cronyism.

Lately, however, she has been bandying it around with alarming regularity especially in conversation when it comes to Ontario’s oft negatively smeared health care system and the practice of referrals from one doctor to another. Most of the time Mum would liken a battery of expensive and possibly unwanted and perhaps unnecessary tests, all on the tax payers tab, to supplement the income of medical practitioners. For the record, this was the very same woman who had life-saving surgery earlier this year to remove an aortic aneurysm – two of them, in fact.

As we all know, Ontario’s health care system is beaten up so regularly by critics, pundits and armchair quarterbacks, there are times when it must surely feel like a piñata.

There were many occasions lately, that I too, had to reluctantly agree with Mum’s point of view.

Until the other day, that is.

When we moved into the Kawartha Lakes region six years ago, we could not find a family doctor. My wife, Sheryl and I went on waiting lists. In Peterborough there was not even a true walk in clinic; there was one you could call, hope to get through and secure an appointment with whatever doctor was on duty in the clinic that day. However, if you missed a window of opportunity when the lines were not busy, it invariably led to disappointment. We ‘kept’ our doctors in Toronto.

In the late fall of 2008, we were advised that, if we were interested, a new-to-the-region doctor was opening a practice. Did we want to arrange an interview? This process allowed both parties to talk frankly with one another. It was at this interview that I first met Dr. Carolyn Brown.

Carolyn attended the University of Toronto where she received her medical degree in 1977. From there, Dr. Brown moved to Calgary Alberta where she completed the Family Practice residency program in 1979.

For the past 12 years, Dr. Brown and her husband Dr. John Ashbourne worked in Dhahran, Saudi Arabia.

At the end of the interview, we agreed that we would ‘test drive’ each other. Sheryl, too.

In the spring of 2009, Dr. Brown scheduled a full physical for yours truly. From that, I was referred to an allergist (nice enough fellow) but I could have confirmed I was allergic to cats – we have five of them. Due to chronic sinusitis, I also saw an ENT specialist and ended up having my sinuses cleaned and scraped – again.

Due to my being a certain age and the fact I am diabetic, have experienced elevated blood pressure and cholesterol issues (all well managed through medication and lifestyle) and a family history of heart issues on both Mum and Dad’s side (mild issues), she wanted to refer me to a cardiologist, Dr. Brian Mackenzie – for a thorough look see, to establish a baseline. I had never exhibited any symptoms, chest pains, shortness of breath – nothing directly associated with a heart issue.

“Here we go again,” I thought as I heard my Mother’s voice repeating her cynical mantra.

A series of tests was ordered over a six week period, including an EKG, being installed for a Holter monitor (this also involved vigorous and quite random shaving of my chest) and finally having a stress test where a radioactive substance, Thallium, was introduced to my system through an intravenous line as I exercised on an ever-inclining treadmill. Images are taken then and a few hours later.

A couple of weeks later I sat down with Dr. Mackenzie and we reviewed my results. Now, as many of you know, I have rediscovered exercise after having a hip replacement three years ago. I would work out at least five times a week, usually an aggressive cardio session, taking aerobic classes with spandex-enrobed nymphs and older folks like me who wanted to be healthier. Anyway, it seems that there was something ‘unsettling’ that he could vaguely see on the images. Given that I had exhibited no symptoms, he spoke of anomalies and false positives. He did, however, advise that the only way to be certain was to undergo an Angiogram which he then explained in detail.

At this time, Sheryl and I were about three weeks from moving house and we were up to our ears in boxes as we packed. Plus, ironically enough, I was completing ‘The Bug Stops Here©TM’, an innovative educational comic book project for Peterborough Regional Health Centre. Timing was not great. We compromised and agreed that we would schedule the procedure for shortly after the move.

October 23 was the day. Reluctantly rising just after 4.00am, downing a couple of thick double espressos each standing over the kitchen sink, we drove the two hours from Barrie back to Peterborough. Sheryl sleepily asked where my insurance policies were and inquired if they were up-to-date.

The hospital staff we encountered that day at PRHC was fantastic. Caring and human. Treating all including, this big lug, with respect and dignity. One nurse, Cathy, proudly told me she had recently completed her power tools course at a large box store as she wielded an electric shaver and proceed to create a crude and rudimentary ‘Peterborough landing strip’ in my groin! Any questions I had, they answered. When I joked with them, they joked right back. Without crossing any line, real or imagined.

My surgeon for the procedure was Dr. Peter McLaughlin. He spoke with me beforehand and described in detail what he was going to be doing. I was kept comfortable and warm in very a cold environment and given a mild sedative to take off the edge.

A short time later, I was wheeled into the procedure room, an even colder place like a walk in meat locker (sic) with monitors, wires, much expensive-looking equipment and what I thought was way too many people.

I was covered with special blankets to shield most of my body from the potential harmful rays of the diagnostic imaging equipment that would monitor the progress of the wire that was inserted though my groin and travelled up into my heart. Images were taken from all angles and finally, a contrast dye was injected so that definitive pictures might be taken. This was an odd sensation. I was forewarned I would feel a warm flush-like sensation. I thought that my bladder had voided then and there on the table!

Moments later, it was done. The actual procedure likely took less than 15 minutes. Radiation vests and spatter guards were removed and I was returned to the recovery area. To my safe little cubicle with beeping monitors and friendly faces.

Presently, Dr. McLaughlin came in and asked how I was, then punched a few keys on a multi-coloured keyboard and brought up an image on the flat screen monitor. I listened intently as he spoke softly yet with gentle authority.

One of my heart’s arteries was 99% blocked with plaque. I heard 99% and it seemed to echo in my mind for minutes. McLaughlin explained everything. And although not completely unprepared, I managed to ask reasonably intelligent questions. For the record, cholesterol is 80% hereditary, 10% environment and 10% lifestyle.

There are three courses of action; medicinal (pills); PCI (Percutaneous Transluminal Intervention; and, a coronary bypass. Even while we were talking, Jeff Dunlop, the energetic Regional Cardiac Care Coordinator was burning a CD of my images and preparing a package to be overnighted to the Angioplasty group at The Toronto General Hospital.

I was contacted by TGH a few days after the angiogram and was advised that an angioplasty was scheduled for November 12 and would be performed by Dr. Paul Daly. There will be a pre-op consult November 6. Things continue to move forward in an expeditious manner.

So there we have it. No symptoms, no obvious warning signs and more than likely, within a few weeks I will be in Toronto having the problem fixed – one way or another.

So, the maligned system can and does work. For me, at any rate. Jobs for the boys? Perhaps, but to everyone at PRHC – my thanks. Especially Melanie, my lead nurse. To Dr. McLaughlin and Mackenzie – sincere thanks and gratitude. To Dr. Carolyn Brown; I will never be as skeptical again about the medical profession. Your professionalism, doggedness and diligence led to my heart problem being discovered.

For that, I will always be grateful.

Nothing quite like it...

OK. Hands up all you readers who suffer (is there any other more appropriate word?) through either an occasional or frequent migraine headache? OK, sisters, hands down; we know all about you!

I come by mine honestly enough; both my Mum and Dad had them as adults but pretty much grew out of them in later life. I'm told that I was a ‘victim’ as far back as my infancy.

Fast forward a decade or five and on the morning of November 12, I came down with one for the books.

Readers will know this was the day I was a ‘guest’ at the Toronto General Hospital. I was to have an angioplasty (more on that in other posts). Waking up at 4.00am that morning and crawling from the warm comfort of bed, I realized that I had a headache. Just a headache. Given I was under instructions not to take anything by mouth from midnight on (dinner the evening before was finished at around 7.00pm -- dubbed, The Last Supper by TLATO); I declined to chew on a few generic-branded acetaminophen with codeine. Also, no two, double espressos this morning. And, I drove to the hospital through darkness and soon-to-become-searing headlights.

By the time I was checking in on the 6th floor of the Eaton Wing at TGH, my once annoying headache had begun to mutate.

There was absolutely no anxiety on my part regarding the pending procedure; I was actually looking forward to it and could not blame the war drums in my temple as being symptomatic of (obvious) stress. I will put it down to not enough sleep, any breakfast and caffeine withdrawal.

Sensing I was not feeling 100%, the ever attentive Danielle, my day-shift nurse that morning, gave me a couple of Tylenol. Way too little, way too late.

At around 11.30am, an orderly arrived to take me to the catheter lab on the second floor. Well-meaning, he began to ratchet the head end of the gurney, causing mini whiplash-like incidents. By the time I was in the elevator, the small piercing lights were already searing into my eyeballs. I felt horrible. Nauseous. Pain sweats ensued. By the time I was wheeled into the very cool procedure room, I was in the throes of a full blown migraine attack.

The cardiologist took one look at me and requested a complete scan of vitals. All was well. Except, of course for the pain in my head. They determined that the procedure would proceed and since I am allergic to morphine, shot a dose of fentanyl into my IV delivery system. For good measure, a nurse stayed by my side with cold compresses – and a vomit bucket.

The lights in the procedure room were unlike anything I had seen before -- unless you count two weeks previous when I went through an angiogram. There lights are unusually bright and depending upon what is occurring in the room, blink on an off. Even through closed eyes, I could still feel their effects.

Due to the fentanyl I did not even feel the dye being injected into my heart. The pain over the next two and a half hours did begin to diminish, but not vanish.

In post op, I was provided with Percocet -- and a fresh gown.  Dehydration due to profuse sweating did not help my condition any.

For the rest of the day, I was prescribed additional Percs and ultimately Gravol since the nausea returned with a vengeance.

By the time I was taken from my bed and made to walk the 6th floor, the migraine had pretty much been conquered. Thanks to medication, rest, TLC, a cheese sandwich -- and lots of ice water.

Much like my parents, the frequencies of these often vicious and debilitating attacks are reducing.
But they can still occur. Sometimes without any warning whatsoever.

As much as I hate them, over the years, I have learned to respect them. Sound weird?

Obviously, you have never had the unfortunate pleasure...

Say what...?

Just last week I was a guest at one of Toronto's largest hospitals, Toronto General Hospital.

Located on the eastern edge of Chinatown, this world class facility is a part of the University Health Network.

Now before we go too much further, let's not misunderstand anything here; this entry is only intended to have you scratch your heads and 'say what?'

So, while 'checking in' at 6.25am on the morning of November 12, I was to be admitted to the 6th floor, East Wing in the Peter Munk Cardiac Centre until approximately 10.00am the following day.

Thanks to an exhaustive pre-op conference the week before just about anything and everything I had experienced health-wise was on file.

That morning, I was, once again asked if I had any allergies. Affirmative; morphine. Hold on, what about cats? What about sulfites? What about MSG? Morphine is, for me, a deal breaker. It's serious. I neglected to mention the other three since I was in a hospital and did not think that I would be served Asian food with a glass of bad red wine while stoking a purring feline. But ever cautious as hospital staff are, a special allergy wrist band was prepared. Fair enough.

After a successful procedure and some time spent in recovery, I was shuttled back to my semi-private room (could have had private but I could not remember if my insurance (for which TLATO and I pay a healthy monthly premium covered me.). No matter

Lying relatively still for the next four hours or so, my nurse at that time, Danielle, inquired if I would like some dinner. Now remember; no food had passed my lips since about 7.00pm the evening previous. I was famished. A request was made that come suppertime, Mr. Taylor would like a hot meal, please and thank you.

A couple of hours later, a sheepish individual from the hospital kitchen left me a tray and said that there was no hot meal for me this evening. A plain cheese sandwich would be it. Did my 'request' come down too late? Au contraire. The hot meals being 'served' that evening, all apparently contained MSG.

This became the talking point at the nurses’ station.

Go figure. A world class health facility, preparing food with a major preservative which many people react to.

I may have been better ‘served’ ordering broccoli with beef from a nearby Asian restaurant.

H1N1... is this the new xbox360?

OK, hear me out on this one.

Right now there is general confusion about the H1N1 vaccination clinics and procedures.

Now we are hearing that there may not be enough vaccine, that you may actually contract this flu virus before you have an opportunity to be vaccinated.

Supply and demand, people.

With the latest and greatest gaming systems, months in advance, information is slowly and deliberately leaked to the public. Even a supposed high price for a system is softened by 'reviews' from 'respected' sources within the video game industry and others who have been beta-testing the console and its limited array of games for months as they sit, slack-jawed in front of a monitor exercising their thumbs and potentially a part of their brains.

It all comes down to hype.

So, in a strange and convoluted manner, the same thing appears to have occurred with the H1N1 vaccine. Not all clinics are open at this time. Folks, supposedly those considered high risk, are lining up for hours to get a shot because they are scared. A week ago, I dare say that the majority of those people were going to side step the issue of an H1N1 shot. The media, in all its wisdom, has reported on regrettably isolated incidents and, perhaps (let’s hope) inadvertently, has created something bordering on near hysteria.

Why? To sell newspapers? To have more listeners or viewers tune in to their stations and thus create more demand for advertising dollars?

Let's hope not.

However, at this stage in the game, I'm just waiting for this headline:

"GET YOUR SWINE FLU SHOT NOW AND AVOID THE CHRISTMAS RUSH"

And, to make matters worse, this shot, is free.

They're everywhere...

I now have this strange mental image of St. Peter at the gates to heaven, wearing a blue vest and greeting all newcomers!

While this may follow a trend created by Costco, the words 'full service' and 'vertically integrated' when it comes to this seem strangely out of place. It seems that even in death one can earn loyalty rewards - the final indignity!

Meet Sammy...

'The Bug Stops Here' narrative is mostly told from Sammy's point-of-view. Children lead a more uncomplicated life and do not (usually) have to deal with all the small and large trials and tribulations adults deal with daily. Do not be mistaken, however. Most kids have active imaginations and their dreams can be only too real - even literal, sometimes. Soon you'll see what Sammy sees in her dreams after visiting her Grandma in hospital...

Remember... The Bug Stops here - with you!

The Bug Stops Here!

It's now official!

The world will soon start to hear about this fantastic and innovative social behavioral program,
‘The Bug Stops Here©TM' .

For the past few months, much of my time has been consumed with this worthwhile project; we have worked with Peterborough Regional Health Centre (PRHC) and key staff members in Infection Control and Communications.

It’s certainly not a new idea, but it’s an initiative whose timing is perfect. At the end of the day, it’s all about improving hand hygiene everywhere. In our homes; in restaurants; in health care facilities; everywhere. While this program is PRHC-centric and addresses hospital-acquired infections, specifically Clostridium difficile (C. diff), with the recent activity in the media and health care centres the world over regarding H1N1, hand washing is something everyone needs to be more vigilant and diligent on an ongoing basis.

At the end of the day, washing hands needs to be second nature, just as buckling a seat belt, securing a child in an infant car seat or even not drinking and driving.

Don’t even think about it. Everyday it should be second nature.

1. Whenever your hands are obviously soiled
2. After using a toilet
3. After blowing your nose or even covering a cough or a sneeze and,
4. Before eating, drinking or even handling any food

Obvious? Of course it is, but all of us is likely guilty of NOT washing as often as we should. Regardless of whether it’s with soap and water or using a hand-sanitizing lotion or gel, we all need to do our part to protect ourselves, our loved ones and each other.

Remember, ‘The Bug Stops Here©TM’ – and it all starts with you!

Like a bad day with Dr. Seuss...

Remember the fun and games experienced a few months back when an 'island' lodged itself to our shoreline? Yes, that's when I fell into the lake...

Anyway, about a week ago, I returned from the gym one Saturday morning. "Look out the window, near Bev and Roger's place", said TLATO. "There's a big surprise for you!"

There it was. In all it's bullrush glory. The same island that I had managed to move months beforehand.

How it made the return journey, I do not know. Was it given a hand by some neighbour? Again, the facts are cloudy here, too. Regardless it was back.

At first I laughed and almost ignored it. “Not our problem anymore,” I thought to myself – “We sold the place and that's that!”

Apparently, it was not going to be that easy. Saturday I was cutting our grass on the old John Deere and I kept seeing this 'beast'. By the time I had finished, I knew that the island had to go. Somehow.

So, Monday morning, when good friends Bob and Nancy came over to launch their canoe and go for an exploration trip on the lake, I asked if they would mind assisting once they had their few hours of relaxation.

Later, upon their return, I slipped on an old t-shirt, bathing suit and water shoes. I grabbed my boat pole and waded into the surprisingly warm water. This time, I did NOT extend the pole.

Shoving and heaving, I managed to move the beast. I was afraid that it may have started to root to the bottom of the lake near our shoreline, but fortunately that was not the case.

Bob and Nancy positioned the bow of their canoe in the centre of this mobile land mass and started to paddle. Vigourously. Naturally, this floating eco-system would not co-operate and until our intrepid paddlers got the hang of this uncooperative mass, were experiencing a world of frustration.

Meanwhile, one of our neighbours watched the whole affair from the comfort of a padded chair on his power boat. Smiling and occasionally waving, no offer was made to assist...

Eventually, Bob and Nancy were able to maneuver the mass into the current and it slowly started to move. Downstream. I must admit that we were hoping it would take a detour and self-navigate to our neighbour's dock.

This was not to be.

Lesson learned? Immediate neighbours, for whatever reason, may not be your best resource. Leave that honour to the Braleys.

We'll miss them terribly when we move.

Loons in the land of the rising sun?

Where we live, it's not unusual to hear the plaintiff call of a loon or two at night and in the early morning hours from the bay near our lakeside home.

The fact that we are still hearing them at this time of year means one thing and one thing only; muskie have not eaten them!

These days, it would appear that Japan as a nation may soon become familiar with the very same sound that reminds us we live in a beautiful part of the world. It seems that the wife of Japan's incoming prime minister, who is, by all accounts, a lifestyle guru, a cookbook author and a retired actress. Heck, if a retired actor can become head of the most powerful nation in the free world...

Miyuki Hatoyama has publicly stated that some 20 years ago, she was abducted by aliens and taken to the planet Venus. Further, she has also stated that she knew Tom Cruise. In a previous life. When he was Japanese.

Her previous husband apparently dismissed the abduction statement as a dream. Her present husband, incoming prime minister Yukio Hatoyama, sees things a little differently.

"I feel relieved when I get home. She (Miyuki) is like an energy-refueling base."

Cue Twilight Zone theme music and quickly fade to black...

Thanks to The Toronto Star's news services.

Fall already?

So what's with the weather?

Recently we've been experiencing some hot and really steamy days of weather -- in between rain and tornados. Did I mention that we lost part of a Black Walnut tree during that particular storm?

This morning, lakeside, it was 5 degrees Celsius! 5 degrees.

Really?

What the heck is going on out there?

Personally, I would much rather have the cooler temperatures. TLATO? Not so much. Complaint after complaint this morning. Noises were being made about going down to Florida...

Chia chest... a sight for sore eyes

Almost six years ago we moved from the city, Toronto to the quieter, sedate region of Ontario known as the Kawarthas.

After stumbling through more than 60 houses in person, TLATO found our home.

We have done much work to it over the years and yes, it is our castle.

However, as many of you are now aware, we are moving the end of September to a different part of Ontario, Barrie – or as DJ put it, ‘the gateway to Muskoka’.

That as may be.

Finding a family doctor was mission impossible. Late last year, Carolyn Brown returned from a long stint in Saudi Arabia to continue practicing here. (Why is it so called professionals, such as lawyers, doctors, dentists and the like practice? Will they ever get it right?)

I digress.

Our names came up in the doctor lottery and we finally had a family doctor.

This spring, for the first time in years, I had a full physical. Dr. Brown, being new to the region, thought that at ‘my age’ I should be baseline tested for practically anything and everything known to man and medicine.

And so began batteries of tests, needles, blood work, prodding and probing that no person over the age of consent should have to go through without at least one witness/chaperone. Eventually dignity is cast aside like those stupid smocks provided in hospitals and the like. Americans have the right to bear arms; me, I bared my bum on more than one occasion.

I have had chronic sinus problems since I was a kid; off to an ENT guy and an allergist. Sinuses scraped and washed and needles stuck into me and they discovered I was allergic to cats. Big surprise. I could have told them that and saved our beleaguered system mucho dollars in tests. We have five cats at home. I live with it.

Although I like to work out at least five times a week, it was determined that I needed to have my heart checked out. So, I had an echocardiogram. I’m going for a stress test next week.

This brings me too yesterday. I was to be fitted with a Holter monitor. This device would be checking my heart rate for about 36 hours or so. “Remove your shirt and sit in that chair,” demanded a smooth talking (except for the clicking) tongue-studded female technician. I did as I was told. I swear I never saw this next part coming. I was ‘attacked’ with a razor and parts of my chest; abdomen and sides were dry-shaved with Bic’s finest. All the better to attach electrodes to my skin, I was told.

Lovely.

My upper body now resembles a Chia Pet with a severe case of Alopecia.

Some women pay a small fortune for a ‘Brazilian’. I received a hospital special – for free.

I can’t wait to remove this thing at 7.00am Wednesday. The comments in the locker room should be fun later that evening.

You will note that this is one post that will not have a photographic reference…

Mea culpa...

It was TLATO who reminded me earlier this morning that it had been some time since I had posted anything to this blog.

She is absolutely correct. (There, proof for the record that I do give credit, where credit is due.)

To say that things have been more than a little hectic these past weeks would truly be an understatement...

OK, here are some of the details...

For some time now, we've been looking to downsize our home. As much as we both love it, there is truly an amazing amount of work required to keep it in 'shape', inside and out on an ongoing basis. We were even considering moving into town (Peterborough).

A few months back, a business opportunity presented itself. It was of great interest to both of us, especially Sheryl. It would mean, however, we would need to move to a different part of the province - Barrie, Ontario.

Nerves have been fraught and tensions running high. Commuting to Barrie from our place is four hours per day - assuming the traffic and weather co-operates. We knew we would have to move. However, we were not going to buy or even look at another house until we knew what was happening here in our mini, country estate.

A couple of months back we changed realtors. Things started to happen. More showings. Greater interest. Finally, one day, three women came through the house with their real estate agent. If they spent 10 minutes going through everything, I may be exaggerating. Our agent called to see how it went. I replied that I did not think it had gone too well. Our ever-optimistic agent said “You never know…”

The next day we received a call. “They want to present an offer tomorrow at 9.00am.”

Long story short, a good, clean offer was presented. Couple of small conditions, nothing that could not be dealt with by both sides with a little effort.

Interesting fact; the buyers had/have yet to physically see the property. You see, their daughters and daughter-in-law had been charged with finding Mum and Dad a home. They had moved to Canada’s left coast 15 or so years before and they were now ready to return. Their family lives in and round this region.

So, for them, there’ll be a homecoming at the end of September – September 30, to be precise.

Now, we were free to look for ourselves. TLATO had already been scouring listings for weeks beforehand and did have a short list of possible prospects. An agent was recommended. Sheryl met with them a couple of weeks ago. Pretty much the first house she went into that day was the one we ended up putting an offer on.

Those conditions were waived last week. We take possession September 22.

Does this mean the end of an era? Will this blog fold? Will OmemeeOzzie be just another fond memory?

How does BarrieBen sound?

Irritable Middle Aged Guy: As Luck Would Have It

Irritable Middle Aged Guy: As Luck Would Have It

Thunderstruck

My 10-year-old nephew, Jackson playing a live gig with an AC/DC tribute band, 'For Those About To Rock' in Toronto last night, June 13, 2009.

This talented kid lives and breathes music and practices daily -- even his parents, Joanne and Andrew don't mind! His younger brother, Bendan got his first guitar a few months ago. Look out world!

Passing the time in a bedroom in Brooklin

Here's another post on behalf of my 10-year old nephew, Jackson. Someone find this kid a band!

Zack update...

Sheryl had The Dude fitted for a ‘cone’ yesterday since he was licking the area where he was almost eviscerated – sorry, accidentally cut.

He’s feeling quite sorry for himself and acting pouty and depressed. We had him sleep in our room last night – with Ben. Not a problem. Except Rocky kept on trying to open the bedroom door most of the night. He would have succeeded too, (he usually does) except TLATO had barricaded the door with a large cat stand. Even Rocky could not budge the door and the weight of the stand. But boy, did he try.

We both have headaches this morning thanks to his all night endeavours!

It's just like a Dr. Seuss tale...

The damn weedberg came back.

Have to find a way to move it into the channel where the current can take it to someone else’s shoreline.

We have a house showing later today – figures.

Meanwhile, I’m heading out to an address on Cowpath Trail north of Bobcaygeon. That really is the address. Cowpath…

PS. Came home to find that the weeds were no longer our problem. You're welcome, Carole and Bruce!

A disasterous day... Part 2

OK, so the word disaster may be a little strong, but this evening's event was the proverbial icing on the cake that was today.

One of our cats, Zack is prone to nasty mats in his abundant fur.

Earlier today, Sheryl spent some time removing a few from him.

Apparently she missed a doozy.

I was in the middle of preparing dinner and TLATO had found this massive lump of matted fur on Zack’s belly.

For particular stubborn mats we have taken to using a seamstress tool, a seam ripper. Very effective, yet razor sharp. Extreme care is always exercised.

So, we assumed our de-matting positions; I held the cat down and Sheryl picked.

As she was picking, I noticed a fleck of crimson on his white belly. It was blood. Neither Zack nor Sheryl was aware of what had happened. I looked more closely and observed a slice in his belly, about 3 inches in length. There was blood, but it was not bleeding profusely. To me, it looked as if stitches would be required.

It was a complete accident.

We called our vet and were referred to the emergency veterinary service – which tonight, was our vet’s practice, but not Dr. Jeff.

Sheryl was and is quite upset. Zack seemed unaware of his wound.

At the vet’s it was determined that Zack would be anesthetized and the wound would be cleaned up and up to 8 stitches applied.

The little bugger is staying overnight – once again.

Coincidentally, we take Ben in tomorrow for his shots and heartworm medication. All told, it’ll likely be an $800 bill between both animals.

As we’ve said before, these guys are a part of our family and we do whatever we believe is necessary and relevant when it comes to their health and welfare. Too bad they don’t seem to appreciate the lengths we seem to go to, some times. Oh yes, any other mats Zack has will be removed.

A disastrous day ... Part 1

I may well be a wanted man.

There is a possibility that the Ministry of Natural Resources, the Ministry of Oceans and Fisheries and the Trent-Severn gnomes may well have a bounty on my head.

I innocently and inadvertently disturbed the hatching habitats of many fish, likely ending the existence of thousands if not millions of lives.

I fell into the lake face down and fully clothed, landing on recently laid and fertilized clumps of roe as they lay unsuspecting and totally unaware of their pending fate…

Early this morning as I let Ben out to take care of business, I glanced toward the lake, specifically at part of our shoreline. A large floating 'island' of bull rushes had detached it from some part of the shoreline and made its journey to the southern end of our lake. It decided to call it a day as it managed to lodge itself on one of the guy ropes of my still elevated dock.

Scratching myself and draining a double espresso, I declared I would move this object after I had showered and shaved.

As I walked in the drizzle to the water’s edge, I had a boat pole clutched firmly in one hand. Approaching the ‘weedberg’, which by now had attracted a couple of red wing blackbirds, I began to lengthen the telescopic pole. I found a firm spot on the ‘berg and pushed – hard. The island began to move. I found a better vantage point and stuck the pole into the roots of the ‘berg and gave a mighty heave.

It was at that precise moment that the pole decided to de-telescope.

I fell in. Fully clothed. An almost perfect belly flop (the Eastern Bloc judge might not have given a perfect 10).

The weedberg, propelled by an offshore breeze, decided to head back to shore as I scrambled over the lake bottom like some frantic creature from a B-movie of yesteryear.

In disgust, I walked up to the house. I was greeted by TLATO. “Wow, it’s really raining heavy now!”

She had not seen me wipe out future generations of assorted species of fish.

She did, however, wish she had and practically pulled a muscle from laughing so hard.

In truth, for the first swim of the year, the water was not as cold as I might have expected. I did, however, twist my lower back slightly and the shin on my left leg is looking quite raw and bruised.

Meantime, the fish continue to count their losses.

Thanks to Sunnybrook Health Sciences Centre...

Yesterday, my Mum, Anne Davies underwent a major surgical procedure performed by Dr. Robert Maggisano, the head of Vascular Surgery at Sunnybrook Health Sciences Centre.

Maggisano had been monitoring the steady growth of an abdominal aortic aneurysm that had been discovered during some routine tests a few years back.

About two months ago we received the news we had all been expecting yet dreading. The ‘beast’ had grown to the point where the medical opinion was that it needs to be removed before it caused irreparable damage. Further, the possibility of performing a less invasive procedure was not going to be an option. This was to be major. An incision would be created from just under the breastbone all the way down to the pubic area.

Wednesday May 27, 2009 was the day.

We were all aware of the severity of the procedure and of the list of potential complications in the event Mum survived the surgery.

At around 6.00am, my five siblings, me and one of twelve grand children (and it was Alyssa’s birthday, too) descended upon the pre-surgery waiting area. Everyone was alert and the usual Taylor-style gallows humour was evident as Mum was prepared for admission and then for her surgery.

Maggisano had thought that us all being there to see her being wheeled into the OR would do wonders for her morale and inner strength. It was tough for all of us watching this suddenly frail woman with moist eyes and a forced smile being wheeled away from us down a long hall. Somehow we all managed to hold it together.

We had been advised that the procedure itself should take 4 – 6 hours. The surgery would commence at 7.45am – give or take a moment or two.

Slowly and wordlessly, hugging and touching one another, we shuffled to the patient waiting area of the Cardio Vascular Intensive Care Unit.

We spoke. We joked. Large families have special bonds. I’m the eldest. My youngest sister, Lindsey, is 12 years younger. We’re the closest and, in some ways, quite similar. Ever-present volunteers approached us with a coffee trolley. Only Lindsey and I wanted something – tea and cookies.

As the morning wore on, we each agreed this was good – the longer Mum was in surgery, in some ways, the better. At about 11.15am, Lindsey, Ross, Alyssa and me went in search of a place to eat some lunch.

Sitting at the table about to have soup and a sandwich, Lindsey’s phone rang. Almost as one, the four of us looked at each other anxiously and thought, “This can’t be good news…!”

Turns out there were two aneurysms. The smaller one was calcified. Both were safely removed and the repairs were done. Maggisano made the comment that the procedure was a little more “technical” than anticipated but all was well. The next few hours would be critical.

An hour later, Alyssa and I were the first to go into ICU to see Mum. She was, unexpectedly breathing on her own without assistance, but she looked so small, so vulnerable in a seemingly enormous bed surrounded by monitoring equipment and the best health care staff OHIP could provide.

She was awake, but was out of it. Her skin felt cold to the touch. Lights flashed intermittently. Digits changed constantly on a large LCD monitor bedside. Unfamiliar sounds echoed around her. The medical staff was amazing and so reassuring all that afternoon and into the night as we each took turns to spend a few moments with Mum.

Her amazing inner strength and resilience (some might call it stubbornness) prevailed and over the next few hours began to progress – to the point she almost got feisty in a manner that those that know her, would recognize immediately. Mum was coming back.

She had a good night and will be moved to a room, out of ICU later this morning.

On behalf of my sisters, Beverley, Karen, Joanne, Lindsey and brother Ross and my nieces and nephews, Kristen, Nicolas, Graeme, Natasha, Michael, Alyssa, Max, Jackson, Brendan, Max, Sammy and Alexander and all other family members and friends, our heartfelt thanks to everyone at Sunnybrook especially Dr. Maggisano and Marg Gadke who went out of there way to ensure that this family have their Mother to celebrate more birthdays and family events in the months and years to come.

Oh yes, Mum’s not too happy to hear that she should not be driving for at least six weeks. How is she going to see everyone?

Meet the latest musical sensation from Ajax, 'Sons of Beaches'!!!

Eat your heart out Sum 41; there's a new band in town, Sons of Beaches.

That's my 12 year old nephew, Max on guitar on the left. Recorded at the Wing Shack in Whitby May 3, 2009 -- the bands first official gig.

For those of you keeping track, Max is cousin to Jackson, whose screaming rendition of AC/DCs 'Thunderstruck' you may recall from a few months back on this very blog.

Another nephew, Graeme has also been doing some musical dabbling, of late -- there is more to come, we're all told.

And, while on topic, another nephew, Michael has been musically inclined for years, too.

My second youngest nephew scored his first electric guitar this past Christmas.

Look out, Simon Cowell!

I'm even leery about sneezing...

Yesterday I underwent a minor surgical procedure; a left endoscopic antrostomy. Basically, had the left side of my nose and sinuses "cleaned" out.

For many years I have suffered with chronic sinusitis. My nose has been broken at least five times and has, at one point, been "rebuilt". I've had a similar procedure more than 20 years ago.

This time was different; no packing at all. Of course, as soon as I bent over to put socks and shoes on, my nose started to "leak". To be expected, I was told. Ruined one very good t-shirt, though.

Now, the day after, things aren't too bad. Throat is sore due to tubes to allow me to breathe through the surgery and my nose feels like I have a bad cold - to the 10th power. I believe I would pay $100 for the ability to give a great honking blow right now. Of course, I am not permitted to do that for at least three more days. I'm even not exercising until at least the beginning of next week, too.

Only time will tell if there has been success.

The jury is still out.

Somewhere, a village mourns the loss of its idiot...

I think that there is a certain head of the Canadian Auto Workers (CAW) union that requires a healthy dose of reality and a smack up side his head.

Ken Lewenza apparently continually cites previous ‘mega-million dollar concessions’ the CAW and its membership has made to Chrysler, Ford and of course, General Motors. Mr. Lewenza is reluctant to talk with Chrysler and its President, Tom LaSorda who has stated that for Chrysler to remain viable, CAW workers must reduce their hourly compensation package by $19 per hour, bringing CAW workers in line with non-union workers at Japanese automotive makers, Toyota and Honda.

People, the hourly wage and benefit package proposed is $57. $57. Per hour.

Mr. Lewenza further blusters that, “The company (Chrysler) has certainly drawn a line in the sand.”

Federal Industry Minister Tony Clement has also publicly stated that these cuts be made to assist in saving the company.

While to me, a life long-not-employed-by-anyone-remotely-connected-to-the-automotive-industry sees little wrong with the manufacturers and the government’s position, I must admit I have a hard time dealing with the inane and obviously selfish rhetoric being spewed by Mr. Lewenza.

Mr. Lewenza stated for the record that the economy would suffer worse if they (CAW) considered and accepted the proposal from Chrysler because autoworkers would have less to spend.

Perhaps this union boss would do well to consider the economic implications of a life with no Chrysler, no Ford or no General Motors. As visions of picket lines dance fervently in his head, what, Mr. Lewenza would the economic impact be then?

While I am not a supporter of North American automotive manufacturers or unions, I do support the occasional dose of harsh reality and acts of realism.

Wake up and smell the 10w30, you fool, before you force action that may have drastic implications for more than you and your membership.

A small piece of Ontario history...

... is no more. Late Saturday evening April 18, 2009, the Red Barn Theatre at Jackson's Point, burned to the ground. And on the eve of it's 60th anniversary, too.

Fortunately no one was hurt and somehow, the intent is to press on with the milestone celebrations.

Little wings...

The other evening, while Sheryl and her friend Nancy were still down in Florida, Nancy's husband, Bob and I went out for a messy, non-wife-sanctioned dinner. Wings!

We headed over to Wild Wing on Tower Hill Road and ordered beers and wings - is there a better food pairing out there?

Bob's choice was relatively tame, your basic BBQ honey-garlic variety. Me, on the other hand, ordered the Hometown Hottie - a four fire, Thai inspired offering.

Not bad.

While there, I could not help but notice how some folks eat wings. I tend to strip the bones clean like a pirhana (as does TLATO) - you should see what she does to a lobster - it's not a pretty sight. Some patrons eat them like an ear of corn, pinkies extended high and leave the best parts behind. When wings were introduced in Buffalo, New York back in 1964 as bar food and they cost $0.05 per pound, that approach is understandable. Today, with 20 medium-sized wings going for around $19, how can you NOT eat every last piece?

It's the right thing to do!

Weather-related...

Today, from my office window looking out onto our normally reasonably docile lake, there are white caps. The weather forecast says there are winds up to 45kmh coming from the South East. Seems stronger than that to me.

I have given up counting the number of "thudsplats" I have heard this morning as misguided birds foraging for food this spring day get caught in the gusts and hit our very large glass windows. Four out of five cats are running around eagerly (Merlin being the exception), taking great pleasure in the misfortunes of birds of all sizes careening off the glass to the ground below, and as only cats can, seemingly pointing and gloating (that would be, specifically, the Dude) at the stunned birds that attempt to catch their breath and senses after hitting windows at a velocity greater than the wind speed.

The strong winds are also bringing chunks of ice from water much further north as they, the lake 'icebergs', prepare for their final melt in our slightly warmer lake waters.

Isn’t nature grand?

Meanwhile, back at the doctor's office...

Continuing on from the tale of the dairy-challenged receptionist... Sitting in the doctor's office after tests were conducted and the doctor is talking with me while dictating his notes.

I have to admit I first thought that my ears were playing tricks. The doctor was spelling out what seemed like every sixth or so word. Granted, some were medical terminology, so mistakes are expected. But as I tuned in, many of the words were those used in every day conversation by the majority of people.

Politely I inquired what he was doing.

I'll paraphrase: "I've got all this high-priced university degreed help out there, and do you think any one of them can actually spell? A university degree and they can't even spell."

Ordinarily, I end posts with a witticism or something. Unable to here. It's really quite sad, isn't it?

Say what?... part two

I'm telling you, sometimes this stuff truly does write itself. The following is just so preposterous, how could I possibly make this up?

While at my allergists this afternoon, I was waiting in the waiting room, reading a magazine and dying to scratch a powerful itch.

The relative silence of the day was interrupted by the young lady answering the telephone.

"Hold on a minute... I'll ask."

At this point she turned to her co-workers and the following six words tripped out of her mouth making her an instant shoo-in for, at the every least, honorable mention in the March 2009 Darwin Awards...

"Is coconut milk a dairy product?"

There was silence for a few seconds. Another patient, rolling his eyes, wondered aloud if this individual had ever attempted to milk a coconut.

Believe it or not, she then answered the individual who was holding the line. "No one seems too sure. I'll ask the Doctor and call you back."

Somewhere a village is mourning the loss of their very own idiot and I suspect there may be an advertisement posted in the local paper's "Help Wanted" section - (decidedly) unskilled labour.

I have a witness to this event, a young lady who was just as incredulous as me, and who happens to be a client. Regretfully, we were both in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Tick, tock...

That sound you hear is the incessant noise from a clock counting down.

I'm referring specifically to the now world-renowned Octomon, Nadya Suleman and her 15 minutes of fame.

This will be the longest 15 minutes. Ever.

With 14 kids under the age of seven, there will be oh-so-many milestones and events over the ensuing years that will ensure this individual remains in someone's spotlight until the final sibling is laid to rest -- which, one truly hopes will be many years from now.

In fact, last week, an offer was made to our collagen-enhanced, unemployed single Mom to star in an adult entertainment movie. Yes, that's right, folks. Porn.

Surprised? Don't be. Personally I think that offers like that are the tips of the proverbial iceberg.

I have my own thoughts on what some of them might be and will share at a later date. Care to add your $ 0.02 worth?

And before I forget, is it just me, but when I look at the photograph I've attached to this post, is it possible that Octomom and Jar Jar Binks may have been separated at birth? You be the judge.

And another thing; how many of us know of other unemployed and single Mothers of 14 children who regularly visit a nail salon and frequent Starbucks? I'll make it easier; how many of you know any unemployed single Moms with any number of kids that have similar habits? And meanwhile her parents are about to lose the house sweet Nadya and her soccer team plus three substitutes presently live.

Somewhere in the background I can hear Edgar Winter and his band playing one of their best known tunes, "Free Ride"...

A time and a place ... for everything...

Just the other day in Kettering, Ohio, police charged a woman who was allegedly driving her vehicle while using her cell phone and simultaneously breast-feeding her child (if ever their was a true "Octomom" reference, this might be it).

The woman was observed by a concerned citizen who alerted the authorities who in turn tracked her down using her vehicle's license plate number.

When confronted by officers, she allegedly stated that she was breast-feeding and would not let her child go hungry. Fair enough - except she was driving a car at the time and must have had the child on her lap, not strapped in, never mind in a car seat.

The woman was charged.

Now, before any of you get all hot and bothered about breast-feeding in public, know this. The charge was not for that act. It was for child endangerment.

The woman faces up to 180 days in jail and a $1,800 fine if convicted of the misdemeanor.

Remember this: it's not about the boob, stupid; it's about the stupid boob.

A sign of the freakin' apocalypse...

Most Saturday mornings you'll find me doing the rounds of grocery stores and supermarkets after an early morning workout at the gym.

While not necessarily a coupon clipper, I do look through the weekly grocery flyers before heading out.

This morning, due to a sale on lean ground beef (for Ben), I found myself at the new Loblaws Superstore in Peterborough.

Parking my truck, I grabbed a couple of shopping bags from the back and with my quarter clenched firmly between my fingers, braved the minus 18 degree temperatures to grab a shopping cart.

Inserting my quarter and then doing the cart release dance, my eye was drawn to the right hand corner of one of the cart's baskets. There was a cup holder. A cup holder on a shopping cart.

Give. Me. Strength.

What's next? Satellite radio and air bags?

Too perfect...

Oh, the delicious irony of it all.

By all accounts, a few weeks after launching the first wide-scale layoffs in the company's history, Microsoft Corp. is admitting that they managed to screw up a key part of their austerity plan.

It seems as if the company is asking some recently laid-off employees for a portion of their severance back. Apparently an administrative glitch of some sort caused the software maker to overpay.

No one is admitting to how many of the 1,400 workers laid off in January were actually overpaid nor has the amount of overpayment been revealed.

Microsoft is asking those former employees affected, to return the excess dollars via cheque or money order within two weeks.

As might be expected, Microsoft shares sank $ 0.54 on Monday to US$ 17.46. From a PR standpoint alone, unless the amounts are truly ridiculous, you’d think that Microsoft might have considered taking the high road and absorbing the fiscal hit on this one. I suspect that the value of their shares that day would not have fallen 3%.

Source: AP 02/23/09

Every dog has his day...

It was two years ago on this day that our Ben (Labernese’s Obi-Wan Kenobi) was born to Blossom (B2).

It’s hard to believe that what we first saw as less than five pounds of feet and fur, has developed into a handsome, well-behaved adolescent, just shy of 100 pounds. He will not be fully grown until he’s around three, so another year to go.

Coincidentally, I took Ben to see Dr. Jeff today; Ben occasionally get’s a build up of yeast in his ears. As patient as he can be, he does not like us cleaning them – which we do attempt to do regularly. At some point during the night, he scratched the inside of one ear. He let us look at it this morning and allowed us to clean around the angry red area he had created. The look of relief on his expressive face was obvious after we gently applied some Polysporin.

One of Dr. Jeff’s techs, Patty, took Ben in back and added some disgusting goo to both ears while Jeff administered an anti-inflammatory shot to afford some release from the rawness and irritable discomfort he was experiencing.

At the end of the day tomorrow, he’ll return and Patty will dig out the debris and gently clean the inside of both ears. A couple of swabs will be taken and then analyzed, to ensure that it’s not a bacterial infection.

Meanwhile, for dinner this evening, the birthday boy (who’s a little groggy from the anti-histamines in the shot) will dine on choice scraps of beef tenderloin.

TLATO and I will be feasting on leftovers.

Who says it’s a dog’s life?

Snake eyes

Care to speculate how many folks were anxiously sipping their first cup of coffee or vainly attempted to hear their breakfast cereal talk back to them, all the while scanning newspapers, listening to the radio or checking things out on the Internet? All this to discover one of two things. Had anyone won the $ 50.3 million jackpot in last evening's 649 draw, and was their ticket the one.

In the event you have not heard or bothered to check that ticket you purchased at the end of this week, let me break it to you gently; there were four winning tickets. Three were purchased in Ontario and one in Quebec.

Unofficially, the winning numbers were 11, 20, 33, 34, 37 and 39. The bonus number was 22.

Each ticket is worth $12,574,733.

And I'm here to tell you, one and all, that we are not in possession of a winning ticket.

This time.

Seven hours I'll never get back

Yesterday, I spent almost seven hours in my car – correction, TLATO’s car, driving.

That evening, Sheryl was returning from her most recent trip to Florida. And no, she continues to assure me it was not all sun, sand and fabulous food. She was also working while there for 13 days and 12 nights.

I had to be in Toronto earlier that day regardless. Her flight was scheduled to land at 5.00pm that evening. Lots of time to get done what was required and then head out to brave the masses at Terminal 1.

Backing her car out of the garage at around 7.45am, fortified by two double espressos, the day’s journey began. There had been snow and freezing conditions overnight and that morning, some roads were continuing to offer some surprises.

Heading south on 115, conditions were less than perfect. Blowing snow, partial whiteouts and icy surfaces. South of the 35 cut-off, instant 4th of July display from vehicle tail lights as things slid to a halt. Not good. Within minutes, tow truck vultures made the scene before local law enforcement. Traffic was beginning to back up and some vehicles although stopped on the icy downhill road, were slowly edging forward. Or sideways. So, the vultures began directing traffic off the highway. Not pretty. Some folks reversed. Others executed multiple three point turns, but from the scene, it was obvious this was not an accident(s) that would be cleared quickly. And so, we were all diverted.

Sheryl’s car does not have a compass or GPS. No big deal since I knew where I was and where the detour would lead. Of course, all this maneuvering was adding time to a journey that ordinarily might take a tad over 90 minutes.

Now, instead of heading south, I was now driving west, heading over to Simcoe Road as my eventual link to civilization. Not so fast, big boy. Seems nature had additional plans to thwart my efforts. About 6 kilometres from my intended cut off, there was another accident. And again, traffic was being diverted.

This time, al though I pretty much knew where I was, due to blowing snow and lack of electronic guidance, I was not 100% certain of my heading. Several other drivers appeared to be in the same boat. So, like navigators of old, I followed a strong, blinking white light. A snow plow.

Eventually made it to Simcoe Road and then the 401. Should be smooth sailing from here. Not even close. Once on the DVP heading downtown a lane was closed due to another accident. This was now almost 11.00am. And traffic was still freakishly heavy.

So, three hours and forty two minutes after backing out of our garage, with bladder screaming, I made it to my office.

All was well until 4.00pm when I had to leave to head out to the airport. Fortunately allowing an hour was fine. Naturally, the day being what it was, Sheryl’s plane was delayed – while in Toronto. Do not get me started on baggage handlers at Pearson International.

So, shortly after 6.00pm, the final part of our journey commenced. All was well, until we came off the highway and started into rural territory. Swirling snow began to fall and some road surfaces were, to put it mildly, dangerous. The two plus hour drive home was pretty much a white knuckle affair. No accidents. No diversions.

So there you have it. My driving marathon.

Was it worth it? Well, TLATO is home again – and I’m going on strike. For the next two weeks she can look after the beasties, the household – everything. While I sit back and relax.

Fat chance…

The aging process...

Getting older sucks! There. I've said it. How many others have made this statement recently?

And what brought about my (most recent) exclamation?

At the gym Thursday evening, I was participating in an aerobics class. No, not decked out like some Olivia Newton-John video reject. Not for me. I wore what I usually wear five times a week. Comfortable non-intimidating, non-fashion statement well-worn clothing. About 25 minutes into the step portion of the evening, I felt something "pop" in my left calf. And so ended my exercise session and my evening. The next hours were ice packs and tensor bandages. Deep Cold product was also slathered on as I hobbled into bed. All five cats and Ben were huffing the fumes and looking decidedly laid back.

Since I became a born-again gym rat, I have been an exercise zealot. Harkens back to my youth and early 20's when I was in pretty good shape. Training for competitive rugby and lots of weights saw to that. Now it's about cardio and lean muscle mass.

I returned to this world a couple of months after having hip-replacement surgery two years ago. I needed some form of low-impact activity and aqua aerobics was the solution. From there, I graduated to land classes. Yes, it’s often a Bess Motta “four more” environment, but it’s truly enjoyable. For me. It’s about the exercise. The feeling better about oneself. And the camaraderie. Yes, there are the younger women in classes, eagerly seeking approval, decked out in quite impractical tight clothing, occasionally falling out of a plunging neckline as they troll the hallways looking for companionship. But there are also a group of more mature (age-wise) individuals that are there for the benefit that pain and sweat can bring.

So here I am, in my early 50’s, doing what I can to be physically healthy. TLATO gets it – but only to a point. Will she be joining me anytime soon? Not a chance. In fact, during my recent sinus trials and tribulations, she actually “hid” my gym bag!

Exercise injuries can occur to anyone. They don’t discriminate. As I pointed out to a far from sympathetic Sheryl, injuries happen to the best athletes. She countered with the fact that many of them make ridiculous amounts of money and that a twinge or tear can be tolerated. To so-called weekend warriors such as me - not so much. I still have to work to put (12 grain) bread on the table. I do not have a crew to help pick up life’s pieces.

I am at a loss to describe the expression on Sheryl’s face earlier this morning when I said that the calf muscle was feeling much better and I’m only hours away from my next class. Don’t misunderstand. It’s not that she disapproves. There are times when she wishes that I would forgo the endorphin-laced Kool Aid.

Buying bunff in bulk...

Growing up in a house full of women, you'd think I would remember. Four sisters and Mum. Outnumbered me, Ross and Dad. Always. We even had two male dogs in an attempt (albeit futile and quite feeble) to even things out.

This past weekend was the annual siblings’ weekend in the country. No spouses. No kids. No cell phones. Just brothers and sisters doing their thing. Together.

This year, however was a little different. Yes, as usual, TLATO was in Florida, but my brother and number 2 sis, Karen were not able to make it. Ross was playing bridge in Sarasota and Karen was... doing whatever a bunch of 40-something girls do in Barbados without kids or spouses.

I digress...

The weekend was no disappointment; it's always great to spend quality time with my family, even if it's only 75% of the ‘Hood (that's the Sisterhood to you).

Beverley has two grown boys at university (and a daughter in Vancouver, making hard life decisions); Joanne has two boys and Lindsey, one boy and my adorable niece, Sammy.

The talk turned to food and grocery bills. Bev was talking about her boys coming home for reading week and she had already started to re-finance the house to contain their inevitable appetites. Joanne and Lindsey's males are much younger, but in their own way, while small are just as efficient piranhas when it comes to food and stripping a side of beef

The 'Hood was only here for about 24 hours. It was not until today that I noticed that the inventory of septic-friendly toilet paper had been severely dented.

My sisters have their sons and grocery bills to contend. Me? I have my sisters and a need to invest in Kimberly Clark or Scotts paper products. What the heck do they do with that paper? And, to make it worse, they were double rolls...

The Pain Train hits Ms. Alaska...

Remember "Terrible" Terry Tate, the office linebacker? Well here's what might have happened when Katie Couric interviewed Sarah Palin...

Happy birthday, Dude!

In spite of his own best efforts late last year, the Dude, or Zack as is his given name, turned two years old today, February 1, 2009.

As you can see, there was no hoopla, no fanfare, no party, no cake, and no raised glasses.

He passed out in a kitty coma (cat owners will "get" this) on Sheryl’s legs as she read her book this cold yet sunny Sunday afternoon.

Keen observers may note that this same book TLATO is reading has made at least three trips to Florida and has been on her nightstand for many, many months. It’s a Michener book, that’s true - however, to say that TLATO is a “deliberate” reader would likely be an understatement.

Squint a little harder and yes, that is a Sponge Bob alarm clock on her side of the bed.

To Neti... or not to Neti...

So I've had this sinus infection for over four weeks now.

Three visits to the doctor (yes, after more than five years, we finally have a family doctor 20 minutes from our home!). Please note, in the event my membership in the manly-men club is revoked, two of those visits were not my idea – step forward and take a bow, TLATO! Anyway, two prescriptions for antibiotics later and this thing continues to linger and work its evil within all eight sinus cavities – on occasion with remarkable independence yet often in a concerted no-holds barred all-out sinus attack.

I've suffered with chronic sinusitis most of my adult life. I've endured surgery, scrapings and flushing but still, after each cold, I become a candidate for pain due to serious sinus infections.

Last weekend, in desperation, I took matters into my own hands and went to our local drug store and purchased a Neti Pot.

This “miraculously simple” (not my description) medicine cabinet item has been featured on Oprah, and friend, Val had been swearing by it, so…

Essentially, this “thing” delivers warm water and a “patented” blend of “99.9% pure - and preservative free sodium chloride and sodium bicarbonate mixture” – most folks would refer to this as salt.

A Neti Pot is filled with warm, slightly salted water and the spout of the pot is inserted into one nostril. The position of the head and pot are adjusted to allow the water to flow out of the other nostril. OK. Stick spout in nose, and pour. “They” then go on to state…

“The technique is not as uncomfortable or difficult as you may think at first. You will be pleasantly surprised at this simple and effective practice for maintaining your health. Once learnt, Neti (amazing, 15 minutes of fame and an adjective becomes a verb) can be done in about three minutes and is easily integrated into a daily routine of body cleansing such as showering or brushing your teeth.”

Still with me?

For three days, I followed this procedure to the letter, twice a day.

Did it help? Well, in truth, like “they” said, it did not hurt. I did learn however, due to major chronic blockage in my left nasal passage, performing over a sink wearing clothes you would be placing into a laundry hamper immediately after was the best idea – warm salty water, snot and mucous on a crisply laundered French-cuffed shirt is not a positive fashion statement.

I did notice after about the fourth “treatment” that the spout of the pot had a vaguely familiar look to it. Albeit it was blue and plastic. It was, to me, quite phallic in nature.

My new health and wellness regimen involved sticking a warm blue and unyielding appendage up my nose. From out of nowhere, the school-yard epithet “dick face” resonated… on the inside.

Perhaps a consult with an ENT specialist would be preferable?

Faith no more? No, not hardly!

On December 26th, while in Florida, I came down with a cold. For the record, I blame the hacking small child that sat next to Sheryl on the flight down. As is customary for me, this thing then went to my sinuses and I developed a nasty infection.

Yes, I know, poor me. I'm not trolling for sympathy, I might add. Merely presenting an applicable back story.

Just a little more than a week ago, I had to go into Toronto for a few meetings and a dental check up and cleaning. Not sure about your dental practitioner’s office, but at mine, it's all about the latest and greatest technology. I believe that I now have to slip into gravity boots and be suspended for a simple cleaning.

So I'm practically upside down in this chair, wearing protective goggles and the hygienist is having a conversation with me. Of course, it is one-sided, but to her, it's a form of social interaction. Personally, I do not believe she gets out much.

That morning I was not feeling too great to begin with. An hour of major sinus/nasal drainage did nothing to make me feel any better. In fact, I now felt quite disgusting and as I drove to my office, felt quite nauseous. Sometimes a steaming mug of hot, strong sweet tea can lift my spirits. Not today. I could not drink it. Lunch came and went – food really had no appeal and I continued to slide into a general feeling of crappiness.

Hours later, things had not changed and I drove home, barely listening to any noise from the radio. All I wanted to do was go home and sleep. After vomiting, of course. As I drove on rural back roads and worked my way through the winter dusk towards a highway, I really started to feel dreadful. I had to pull over. There was only one thing that would offer any relief. I signaled (old habits die hard – I’m sure that the small rodent ahead of me was quite appreciative) and pulled off onto the shoulder. Remember, this was a country road. Snow plows had done a magnificent job of clearing this road and it was groomed meticulously. I put the truck in park and was about to open the door to exit when the right side of the truck suddenly sank in the wink of an eye. The vehicle was now on some awkward angle at the side of the road.

I clambered out. No choice since, as you may recall, I was on a mission. Off to the side I went and as I began to be quite noisily ill, I too sank about 18 inches or so.

It would appear that rural plow operators have no guide markers to advise them what is soft shoulder and what is beyond. In their road clearing endeavours, a wonderfully groomed soft shoulder was presented. Problem was, the last two feet or so of shoulder was, in fact, ditch.

Two calls were then made. One for roadside assistance and the second to TLATO. CAA was much more sympathetic.

As I waited for subscribed assistance to arrive, I was frankly amazed at the number of individuals that stopped to offer comfort, cell phones, a cup of coffee or general support. By this time, it was a cold and clear, very dark night on a rural (paved) road. Yet, still people pulled over. Surprisingly enough, one of the would-be-Samaritans was a young woman.

While physically I felt wretched, my faith in humanity had been restored – at least for that day. The kindness and concern shown by complete strangers was quite touching.

Even as I was tossing my proverbial cookies curbside.