I rarely buy lottery tickets.

As a matter of fact, I can probably count the number of times I have fallen for the fairytale dream taken the plunge, on one hand.

However in the past few weeks I have been under incredible pressure. Peer Pressure at it's worst.

"C'mon, Maureen.... join us. We're ALL doing it."

I tried to resist; really I did. But week after week the stupid jackpot continued to grow to ridiculous proportions and lottery fever was running rampant in the hospital. One floor below us, a group of staffers had just scored $ 6,000.

I caved. The pressure was too dammed much.

I flipped them my loonie and wandered back to my office, baa-ing like the sheep I am (under my breath of course, as I am not only a follower, but a sheepishly-timid-follower to boot).

After all, if they won, I'll be dammed if I was going to be the only fool to show up for work the next day.

If you've been around here for awhile, you'll no doubt recall that I am a self-admitted Starbucks-a-holic. If you're a new reader, well

I am a self-admitted Starbucks-a-holic.

I fell the first day they opened here in Canada a few years back -- even before daughter became a Barista in 2007 (one of my proudest parental moments ever).

Yes all that free coffee, tea and other goodies definitely helps feed my addiction. And my collection of green-mermaid emblazoned paraphernalia makes my house look so much like a Starbucks, I am frankly amazed I don't find strangers lounging with their laptops or perusing a thick book whilst sipping on a latte at my kitchen table.

One of my favorite Starbucks-related possesions was my Starbucks Visa. I would revel in the response when whipping out the old card:

"Starbucks has a credit card now?"

"Um, no, but I DO get SBux points every time I use it!" I'd proudly respond.

And points I racked up. I was in coffee-scented heaven. I ingested a LOT of free drinks. Did I say a lot? Grande Gallons. Venti Gallons!

Until last month that is. My joyful existence was shattered one fateful day when, for some as-yet-to-be-disclosed-stupid reason (other than just to torture me) Visa decided to stop their partnership with Starbucks and replaced my beautiful * sniff* card with a regular Visa. (They also did the same with Target cards so I prefer to believe it wasn't some evil Tim Horton's scheme).

Of course, they stopped issuing points mere days before I used it for a trip. Figures.

Visa, you suck.

Starbucks, on the other hand you were kind enough to send me two gifts upon the finale of our all-too-short wonderous relationship:

1) A coupon book for a free ANY drink, ANY size, once a month for the next six months.


2) A Starbucks card for the remainder of my un-used Starbucks points.


Read that small print. Yep, I shall definitely take good care of my new Starbucks Card.

I'm off to register it to protect its value against theft or loss. After all, it'll provide me enjoyment for years a milli-second to come.

He looks harmless enough, no?

Robin Redbreast.

First Robin of Spring.

Robin's Donuts (mmmmm donuts....).

He's even been immortalized as a comicbook hero's faithful, but rather erm, wimpy sidekick.

But don't be fooled.

He is a terror in the skies. Swooping down mercilessly; attacking anyone who dares venture outdoors. With a rust-coloured blur disturbingly close to your head, he protects his domain... all intruders and unsuspecting passers-by are targets for his wrath.

Hubby, me and even our dog have been victims of his Hitchcock-style air-raids.

But this past weekend I fearlessly screwed up what little I had of my courage and spent Saturday tending my garden* in the backyard. As I emerged from our garage back door, sure enough the ambush began.

"Swoosh!"

I ducked.

He turned for a second strike in his stragetic bombing mission.

"Whushhhh!"

I darted.

But I stuck to my guns... I stubbornly stayed outside and began my work. So his next fear tactic commenced. He resorted to jabbering loudly at me as I crouched on the ground, digging in the dirt ignoring his taunts and threats.

This did not please him at all. He hopped on the fence. He jumped to the garage roof. He flew to the tree. All in an effort to scare me away. But I held my ground and he had to accept my presence; but he was still unsure... I could feel his beady black eyes watching my every move the entire time.

And then I spotted the reason for all his agitation. There perched amongst the Virginia Creeper I had woven onto new brackets to frame our back garage door.

A nest.

Okay, so I'll forgive him, as long as he doesn't poke my eyes out or resort to pooping on me as I enter and exit.

And I have to admit, he's deserving of a great Father's Day on the 20th. After all, he's doing a good job being a protective Daddy Robin.


* By "garden" I really mean my impressivly robust crop of weeds. If only dandelions were hailed as a miraculous new and healthy food source. I would be a kajillionaire for sure.

No, I don't mean the babble-for-one overheard whilst standing behind daft customers in the grocery store checkout line.

These are conversations I'd love to have with my "Past-Self". I have often wondered what I would or wouldn't divulge to younger Maureen if I had my very own Time Tunnel to communicate with her, er, ME 20, 30 or even 40 years ago.

We'll call this first such scenario

Conversations With Myself #1
(brilliant, no?)

Present Me: Hey Maureen, it's me, er, you... only 35 years from now.

1975 Me: Oh sure.... Hey! Would you mind not sitting on my Elton John records? I have them all lined up on my bed in the order I want to listen to them. Jeepers.

Present Me: Oops, sorry about that. No really! I've come back in time to let you know what's in store for your future.

1975 Me: Uh, huh. Shouldn't you be sporting some metallic-type jumpsuit like everyone in the future wears?

Present Me: Nope. Mostly I wear jeans and tees. Or turtlenecks on coolish days.... So far there has been no world-wide mandate for a single uniform. Which is a good thing, since I would look horrid in a jumpsuit now. Especially a silver one. Gak.

So.... what do you want to know about the year 2010?

1975 Me: 2010 eh? Okay, I'll play along. Do I have a flying car?

Present Me: Nope. But I do own a highly reliable blue van...

1975 Me: Now that's just depressing.

Present Me: It's a pretty blue... had it for years.... Oh! I know! Look! I have a great phone!

1975 Me: A phone? You're all freaked out about a phone? We've had those for like, forever you know.

Present Me: Not one like this! You can surf the 'net, take photos, listen to music, and erm, even phone people.

1975 Me: Far out... where do you plug it in? Don't you have cameras anymore?

Present Me: Oh sure, I have one too; to take BETTER pictures than my phone!

1975 Me: Uh huh. And your camera is also used to call people, but not as well as your phone, right? Ooooo - kay...... What the heck is "surf the net?" We don't live near the ocean.

Present Me: No, no. It has nothing to do with water. The "Net" is short for "Internet"! An amazing NETwork of interconnected computers for the sharing of information all around the world!

1975 Me: Like a big encyclopedia? I always wanted to own a whole set of encyclopedias... a good set with like 20 volumes and fake leather binding. Unless of course I was rich in the future and I could afford REAL leather. That would be groovy. I could look up anything without having to walk all the way to the Library.

Present Me: No, no, no. All that information is now stored digitally. No need for encyclopedias anymore, you can Google anything on your computer.

1975 Me: Google? What's a Google? That sounds made up. Gooooooogle, Googly... Googly... Goo-Gill-Lee!

Present Me: Stop it.

1975 Me: Sorry. Well, darnit; I like encyclopedias.... are they stored on data tapes like in Star Trek?

Present Me: No. Tapes went the way of the dinosaur too. Then disks. Came and went. Now everything is digital and online.

1975 Me: Look. I'm sorry, but I really do think you're pulling my leg. No metallic jumpsuits, no rocket-powered cars, no encyclopedias. I don't believe you're from the future at all. Are you sure you're not just some crazy relative that stopped by for a visit with my Mom and Dad? You look vaguely familiar.

Present Me: Well, I COULD prove it to you by giving you all the sports scores for the next 35 years, but that would be wrong. I mean, look what it did to Marty McFly...

1975 Me: Marty McWho?

Present Me: Oh sorry. That will make more sense in 1985... no wait. Was that Back To The Future I or II? Oh crap. Maybe we should stop for a titch. I'll tell you all about your work career the next time we talk.

1975 Me: Great! Now THAT'S something I want to hear about! Did I fulfill my dream of becoming a great artist, roaming the world, painting, sculpting and laughing hysterically at the poor saps performing mundane tasks, alone in their tiny offices without windows?????

Present Me: Er.... wellllll...... not exactly.....