As usual, my life is a series of Ups and Downs.

Pros and Cons.

Benefits and Detriments.

For instance, now that my workday starts and ends earlier, I have two new situations to deal with.

Pro: In the morning, it's wonderful to sail down the empty streets and 11 minutes later be parking in any choice spot at the hospital parkade.

Con: When I leave work early in the afternoon, I get stuck behind the sluggish parade of senior drivers struggling to make it home before the real traffic starts again. I swear Blue-Haired, Hat-Wearing Retirees come out the moment morning rush hour ends and leisurely monopolize the streets at 20 Km/hr until afternoon rush hour begins in earnest.

But can I politely honk BHHWRs to move over to the slow lane? Noooooo.... I wouldn't risk inciting a heart attack. And with street parking still legal at that time of day, I can't swing around them either. So I crawl home behind the lethargic procession, swearing silently and darting dirty looks whenever I can.

All in vain of course, as my frustrated expressions will never be acknowledged by BHHWRs in thick eyeglasses who can barely peer over the steering wheel of their monsterous vehicles.

One day I was caught behind a behemoth slowly fading in an out of their lane with the following vanity plate:


I wasn't sure if they were boasting ...

... or if it was a warning to steer clear.

Often we get rounds catered at work. Afterwards, the office staff fight over politely share the leftovers. One of my favorites is the Chinese food that is brought in about once a week; but the other day I wasn't very hungry so I just grabbed a fortune cookie to munch on.

Aw, that's nice.

Then I realized there was ANOTHER fortune in the same cookie...

Cool! A Two-Fer!

Aw, crap.

Figures.

October 3, 1971:

"Today I got this diary, hotpants, transistor radio and a record. We went bowling tonight."

Yes, this was the first amazing entry in my new Five Year Diary - a gift I received that day for my 11th birthday.

What prose!

What emotion!

What riveting details!

Not.

To be fair though, it was hard to fit in anything comprehensible into that book; each page was split into five sections, allowing only four short lines available to record each day's experiences. And with my blocky handwriting, I was forced to be succinct or use unintelligible shorthand terms to chronicle my daily exploits. I am still scratching my head at a few of them...

Yes, I failed miserably to create a coherent history of my daily goings on, as only about 10% of the little book is filled in.

A definite pattern is there though. It seems I would faithfully pencil in an entry for weeks on end and then a slew of blank pages would follow until the next block of recordings emerged months later.

I now remember this was because I kept losing then rediscovering that Damn Tiny Key©. I had to hide it from my older brother and sometimes I hid it so well, I forgot where the heck I put it.

Like in 1972. My last entry was April 4th. Then nothing until July 3rd:

"Today I finally found my key to the diary. I was really relieved to find it."

So relieved, it seems, that I didn't write another word until January 1st, 1973.

(And I don't know why I didn't just use a paper clip to pry it open; that so-called "lock" was the lamest device ever invented.)

Thirty-or-so years later, I opened up that book again for blog fodder a laugh and the memories swept back. I was surprised to find photos of friends, artwork, newspaper clippings and even a rose petal pressed inside. Even though they are short, those scribbles still make me smile, sad, or plain embarrassed.

"I met a hunky guy today..."

"Hunky????" (note to self: DON'T show that part to hubby or daughter...)

How I wish I had been more diligent in recording my activities.

I wonder if thirty-or-so years from now, I'll still be able to read my blog and smile, be sad or plain embarassed about this time of my life.

Although these runs of days without a new post is deja vu all over again.

Except I can't blame my absence for the lack of a Damn Tiny Key©.

I'm not a tree-hugger per se.

But I'm not an idiot either.

I'm just a singular unit of life sharing the globe for a very short time with each and every other living thing. Someone who has become more environmentally conscious of the decisions she makes everyday.

And as usual, I find out that I'm simply "average" yet again.

Not that "average" is such a bad thing, but it's not good either.

Especially when measuring my Eco footprint and comparing it to fellow Canadians... but I'm going to improve.

Here's my progress on my own Green Scale. I started at "Melon" and I would say I've made it to "Chartreuse" so far:

I keep our yard free of trash
We fill two recycle bins every garbage day
I don’t buy aerosols
We've planted 36 trees in our yard
We don't have air conditioning
We have two composters
I un-susbscribed from papers & magazines
I donate household items to Goodwill
We have an energy efficient furnace and programmable thermostat
I take short showers
80 % of our laundry is in cold water
I am constantly turning off lights
I keep 99% of our photos digitally instead of printing
I recycle at work
I turn off my computer and lights at work daily
I refill toner cartridges at home and at work
I love buying second-hand clothes and books
I grow houseplants at home and at work
I've reduced idling / warm up time in the car
I clean and reuse my furnace filters
I've switched to CFLs

However, there is so much more I can do to get to "Lime" or even "Leaf Green" one day:

I can switch to cloth napkins for everyday use
I can reduce the amount of meat in our meals
I can find phosphate-free household cleansers
I can start using rechargeable batteries
I can reduce fast food meals
I can buy more recycled paper products
I can install weather stripping around the house
I can change to a cotton shower liner from plastic
I can shop with reusable bags every time
I can get off my butt and put in my garden!!!!
I can put jar of water in the toilet tank to save water
I can donate books to the library
I can reduce the "stuff" I've accumulated over the years
I can make Earth Hour a monthly event











So in light of Earth Day 2008 fast approaching, I'm going to knock a few of the "I cans" off that list. Then I'll advance on my Green Scale and find even more ways to Reduce, Reuse and Recycle.

Maybe one day I'll even have a hybrid car. A "Forrest Green" hybrid, of course.

Yeah.

Now that'd be cool....

Today I came to the surprising realization that I root for the underdog...

Er...when it comes to one of my favorite forms of entertainment, that is.

You see, when watching Looney Toons this evening, I WANTED Sylvester to get that Tweety Bird. I mean, I feel for the poor feline. He can't catch a break.

Like when that old man, in a misguided act of charity, lifts Sylvester up over a fence and into a yard full of bulldogs. Poor guy didn't have a chance.

Not that I actually WANT to see him eat Tweety... oh no. I would just love him to catch the damn thing and scare the little smirk off his face so he'll stop teasing and taunting Sylvester.

Maybe it's because I'm a cat person...


But then again, I would love to see Wile E. Coyote catch the Roadrunner one day too. You see, Wile is not stupid. Far from it, in fact. He is able to concoct extensive plans and diagrams to achieve his goals. He is determined and hard-working.

But even with all that intellect and an obvious unlimited credit line with the Acme Corporation, he continually falls short of the prize.

So I would love to finally see him rewarded.



Maybe it's not that I'm a "Cat Person" OR a "Coyote Person".

Maybe I just don't like birds.




And maybe, just maybe I watch WAY too many cartoons...

Another day dawns.

The radio alarm jolts me from my dreams.

I slowly open my eyes and bid the three cats sitting on my chest a cheery "Good Morning!"

"Feed us." They stare back, inches from my face.

"NOW."

Reluctantly I swing my legs over the side of the waterbed and pull myself from its warm caress.

Oh well, La-De-Dah.

At least I got to sleep in today, for I have a doctor's appointment to get a refill on my Asthma meds.

After tending to the Zoo, letting the dog out and getting showered, the calm of the morning is broken when a full out turf war erupts between the furballs.

It seems the three felines have formed a Gang and decided the dog is from a rival faction. I didn't know what to expect when I follow the blood curdling yowls to my bedroom. What I did find was one, then two, then three cats calmly sashaying out from the cubbyhole behind my waterbed. The dog is nowhere to be found.

"Oh, Crap! I don't have time for this..." I think as I begin the hunt for her.

But as soon as the coast was clear, the big sissy crawls out from that very same space and hides behind my legs. Thankfully, there are no injuries on either side of the skirmish.

Attempting to prepare for my doctor's appointment without tripping over the dog, I choose lightweight clothing, sans jewellry and skip breakfast -- I'll try anything to avoid the gasps of horror from the nurse and a stern lecture from the Doc when I step on their scale.

But when I'm finally called, I'm delighted to be taken straight to the exam room.

Right past the evil and highly embarrasing Weigh In Station.

"Oh Crap!" I think to myself. "I could have eaten brekkie after all..."

"...and worn a sweater and my watch."

Prescription in hand, me and my grumbling stomach get out of there about noon.

It takes forever to get in to work, stuck behind all the daytime drivers who won't go any faster than 30 Km/hour.

"Oh Crap!" I have a lot of assignments to get done today.

When I finally arrive, I soon discover that the network is down. All the jobs I had planned required access to offsite servers. Of course.

"Oh Crap!" I'm so glad I wasted my evening doing all that prepartory work at home last night.

Thankfully the afternoon passes quickly and soon it's quittin' time.

And that's when I look down to discover I've been walking around all day with my fly unzipped.

"Oh Crap!"



Just the perfect ending to a Crappy Day.

My Mom is quite the seamstress. Not only has she made all her kids beautiful quilts and other household linens in recent years, she even used to make us clothes when we were small.

Yup. Lucky us.

Now I realise it was another way to make ends meet during lean times in the 60's, like my Dad's homemade haircuts. But back then? Not overly thrilled.

Nope.

But I still remember the clothes she made for us. The terrycloth pants with huge cuffs, the peasant-style shirts, the soft flannel pyjamas.

And I remember this red dress with the sailor collar and white lace trim.

But I don't quite recall the matching er, "scarf".


Now let me make it clear, we are NOT Ukranian. Or Russian. Or any other Eastern European nationality that requires young girls to wear babushkas. We are half English and half Irish.

So I don't exactly know why I was dressed like an 80 year old lady heading off to church. I guess I was too young and naive to point this out to my Mother at the time.

Even if I did, I wouldn't dare hurt her feelings. She worked so hard; hunched over those flimsy brown paper patterns, pinning, cutting and calling us downstairs for repeated fittings and hemming.

So don't feel sorry for me. I was just six.




But you can, if you wish, send condolences to my older sister:

For weeks we have been embroiled in a war on the water. A battle against a foe that was relentless in its path.

The enemy had been victorious over previous tactical plans. Meager attempts to stall its advance all met with great defeat.

For it was

The Great Battle Of The Drippy Bathroom Faucet.



I had had enough of the feeble salvos to repair the old, cheap and frankly rather ugly spout. Out came the big guns. And my credit card.

I bit the bullet and requisitoned a brand spankin' fancy new one.

As General in Command, I then prepared the troops and our artillery:

- I shovelled out the crap from under the cabinet.

- I cleared off the sink counter.

- I set out the battle plans (Instruction Manual) and laid out the weapons (tools).

- I then enlisted the Draft and pried hubby away from the television.

And a mere six hours later, the campaign was won. Although sadly our forces encountered a few setbacks and casualties along the way, including:

- manual decapitation of the old rusted faucet,

- amputation of the PVC drain pipe,

- stripping of the cold water pipe bolt causing:

- three explosions of water inside the cabinet,

- and thoroughly exhausted troops.

But we were victorious.



And the battlefield never looked better.

I'm not what you'd call an American Idol fan.

Okay, if forced at gunpoint (or if you simply read my blog...) I will admit that I watched the first two seasons religiously. But since then? Well, to put it mildy, my interest has waned.

Been there.

Done that.

Hubby insists on gawking at the first few episodes of each new offering when the Crazy People hit the airwaves, but after that it's just simply boring or excruciating to me.

So then, I have to ask myself.

"Myself, how the heck can you explain what happened the other night?"

"You remember. The night you bolted upright in bed, sweating with fear?"

"The night your mind betrayed you."

Oh, gad. I DO remember.


For it was the night I (gulp) DREAMED about Ryan Seacrest....

Could it be that I am being brainwashed?

Brainwashed into finding this guy Every-Frickin-Where?

American Idol.

On Air With Ryan Seacrest.

American Top 40.

Rockin' New Years Eve.

Walt Disney World Christmas Parade.

Crest commercials!?!?!?!
(Or would that be "SEA-Crest" commercials?)



And EVERY television special nowadays.

Emmys. Oscars. American Music Awards. New Year's Rockin' Eve.....

I could go on.

And on.

And on....

Yup. I'm brainwashed alright.

Have to be.



It's the only way I can live with the betrayal of my subconscious ... and the terror of falling asleep.

*Sigh*

I guess it could be worse.

I could've been dreaming about THIS guy....



"Seacrest OUT!!!!"