The Escargot has Escar-gone........

It is with much sadness that we mourn the loss of "Pong". He was our tennis-ball sized orange snail that called the aquarium home for the last 8 years. He was a good snail.....knowing enough to terrorize Dad's aquarium plants so that he would escape the "daily-water-changing, forever-adding-this-and-that-to-the-water-death-trap" that is Dad's aquarium, and set his sights on calmer waters and his new nightlife as kitty-entertainment.

He lived long, and prospered.....having watched enough sci-fi with us to know that he could mutate by harnessing the radiation from the flourescent tank light to grow well beyond his 1 1/2 inch expected diameter to become the "Most Powerful Snail In The World!" (Muahahahahaha!)

He will be missed.

He's just a fish....

Who says fish are disposable pets?

9 years after bringing home Snack, Lunch, and Appetizer (the cats named them), one of the three bretheren has finally succumbed to old age. Not bad value for $1.78 each- amortized over the 9 years that's.....(damm, no more accounting class for me!)

Snack, the smallest of the 3 black tetras- although still well over the size of a toonie at the end of his epic lifespan, was found floundering sideways at the bottom of the tank the other night. The end was apparent....but I couldn't bring myself to condemn a live fish to the depths of the city sewer system, nor could I tear myself away from the tank- part of me wanted to console him, comfort him (HE'S A FISH FER CRYIN' OUT LOUD!) while he took his last breaths through laboured gills.

I guess I looked pathetic, so my "stronger half" scooped his flopping form out of the tank and off to the bathroom he went, I trailing behind like a 4 year old to stand at the bathroom door and watch the horror of Snack making his grand exit down the porcelain portal.

It wasn't until we were back in the harsh flourescent light of the kitchen that I was rewarded with a patronizing "Awww....." and a hug for the tears glistening on my cheeks. (HE'S A FISH FER CRYIN' OUT LOUD!) Not so much for poor Snack himself, but for the 9 years that they had always been three tender morsels for three kitties.....and the great memories of our first year in the old apartment where we all came together to form this great menagarie of a family.

Yes he's just a fish, fer cryin' out loud........but he was a good fish. And he never fulfilled his namesake, much to the chagrin of three patient kitties.

How can the cure be worse than the ailment?

I was asking myself this question at about 3:45 pm as I lay on what I truly thought was my deathbed.

For those of you who have heard my barking cough for the last week, the degree of my illness has been quite apparent. Each breath laboured, each cough sounding like the great black death back for vengance. There are only so many days one can take off of work to sit at home and watch Dr. Phil before one has to break down and make a doctor's appointment of a different kind. Which brings me to today......

The phrase 'I'm hesitant to say pneumonia......but your lungs are 'crackling'- and that's not good." is ominous no matter what. The fact that the pharmacist tells you these are some strong pills, and then lists off a myriad of side effects- concluding with "these are a given, but it will get better"....not encouraging. But with the light of health at the end of the gauntlet of germs I have been stuck in, I plunged ahead- figuring, how bad can it be? I laugh in the face of the little orange sticker that says "TAKE WITH FOOD" every day....it doesn't scare me.

It does now.

It lulled me into a false sense of security. Arriving at work at noon....having been smiled on by the parking fairies and having impeccable luck at the medical lab for a quick and painless blood test, I was feeling good. Perhaps it was the psychosomatic effects of having choked down the two magical horsepills in a post-pancakes & coffee euphoria.....

Not two hours later I found myself clinging to the counter in the bathroom, damp paper towel on the back of my neck, silently pleading with the gods of willpower to let me stick out the rest of the afternoon, rather than admit defeat. Back at my desk, the letters on the computer screen decided to have a hootenanny.....twirling and gyrating in a twisted email square dance. A hurried 35 minutes later, I was wishing for death at home in my own bed, wondering what karmic evil I had committed that had garnered me this punishment. The phone rang- and I looked at it, knowing if I opened my mouth to speak, something of far more substance than mere words would make an appearance. Wait for the beep, then deliver my eulogy.....I'll call you back if I make it.

Hours later, a nagging hunger woke me....I had the unnatural craving for a Big Mac and fries. That's how you know it's really the end of the world. Armaggeddon has arrived.....everyone run to McDonald's. It's not going to matter that you ingest that garbage when you're a non-corporeal being.

Melodramatic...yes. Over the top....certainly. But I dare anyone to experience that and not recount a story of epic proportions. Only 9 more doses to go.....

Birthdays are overrated....

To preface this one: I was reading back over my posts, trying to stimulate my mind into drafting something apropos for the occasion, when I stumbled upon this one from 2006. It made sense then, and it makes sense now- so why not repost it? (The names have been ommitted to protect the innocent....)

Feb 26, 2006.

At what point do birthdays lose their magic? When one is a child, birthdays mean you are the princess for a day. You get to be the centre of attention, get lots of presents, eat cake, and basically get a 'get-out-of-jail-free card for bad behaviour for the day.

When you're a little older, you get birthday parties, trips to Chuck 'E' Cheese, and cards from Grandma in the mail. (we are so important when we start to receive mail!)

When you get to high school and university, a birthday is an excuse to hang out with friends, maybe have a party, go to a club or bar and all your friends buy you drinks. It's a high point of your annual social calendar. Sure, you still do the family thing, but at this point it's more for the family's sake.

Then you're out into the real world. You hold a job, make your own money, look after your own domicile, and inevitably lose touch with a lot of those you once considered close friends. You have a select close knit group of good friends, some that live close by, and some that never forget to send a card each year. You might go out for dinner or coffee or something quiet to celebrate. Since you are self sufficient and less frivolous- it gets hard to answer the "what do you want for your birthday" questions, 'cause honestly you have everything you need to be content. Spending time with the people that are most important to you becomes the best way you can think of to spend your day. Dinner with the family doesn't seem like an imposition on your weekend off- you realize you value your time with them. (Despite their idiosyncrasies.)

Maybe it's the cynicism of age that makes a birthday lose it's magical wonder. Maybe it's 'cause you've had so many you want to stop counting around 29....for the third (or fourth) time. Maybe it's because the years of anticipating that you would feel somehow 'different' the next day, have ended up in an anticlimactic realization that you just have a few new lines around your eyes ( a few?) and more often than not you find yourself plucking out what you assure yourself is an odd grey hair. That kids refer to you as 'lady' in the grocery store, and you find yourself wondering if you brought your mother with you? And when did 20 year olds become kids?

I like to look at it another way. The realization that every day is just as important and should be lived to it's fullest has eclipsed the 'birthday' phenomenon. I'm thankful for the sunshine and a fresh breeze, stare in wonder at the icicles hanging off the escarpment, and the patterns in the tree branches stretching out to touch the pale winter sky. I'm thankful that I feel I am in the best health of my life. I love that I have my cats, books, music, art, muddled writings and loved ones to fill my idle moments. I am content. I am fulfilled.

So yes, birthdays are overrated. Life is not.

It's been a year......and what a year it's been.....

It's hard to believe that it's been that long since I've posted here. This forgotten spot that had housed so many of my thoughts and musings has been replaced by another vice- Facebook. Perhaps THE most addicting thing on the internet.

But I'm making a concious decision.......I like my blog.....I like my sandbox. I need to return every once in a while to build my castles in the sun, muse on life, and reflect on the little things. Here is a place for my mind.....a place that you don't have to invite 20 friends just to see the results of a quiz that will tell you what kind of fruit you're most like. Perhaps my friends from facebook will care to join me.....perhaps not.

Only Six?

((ok I have to preface this one.....I was going through my blog and found this sitting in draft...never having posted it--shame on me! So--here it is! ))

May 25, 2006:

Six weird things about me.......that should be easy, right?

Kim, you evil, evil girl. You have unleashed the weirdness that is me on the whole of the ususpecting blog readers of the world. (Like anyone actually reads this..other than you. :) ) You know me too well.....after being friends since Dr. Haley's Classics course....what, 12-ish years ago- (OMG has it really been THAT long?) I don't think these will be much of a surprise.

(Deep breath.....here goes)

#1. Jello. 'Nuff said.

#2. My somewhat borderline obsessive compulsion for all things Stargate. Richard Dean Anderson being at the top of that list. My penchant for dressing up in my SGC BDU's and combat vest and heading out to any convention I can find. The multitude of prized autographs and pictures with cast members. The hoards of money spent on action figures. Not to mention my recent debut as Sekhmet the Goa'uld.....

#3. I always cut up my fruit into bite size pieces.....NEVER bite into it. You never know what could be lurking in there....

#4. My obsession with shoes, handbags and haircolour.

#5. My three furry children. One toothless, one fearless, and one cranky-puss. And the lengths I go to to keep them happy.

#6. My sentinmentality over the silliest of things. Scraps of paper, notes of this and that, seashells, movie ticket stubs, song lyrics, commercials, nostalgia of any kind. The topper has to be the ugliest sweater in the world sitting on the top shelf of my closet, that I can't bear to part with--my Grama knit it for me when I was in grade school.....it'll be there forever. I assume someday it will come back in style. Maybe.



Ok....so they're not earth shattering....but definitely weird. :P

"All Creatures Great and Small....." ~Steve Irwin Loved Them All.

Today I found myself crying for a man I never knew.

Of course, we all knew Steve Irwin- Crocodile Hunter, fearless Wildlife Warrior, environmental conservationist, friend to animals, and all around good bloke. He thrilled us with his wild escapades, exuberance and zest for life. He warmed our hearts with his tenderness and love for his parents, and his dear wife Terri and children Bindi Sue and Bob. He taught us about the world we live in, and gave us a new appreciation for the creatures that inhabit it along with us.

He was invincible. He could wrestle a crocodile, wrangle a deadly cobra, pet a tarantula, and swim with the sharks. He always came out bearing a smile that lit his entire face, a mishcevious gleam in his eyes. He was mesmerizing.....the quintessential Peter Pan- the boy who would never grow up. And it was contagious.

And then the unthinkable. It seems so surreal. The news that Australia's son has found his rest. At first, a tragic headline on the evening news. Then, gaining momentum, it became a media frenzy. Analyzing every moment, speculation on what had gone wrong, had the moment been caught on videotape? Would it be released? Should it be released?

I found myself mourning Steve, my heart aching for a life cut short so abruptly. I detested the media coverage, which seemed to cheapen the moment into a tabloid headline. I felt my heart go out to Terri, and the children, and wondered how she felt about the overwhelming attention her husband's death had received. Did she gain strength from the outpouring of support and worldwide grief? A flash of perspective flew through my mind. She had to share her grief with a million strangers who claimed to know her husband, but what did they know? Really, what did WE know? She was the one who had lost her soulmate, her friend, her lover, the father of her children. She was the one who would replay treasured intimate moments over and over and ask herself "Why?". Anger rose in me on her behalf. How dare all these people claim a share of her grief? She was the one who had to tell her children. She was the one who would have to go on without him.

All we had to do was turn off the t.v. and hug our loved ones, shed a few tears, and then go on with our lives.

And yet conflicted, I still mourn. I sway between anger and frustration, guilt and sadness. The world knew Steve Irwin- Crocodile Hunter, but a choice few knew Steve Irwin- the man. I unfortunately was not one of the few, but one of the many.

I made a concious decision to not watch the news channels, entertainment shows, and t.v. tabloids. I don't want to see any more. I want to remember him as he was.

His legacy to me will not be one of tragedy, but of a life well lived.



"All creatures great and small...." ~Steve Iriwn loved them all.
(February 22, 1962- September 2, 2006)