Just in time for Halloween comes a tale of sheer horror.

A story filled with destruction and the stench of rotting flesh surely to plunge you into the cold depths of despair and turn your blood to ice.

The account of a demise at the tender age of 27 that has touched each and every member of this family.

Yes, our freezer gave up the ghost. Died. Perished. Pushing up the daisies. Gone to that big appliance heap in the sky. It is an un-freezer.

Hundreds of dollars of meat, veges, fruit and yes, even chocolates and ice cream from four years ago transformed into a bloody, soggy mess. Not a pretty picture for the faint of heart or those with a weak constitution.

The cleanup was nauseating and hauling the behemoth from it's basement home left it's mark.

Marks on the steps, gouges in the bannister, scrapes in the flooring and a new hole the wall.

Destruction everywhere.







On the bright side, I now have enough Tupperware to open my own store.

I was tagged by Darcy to post seven weird things about myself.

Seven? Hmmmm. This could be difficult, as I'm definitely NOT weird. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

1) I mean, is is weird that I collect the color comics from our city newspaper every week? Just because I have years of them without missing one and they are all stored in chronological order, that doesn't make me strange. Sure, my #1 priority on Saturdays is to ensure I get a newspaper; but I don't read anything in it except the comics. On more than one occassion, when hubby or daughter pick up the paper for me, they hide the comics and pretend it was missing... simply for the entertainment value of watching me wig out. So that's not weird, it provides those rascals with laughter and joy at my expense.

2) Is it strange that I've been kissed by a Droid, a Stormtrooper, a Tusken Raider, an Imperial Officer, an Admiral of the Empire and Darth Maul? No, not the nerds who dress up as these characters; now THAT would be weird. I mean the actors from the Star Wars movies. I've met many more, but these are the ones that have given me something that most Star Wars geeks don't get, since 99% of them are guys... so just 'cuz I was a female nerd, that didn't / doesn't make me weird.

3) I started to collect rocks from places I visited a few years ago: I have "land" from San Diego, L.A., Skywalker Ranch near San Francisco, Vancouver and Quebec so far. Sure, Airport Security may wonder why I pack rocks in my suitcase, but THAT'S not exactly weird either. Really.

4) I HATE, detest, abhor and generally loathe the Lima Bean. I KNOW that's not really weird, but perhaps some people might consider my picking them out of a five-bean salad as slightly demented. My mom tried her best to get me to eat them when I was small, but I couldn't... I wouldn't! My aversion to them continues to this day. *shiver*

They are vile.

'Nuff said. Not weird.

5) Is it weird to admit that Jesus flirted with me and then proceeded to give me a long bear hug while he whispered sweet nothings in my ear? Okay, not the Jesus, but Ted Neeley who played him in the movies and on stage since the early 70's. I fell in love with him on the big screen when I was 13 watching Jesus Christ Superstar for the first time. Having a crush on Jesus just seemed only blasphemous, but not weird.

6) I LOVE cranberries. Not weird in itself, but at Thanksgiving and Christmas, is it really that weird that I purposely make four times the amount we need for dinner just so I can eat them on toast, in drinks, or in muffins days later? Heck I love cranberries on anything. Errrr.... on anything but lima beans, that is. So that's definitely NOT weird.

7) I can't think of anything else that may be misconstrued as being weird. I mean, just because I was once asked for my autograph after a talk I did at a Star Wars convention, I was honored.

Okay, honestly?

Yeah.

I felt WEIRD.

Note to self: try getting some sleep before travelling.

Tuesday morning I was up before 4 am to catch a flight to Quebec City on a business trip. Unfortunately I was stupid enough to be still up at nearly 1 am the night before doing dishes, laundry and packing. "I'll sleep on the plane." I told myself.

Yeah, well, if anyone has been able to sleep on a roller coaster, let me know how. The first flight was pretty rough at times, but luckily I had taken Gravol - which usually knocks me out a few hours later. But sleep eluded me... during a layover in Toronto, boarding a small propeller plane to Quebec and surviving a crazy taxi driver doing 120 in and out of traffic, I couldn't relax. By the time I finally checked into my hotel room at 1 pm, I was zonked.

But since I am only here a couple of days, I ignored the tempting call of the cushy hotel bed and pushed myself to get out and play tourist. Even though it was pouring rain, I walked up and down beautiful cobblestone streets for hours until I was soaked to the skin. With no desire to sit alone and wet in a restaurant, I decided to eat dinner back in my room -- so I went European and picked up some wonderful crusty bread, brie cheese and grapes in various tiny shops and an old French bakery, and returned to the warmth of my room while my clothes and shoes dried on the heater.


Luckily my meeting ended early today and the sun was out, so I ventured out once more, this time to the old city just a few blocks away. Through the ancient walled fortress, I stepped into the past. For three hours I strolled among garrisons, cannons, into boutiques, past street artists and into the oldest church in North America (from 1608). If I didn't know better, I'd swear I was back in France.


And tomorrow it's another early morning to get back home. I should be sleeping already since I have to get up in a few hours, but I just had to go through my photos and post.

Oh, well. I'll sleep on the planes tomorrow.

Yeah, right.

The other day, hubby's most prized possesion finally gave up the ghost. I am amazed it lasted so long really. It had served it's master well but after near constant use, alas its time had come to go to that big electronics wasteland in the sky.

The remote control to the cable box had suddenly flatlined. Dead. No amount of resuscitation or new batteries would bring it back to life. The tradegy of its demise was felt by the whole family for we had to endure hubby's mourning as he tried valiantly to go on without it... for a whole long day, until he could get to the cable company to pick up a new one.

Poor fellow; this meant he was forced to watch shows in their entirety. No channel surfing at every commercial break. No scrolling up and down to find out what he might be missing. No double- or triple- watching capabilities. A sad sight to witness indeed.

My compassion to his suffering led me to finally offer to change channels for him (I must have been crazy or drunk at the time, now that I think of it). I got up off my chair and planted myself in front of the TV across the room.

"What channel next?" I ventured. "Keep it on Channel 19?"

"How about 65?" he suggested.

I thought he knew which show he wanted next, so I manually clicked on the TV selector buttons, pushing it 46 times until I reached Channel 65. Nope. Not the show he wanted.

"11?" he asked for next.

Down I went another 54 clicks. No, not that one either.

"Maybe it's 43" he said with a smirk creeping over is face.

I started to get suspicious. Not the right channel either. Well, surprise, surprise.

"I think it's on 19" he finally says.

"That's the channel we started on!" I realize, exasperated.

"I know" he chuckles evily.


Needless to say, he was relegated to changing the channels himself from then on. So like a kid from the 60's there he sat, inches from the TV, trying to find something to watch.

"Oh, he looks so cute!" daughter exclaimed as she came by to see her dad sitting cross-legged on the floor. "Well, at least at that distance, he can see the screen".

"Ha. Ha. I may be blind, but I'm not deaf" quipped the man-child. I have been nagging him about his failing eyesight and refusal to get glasses for years now.


All was right in the world once again when he got his precious new remote the next day.


Until he realized the design had changed and he couldn't figure out how to use it...

Now that Thanksgiving is over, it's time to gear up for my Second-Most-Favorite holiday of the year (Christmas, of course, being my First-Most-Favorite).

Hallowe'en. All-Hallows-Eve. The day Nerds eagerly await all year so they can dress up without being teased. Too much.

I should know; for you see, ten years ago the Star Wars Special Edition movies were released. Of course, being the Geek (yes, with a capital G) that I am, daughter, hubby and I all had Star Wars costumes. Daughter was a little six year old Princess Leia. Hubby was Vader and I a Stormtrooper (in my vintage Stormie helmet).

That Halloween, daughter wore her costume to school and during the After-School session. Unbeknownst to her, I had tipped off the After School Supervisor that we had a surprise in store.

When hubby and I arrived at her school at 5 pm, we darted into the bathrooms to change into our costumes. Hoping we wouldn't be seen (or stopped) by any well-meaning principal or janitor, we marched down to the gym where the kids were watching a movie.

Darth Vader powered up his lightsaber. I held my blaster at the ready. With helmets down, we burst into the darkened room; Vader's black cape billowing out behind him. As the saber illuminated us with its red glow, in the Sith Lord's best voice, hubby proclaimed "Princess Leia! You are under arrest! Come with me!"

Through the shaded eyepieces of the Stormtrooper helmet, I could see dozens of shocked children's faces, staring, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

And then as if in unison, they turned to the back of the room following the line of sight to where my blaster was pointed. Directly at daughter, who was slowly sliding down in her seat, flushed with embarrassment. She was muttering "Oh, no.... that's my PARENTS!"

As the class sat dumbfounded, we escorted The Princess out of the gymnasium at blaster-point. But soon we were called back by the After School Supervisor to unmask and reveal ourselves.

It seems a few of the poor kids thought we REALLY were Darth Vader and a Stormtrooper and were quite worried about the fate of poor little Princess Leia...


Ten years later, daughter is STILL living down that memorable day to her classmates.

So today is the day. The day when bloggers all over the world will be writing about some kind of environmental issue. When I came across this idea, I knew I wanted to participate, but I've been racking my brain for weeks trying to come up with something intelligent and worthwhile to say.

What the heck can I type that you haven't read before? How we should all recycle, cut down on packaging, carry cloth shopping bags and use CFL lightbulbs? Yeah, I am doing these things to be a good Earth citizen and reducing the amount of waste I create. If you click on the link above, you too will find great resources on how you can do the same. I don't have to reiterate it here.

So what to write? What to write?

Maybe I just need to state WHY I need to be environmentally responsible. That's easy enough: I simply want future generations of Canadians to feel the same rush I do when the beauty of nature is all around me... like the thrill I get watching the Canada Geese flying overhead, for example.

Last evening I was out on our driveway standing in awe as the sky filled with geese gathering for their annual trek down south. Thousands of the majestic birds were flying in thier familiar V formations, each group at varying alititudes criss-crossing on East, West, North and South trajectories.

Some were so low, I could hear their wings flutter in the wind. Flup, flup flup... I stood there open-mouthed; amazed at the sight of the aerial ballet playing out just over my head.

Then I heard a "splat" on the driveway beside me.

It was at that moment I decided it might be wiser to watch the show from the safety of the house. Hey, I may love nature, but not when it deposits ITS waste on my head.




Hmmm... Perhaps it was a sign.

A sign that WE should stop crapping on Nature's head as well.

So now we have our answer. The expositions and guessing can cease.

The controversy is over.

After the sudden earth-shaking blackout marking the finale of The Sopranos, I have discovered what happened.

Not many people know yet, but I do.

Was he whacked?

Or did he simply finish his dinner while listening to Journey on the jukebox?

Neither, it turns out.

Tony got on his All Terrain Vehicle and drove up here to Canada.

That's right. Tony Soprano is going to be my neighbor. Well, maybe not next door, but close enough. James Gandolfini has purchased a cottage lot up here so he can boat, ride his ATV and snowmobile.

But since James is a very private person, he probably won't be pleased the news broke of his new vacation spot. Apparently he's been here before and enjoys our peace and quiet.

Maybe I really shouldn't be blogging about this, come to think of it.

If I suddenly disappear, you'll know why -- they'll find me "swimmin' wit the fishes" as they say. So I'd better keep a lookout for Paulie Walnuts or any other member of the Family assigned to shut up the stool pigeons.

Coo, Coo...

For years I've had an inkling I was perhaps, just a bit, of a Nerd. Or smidgin of Geek. Perchance a dab of a Dork?

I have to admit the evidence is overwhelming that I may be slightly more than a loser with a capital L:

1) I work all day at my PC and the first thing I do when I get home is to fire up my laptop.

2) I know programming languages, build databases, webmaster corporate and personal websites.

3) I love techie gadgets.

4) I wear glasses.

5) I carry around my inhaler in my sweater vest pocket.

6) I own both a microscope and a telescope.

7) I can pull apart and re-build computers.

8) I adore science fiction and fantasy.

9) I collect comics and toys.

10) I think Weird Al is a genius.

But the most telling validation that I may be a Major Nerd are the years I spent as a Star Wars fan.

Er, Hard-Core Star Wars Freak, more like it. Not only do I probably have Canada's largest Star Wars collection (as documented on TV, radio and in newspaper articles), I wrote for one of the Internet's biggest Star Wars fan sites for years.

I've been a guest speaker at three Star Wars Conventions and worked with many of the stars of the movies. Dubbed "The Northern Jedi" by staff at Lucasfilm, I visited Skywalker Ranch in California in 2005.


So I HAD a feeling I was not a typical middle-aged woman, but I refused to admit I was who I was.

Am who I am.


However, it seems the official test confirms it. Yes, the secret is out.


I AM an "Uber-Dorky Nerd God".

NerdTests.com

Oh, and I BLOG too. How Nerdy is THAT?

A few weeks back, I foolishly offered to host this year's Thanksgiving dinner for both sides of our family. Luckily this meant only eight people, but I still spent the entire weekend cleaning house and cooking a traditional turkey and pumpkin pie feast.

Now with someone with OCD, "cleaning" goes far beyond a normal person's idea of dusting and vacuuming. As usual I take it way too far; scrubbing my oven, sprucing up the aquarium, re-organizing my pantry, hanging a new shower curtain and even shoveling out the crap in the bathroom cabinets, lining up all the bottles of shampoo in neat rows.

I mean, do I seriously think my parents are going to check under the bathroom sink and chastise me for being a slob? No. But that kind of reasoning doesn't deter me. I go from room to room (90% of which will never be visited by my guests) to reorganize and scour.

I set up fall harvest decor with pumpkins and sheaves of wheat at the front door. The table is set with ceramic pumpkins, and each guest has a personalized handmade Thanksgiving placecard. Ribbons are tied to the wine glasses.

I spend nearly the entire evening in the kitchen, either preparing the meal or cleaning up after it.

You'd think that with all the energy expended and sweating I did that I would have at least shed a few pounds.

But noooooo. I gained weight.

What the hell?

Sure, it MAY have had something to do with that main course swimming in gravy and those three overflowing dollops of whipped cream I slathered over my piece of pumpkin pie, but still...



Oh, heaven help me -- I just remembered last night during my tryptophan-induced stupor, I offered to host Christmas this year too.

And even though my daughter may not believe me, I am not QUITE as old as the Beatles: but I do remember them and that song. Especially the time they played it for Mickey Mouse's birthday on the Wonderful World of Disney back in the 70's. Try as I might, I couldn't find that video on YouTube.

So welcome to my party: We've got cake for you!


And no, dear. Mickey is older than me too.

Just a bit.

Seriously.

One of the benefits of having a teenage daughter is that she shares her wonderful fashion sense with her dowdy old mom.

Before I had a child, I stayed in touch with what was in style. I possessed the ability to mix and match. But once 1991 came around and daughter popped on the scene, like many new moms I concentrated more on dressing my child than myself. I soon sunk into the habit of old T's and jeans, bulky sweatshirts and shoes that were on the verge of disintegration.

Now that I have my own version of Stacy from "What Not To Wear" at home, I don't embarass her or myself quite as much (at least by the way I look).

But it wasn't always that way.

Back 1997 when she was about six, she wanted to help me pick out a new winter coat. Searching amongst all the outwerwear racks at Sears, she soon found one that fit my criteria: it was long enough to cover my butt, had a hood and large pockets. However the color wouldn't have been my first choice.

But she was insistent that THIS was the one that looked the best on me. So I gave in and purchased it.


It wasn't until I got home that I realized just WHY my six year old daughter liked that purple and green coat so much....