Yes, it's true.

While they are closing the "Bucks" in various locales across the U.S., Starbucks is alive and well in Canada.

Well, in Winnipeg at least.

Er, in my home to be more precise.

For another Starbucks Cafe opened today.... in my kitchen.



Yep. Having a Barista in the house has it's advantages.


Not only do we have a huge supply cups, coffees, teas, syrups and powders acquired over the past year, today we became a full-fledged cafe with the purchase of our very own espresso machine.


Now I can sip on lattes and cappuccinos anytime I want... um, as soon as Daughter shows me how to work the dang thing, of course.


Until then, I have my own personal Barista to make me happy.


Like today when I sipped on my very first (okay, I'll admit it, AND second) Gingerbread Latte.


Yup, this new espresso machine completes our very own in-home Starbucks cafe.



Now all I need for the true Starbucks experience is to get another in my dining room so I can see it while standing in the one in my kitchen.

Some people are lucky in that not only do they like where they work, they also enjoy being a customer there too.

Take Daughter, for example. She is a Barrista, but loves going to Starbucks whenever she can even when she's off shift. And I, being the supportive mother, accompanies her whenever physically possible. (I know. I am SUCH a good Mom....)

Many department and grocery store staff take advantage of employee discounts and purchase goods from their place of business too.

Me?

Well, since the ER is right below my office, I feel it's my duty to ensure my fellow healthcare workers are fully employed as well:



You think it's easy? Well, it is. For me, anyway.

Within mere minutes I stabbed, then sliced myself on the same finger with my brand new (and obviously exceptionally sharp) scissors before requiring assistance to stem the flow of blood down my hand.

I do believe the day is coming when they confiscate all my pointy tools and I will only be allowed to use those rounded dull Kindergarden-style plastic scissors.

If so, I refuse to be held responsible for the inevitable layoffs that will occur in the ER due to the dramatic decrease in caseload.

Oh hi again...

Been awhile, hasn't it?

Yup, a loooong time. Long time indeed.

While Maureen goes on and on about dentists, television shows and Christmas lights, she forgets all about moi.

The nerve! I haven't even finished telling you about my trip to the Big City! Remember? First is was the torture of the CN Tower, the yummy mini burgers at the Hockey Hall of Fame, and then that excursion to a place called IKEA.

After those outings AND a conference all squeezed into 48 hours, you'd think I could get some down time in the hotel room, lounging around in the soft, comfy bathrobe.


Or maybe even relaxing on my soft green pillow listening to the gift she got at her talk, which, by the way, is Just.My.Size.


But no. She just HAD to squeeze in one last shopping spree. So we were off again, this time walking and meeting some strange Torontonians along the way.


It wasn't long before we arrived at Eaton Place. I thought at least with a name like "Eatin", I would get to nosh on something, but at our first stop in Starbucks I soon learned they apparently don't serve cat treats. OR cats for that matter.

Harrumph.


Yikes! And here I thought IKEA was big!

This place is huuuuuge...

And crowded.

And holy crap, it's noisy!

Errr....

I think I'll just stay inside the big dark bag, all safe and sound until you're done.

Maybe even take a (yawn) nap....




Blink. Blink.

What the? Shopping is over?

We're finally going home?


Whoo Hoo! Fasten my seatbelt, I'm ready for takeoff!


Now where the heck is my robe and iPod? I mean, really. After putting up with all that, I DO deserve First Class treatment, no?

Mi ton ish mun...

My tongue is numb....

Along with half my face, for I was trapped in the Dentist's chair today because of a broken tooth.

I was terrified he was going to pull it.

"Is he going to pull it?" I nervously queried the tech while she swabbed the inside of my mouth with topical freezing.

"Nope. We can save it."

"Are you SURE he's not going to pull it?"

"Don't worry, we would tell you if we were going to do that." I couldn't be certain, but I think I noted a slight smirk under that paper mask.

After the freezing needle, application of that damn mouth dam and metal brackets clamped onto my jaw, the drilling began.

Then after what seemed like too soon, everything stopped.

The Dentist mumbled something incoherant (on purpose, I am positive) and the assistant left to retrieve some X-rays.

When she returned, he asked her to "prepare the dressing".

Now I know he's not American, so I was sure he wasn't asking for celery, onions and breadcrumbs at this point.

Then he left, X-rays in hand.

As she dug into the drawers, pulling all kinds of paraphernalia out of my line of view (on purpose again, I was sure) I began to ponder the term "dressing".

Hmmm. Since I work at a hospital, I couldn't help but picture large slabs of cotton batting...

Holy Crap! He WAS going to pull it! Visions of packing a blood soaked mouth raced through my head.

"Af he gon pwul ma toof?" I tried to ask the assistant through the stupid rubber dam.

"Hmmm? Oh, no, I told you we weren't!" I think she smiled behind the mask, but I still wasn't convinced.....

"Aw u schwere?"

"Yes, I am sure. Don't worry, this isn't bad at all. As a matter of fact, he is also doing an emergency case in the next room at the same time as you that is much worse."

Ah! Thank the Gods it was HER they were talking about!

I relaxed. A teenie bit.

After working on the other lady for awhile, the Dentist returned to my mouth and with the implant of a screw, white epoxy and a weird thing that looked like a blue light hair dryer to set it, my tooth was rebuilt.

Hallelujah! The tooth was saved!

Well.... at least MINE was... I'm not so sure about that other patient though.

1990

Ah, yes. I remember it well.

That was a time in my life, BC (Before Child) when I was asked to serve on the Board of Directors for our local Zoo.

My proudest achievement there was my appointment as Chairman for our Zoo's Animal Adoption Program, a new fund-raising venture.

Er, "Program" would infer that I had a slew of staff to supervise, but in reality there was one part-time secretary and myself. Regardless, the two of us brought nearly $ 40,000 in donations for the Zoo in a few short weeks.

We had been given the monumental task of creating all the promotional material, advertising, collecting donations, researching facts and developing and mailing donor packages. The majority of which I did from home. Yes, it was a lot of work, but it was a once in a lifetime experience as well.


Because I also did the artwork for information sheets, bumper stickers and decals in the package donors received, I was privy to "backstage" tours of exhibits.

I had the run of the Zoo and made some wonderful new friends... animals and people alike.



I even got to help out at "Feeding Time".

I learned a lot about all the different species, from Prairie Dogs to Siberian Tigers. For an animal lover like me, it was a dream come true. I was honored to be a part of the Zoo family.



Why am I taking this stroll down memory lane today?

Because it is a very sad time for Winnipeg. A VIP* from the Zoo passed on a few days ago at the tender age of 42.

Okay, maybe not so tender... for a polar bear.

Debby was the bear I, like most Winnipeg children, watched in wonder as she swam, played, posed for our cameras and bore six cubs since 1966.


Rest in Peace Debby. You will be missed.

And our Zoo will never be quite the same ever again.

* Very Important Polar bear

It's that time of year once again.

An occasion for tradition, customs and yes, even folklore.

For the day has arrived to begin the long-drawn out process of decorating the outside of the house with Christmas lights. Over the years, hubby has developed his own, well, let's call it "routine" for this task involving numerous and inflexible steps:

1) Roll eyes at the mere suggestion from me that perhaps "we should get our lights up". Grunt something incomprehensible as a response, thereby not committing to anything at all.

2) Wait until the mercury dips below freezing to even consider spending the entire weekend outside without gloves on. Preferably hold off until there is both ice AND snow on the roof for the ultimate shot at sympathy.

3) Finally give in since an ice storm has now fulfilled requirements in Step 2, taking an entire afternoon to recall where the hell he stored them somewhere in the garage last Spring.

These three steps should be complete by the end of Day 1.

4) The following day, said boxes are finally opened, only to reveal a severe shortage of mounting clips exists.

5) Huge balls of lights are detangled into individual strands (a whole afternoon exercise whilst sitting on the floor watching the movie channel), sorted and stretched out across the livingroom, dining room and kitchen floors.

(click for a wallpaper-sized image)

6) Next comes the annual game of Chasing The Cats, shooing them away from live strands or from crawling inside boxes. Similar to the hunting tactics of a pride of lionesses zeroing in on a doomed wildebeest, the trio of sneaky felines keep him occupied for some time.

7) As each strand is tested, mandatory swearing ensues when it's discovered that less than half the lights actually work anymore.

8) Sort into two piles: Lights-That-Miraculously-Work and the Damn-Stupid-Sets that are once again balled up into a bag and tossed.

Day Two ends with the traditional rant about the rip-off Christmas Light Company conspiracy.

Day Three: Usually falls on a Sunday when one must wait until after noon to buy replacement lights.

9) Custom decrees that upon arrival at the store, one discovers that last year's lights are no longer manufactured, thereby forcing the purchase of an entire new display.

10) And of course, the minute he arrives back home, hubby realizes he forgot the mounting clips and heads back to the store once again, head hung in faux shame. For I do believe this is simply another delaying tactic as the sun quickly sets.

And at the close of the First Weekend of the Annual Christmas Light Extravaganza, the exterior of our home is still dark.

What?

You didn't REALLY believe he could get this job done in three days, did you? Well, then, you don't know my hubby...

Stay tuned for Part Deux, possibly (but no promises) next weekend.

Ah Fridays! The only thing better than a Friday is a Friday-Off-Work.

Yup, vacation days are the best! Er.... at least I THOUGHT it would be.

Until I discovered the four resident furballs here had other plans:

Furball #1: AKA Casey The Damn Dog:

Within a few minutes of greeting the snowy morning, she decides it's the perfect time to get sick; on the rug under the living room coffee table of course... not on the tile kitchen floor mere feet away.

Gag. I get out the paper towels and cleansers and drop to my knees.



Furball # 2: AKA Tawnee The Maniac Ragdoll:

After feeding the three cats (and the now-famished dog), I put on the kettle and load up the Starbucks coffee press for some much-needed caffeine.

Instead of waking up properly to the aroma of freshly-brewed Kenyan, I am startled coherant by the multiple and progressively louder "crashes" emanating from the basement. Descending the stairs to investigate, Tawnee The Perpetrator dashes past me upstairs, tail pouffed out in fright like a Swiffer brush. As in true feline fashion, she had been climbing and toppled a pile of boxes.

Great. Another job on my To Do List today.


Furball # 3: AKA Dakotah the UnLucky Black Cat:

Not to be outdone by the dog, Dakotah decides to get into the act.

As I pour milk into my yummy brekkie of cornflakes, strawberries and bananas, I cringe at the unmistakenable sound every pet owner knows only too well... that repetitive horking, a premonition of trouble soon on its way.

And right on cue she gets sick; and no, NOT on the easy-to-clean tile kitchen floor.

Of course not! She regurgitates all over my favorite comfy recliner where I had just started up my laptop so I could eat, put up my feet and do some surfing.

I again get out the paper towels and cleansers.

While my cereal turns to mush.


Furball # 4: AKA Sheba the Moocher Feline:

I swap the soaking seat cushion with one from another chair, get fresh cereal and pour a huge mug of steaming coffee. Carefully placing the mug on a cloth placemat on the coffeetable, I finally partake of my cereal in my chair by the window. Sheba resumes her usual spot, perched on the armrest patiently waiting to lick the bowl clean when I am done.

After she finishes polishing off the remaining milk, she jumps to the table to investigate my coffee... and promptly gets her claw hooked on the placemat.

Panicking, she shakes the mat violently in a vain attempt to loosen her velcro grip. Failing that, she leaps from the table, mat still hooked to claw, tossing my full mug of coffee and splattering its contents all over the table, rug, remote control and me.

And as I once again get out the paper towels, cleansers and begin my fourth cleanup job of the morning, I wonder why the hell I took a day off work in the first place.

Oh, yeah. I remember. I was going to relax at home today.

How silly of me to forget.

Tonight's the night.

Don't even THINK of trying to contact me between 8:00 and 8:30 Central Time, 'cause I won't answer the phone, my cell or be checking emails. (I will however, be continually checking my blog and Twitter for comments before and after the show, as per my usual sad evening routine in a desperate search for recognition and acceptance ...)

I'll be glued to the TV with the DVR running because the episode of "The Office" I have been waiting weeks for is finally here.

Yup. Michael is on his way to our fair city for what he THINKS is an international business trip "overseas". Why Winnipeg? Well, why not? Apparently we are just "the right balance between exotic and obscure" according to the show's writer.

Um... okaaaaay. I'll take that as a compliment.

I guess.
Oh, I KNOW they will take jabs at our weather and small-city idiosyncracies... but I don't care. I mean, if you can't laugh at yourself, er, well... just pretend, because everyone else will laugh at you anyway.

At least that's what I keep telling myself.

Yes, my Winnipeg will finally be famous. Or infamous. I'll know better AFTER the episode airs.

But wait. Now I recall this isn't the first time our city has been featured on prime-time television. Homer Simpson drove here for cheap drugs a few years ago too.


Gee. I wonder if it's telling that Winnipeg is once again featured on a comedy show?

Nah. It's just a coincidence.... right?

It was our last day in the Big City of Toronto. After trips to the CN Tower and the Hockey Hall of Fame, I had hoped that would mean sleeping in, relaxing, and waiting for our plane home...

But once more I was too optimistic.

Instead, I was shoved into the Dark Purse, endured another long shaky subway ride and found myself at a strange place crammed with crazy people rushing around, called "IKEA".

It was BIG. Really BIG.

'Specially for a small cat like moi.


First things first: Get a shopping bag. But make sure it's a BIG bag.

Oh good, here they are!


Next, pick up a map. Yep. This place is so BIG you need a map to find your way out, er, around.


And not just a map. You need the official IKEA measuring tape and an IKEA pencil too...

... for calculating the amount of days your expedition will require navigating to freedom. Good thing there's a restuarant; we won't starve at least.


Dammit, I KNEW it. We're lost alright...


Oooh! But look what I found! The paper napkins you wanted!


Ice cube trays...


And teenie tiny bowls, just MY size!


Hooray! We found the exit! You sure you got everything you wanted?


Whaddya mean, we're going to Eaton Centre for MORE shopping???

Is it BIG too?

Noooooooo!!!!!!

It's amazing what a difference a few hours makes.

One minute the roads are clear, dry and covered in crunchy leaves.

A perfect fall evening.

Then I wake up the next morning to this:

Makes me want to go Christmas shopping.

Or at the very least, beginning to THINK about Christmas shopping.


On the other hand, I think I'll take a nap first. Christmas shopping in early November is simply insane.

• we are in a fairly new sub-division with lots of young families
  
• it was the weekend, and
• the weather was unseasonably warm.

Yeseree... all the ingredients for a wonderfully spooky night lay ahead.

And I was as eager for it to begin as all those little ghouls who soon would be parading down our street in a few short hours.

I had already organized the loot to hand out; 80 goody bags were carefully packed with equal amounts of chocolate bars, rockets and hard candy. Indoor decorating was completed days beforehand. Fresh batteries were installed in anything that glowed, cackled or swayed.



She really wasn't much help, to be honest.

But after a few hours I had the pumpkins finished, wired for light and placed on the front porch.


Ghosts were hung in the bushes and the rest of the outdoor crap stuff was set in place.

With just minutes before darkness fell, I was finally ready.

The movie "Halloween" was on TV (the good one from the 70's), the pizza was ready to cook, the wine chilled and all our real and fake pumpkins lit up as I sat in eager anticipation waiting for the doorbell to ring.

And I waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

Over the next three hours, I greeted a sum total of 27 tykes at our door.

Twenty - freakin' - seven.

So much for the theory that good weather, a weekend night and a new development would result in a flood of kiddos.

* Sigh. *

Which means I now have 53 bags of candy, as well as a huge cauldron of our own personal stash of The Best Stuff (come on, admit it; you do it too) left over.

 

 
Now nearly a week later, I've hardly made a dent in the pile.

What a shame.

But like a real trooper I'll keep hard at it, making sure it doesn't go to waist, er Waste.

At least I have about a month until the Christmas candy starts appearing, right?