Introducing New Feature!

HALF EMPTY OR HALF FULL?

I would like to take this opportunity to introduce a new feature that occasionally will be appearing:-

WARNING: For those of you eternally positive the glass is half full types clad in your rose coloured glasses humming 'The sun will come tomorrow' this is not for you. You may stop reading now. You can still save yourself. However those of you who occasionally like to embrace your inner petty cynical side, please read on. You know who you are. Most people do.


This new feature will be called Cathy's Complaints and in effect I will share some things that annoy the hell out of me. Sound like fun? I am very good at this: just ask my kids. Apparently my general skepticism and cynicism is alive, healthy, and quite active. And lucky for you, I feel the need to share such observations with you. You are welcome to add your two cents worth in the comment section although only if you either commiserate with me or add your own new personal complaints. Whining and bitching quite welcome. Encouraging and proactism; not so much.

Look for this exciting new feature coming soon!
Let's face it: it will probably rain somewhere tomorrow. And there's a hole in your boot and you left your umbrella on the bus. And singing 'The sun will come out tomorrow' will not make the rain dripping down your neck feel any less uncomfortable.

A Slice............

'BUT I LIKE IT TOO???......' (said in pseudo-Irish accent reminiscent of the old Irish Spring Commercial http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sQk-imB1m2k )

Public Service Announcement to all 13yr.old males: Okay, I realize there probably aren't any 13yr.old males reading this blog, in fact I doubt if anyone is reading this except for a few loyal cousins but nonetheless this is an important message, and for the safety and welfare of parents everywhere needs to be said: Dousing yourself with half a can of Axe body spray, deodorant, or after shave will not ensure you will have a kick-ass time at the dance.

Nothing proves the need to put into practise the axiom 'Less is More' than the experience of driving middle-school aged males to a dance. Perhaps in a convertible with the top down on a windy day might make the experience acceptable but in a small sedan with several adolescent boys drenched with various lethal levels of 'fragrances' it is more about survival than anything else. My son mistook the tears welling up in my eyes for sentimentality that my 'little boy' is growing up but really, they were just the effects of the stinging toxic-like fumes. Clearing my throat repeatedly weren't attempts to stifle my sobs but rather efforts to remain breathing and, well, alive.

The lesson for today is: Less is More OR Unconscious drivers will be unable to safely transport you to the dance.

Little Black Bombs

Disney has got it wrong: some animals regardless
of a cute accompanying theme song and irrepressible charming voice simply are NOT likable in real life. There is no way they could convince me that any one of the loud obnoxious raucous aggressive crows in my yard are endearing. They are black bullets disturbing the peace of the neighborhood. Rats of the sky. Giving them a cute name like Chuck or Cawly or Thorton and a wisecracking squirrel friend would not diminish my desire to pull out a .22rifle and plummet them full of lead. (Not the squirrel...those are actually quite cute).

Today I was attacked by them. Literally, frighteningly, and repeatedly. In my own yard. I was peering up into our blue spruce tree to assess the health of the new spring growth when one of the little black buggers swooped down and dive bombed my head. Repeatedly. Apparently the flying black rascals have built a nest for their spawn in my tree. I ran wildly shrieking towards the safety of the garage thereby providing entertainment for the neighbours. They were pleased to add this to the neighborhood history of the sight of me running wildly shrieking from the dead coyote.*

The crow considered flying into the garage but stopped short hovering his black wings ominously. Scenes from Alfred Hitchcock's 'Birds' skittered in my mind. It was the first horror movie I ever saw and the one that left the biggest impression upon me. I was about 9-10 years old and everyone the next day at school was talking about it. I literally walked to and fro school for ages with my eyes cast down. If a rabid dog or speeding car ever came charging towards me I would have been toast but at least my eyes would have been intact.

I ventured out of my garage a few minutes later only to be stormed upon yet again. One of the black hecklers stood guard on a lamppost across the street: a sooty sentinel prepared to defend the safety of his young family. Noble? Um, yeah okay. Sure. Whatever. I can hear a chorus of West Coasters chanting, 'Save the Whales, Save the Seals, Save Gas--take transit, Save Plastics marked 1,2,4,and 5 for your recycling bins, Save the Hockey Night in Canada song---sign a petition, Save Your Body, Soul, and Mind...try Whole Foods Market.'**
What about Save Cathy-Emily's peace of mind, sanity, and spirit? How about saving that?? HUH??? How about that?? Huh???? Well????

Being truly afraid and truly Canadian I grabbed a nearby hockey stick prepared to defend my skull and more importantly my newly coloured and cut hairstyle. I cautiously edged out of the garage, hockey stick in a position Tiger Williams would be proud of and carefully began to make my way to the 'other' side of the yard. The crow dived, but veered off when he saw the hockey stick and settled down on a taller outpost to guard his nest.

I retreated inside for some revitalizing and galvanizing refreshment (no, most definitely NOT tea) and to begin plotting ways of eradicating these pesky intrusive black bombs from my yard. Puhleeze.....don't give me 'they are only trying to protect their family.....they are acting instinctively.....they are part of nature.' So are spiders, slugs, aphids, and moles. 'Nuff said.

Crows, often are featured in European legends or mythology as portents or harbingers of doom or death, because of their dark plumage, unnerving calls, and tendency to eat carrion. Shall I go on??? Think of it ...... a group of crows is called a 'murder.' Not a quaint flock or whimsical gaggle or efficient colony but a murder. A murder of crows. Which gives me an idea................I may just have the solution to this problem................bahaahaaahaaaa.....................

Sing a song of sixpence a pocket full of rye,
Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.
When the pie was opened the birds began to sing,
Oh wasn't that a dainty dish to set before the king?
The king was in his counting house counting out his money,
The queen was in the parlour eating bread and honey
The maid was in the garden hanging out the clothes,
When down came a blackbird and pecked off her nose!

Yeah that's right.... the classic Nursery Rhyme has got it right........Bake them!!! Roast them!! Fry them!!! Microwave them!
Mutilating the maid's nose!!! Plastic surgery is just not possible on a maid's wages.

*Please refer to Christmas Newsletter 2006.
**Overly-priced supermarket specializing in all things organic and green. Like crisp cold cash. And lots of it.