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.