Soda pop can be hazardous to your health…

Soda pop can be hazardous to your health…

This is a true story.  I am not proud of this occurrence.  I actually do feel quite idiotic about it.  I do, however, feel it is my duty to share with you the dangers of soda pop; specifically those in 2 litre bottles.  Please, heed my advice and make sure you share this with family, friends, and anyone else you see buying such a bottle.  You could help prevent such trauma entering their lives.

It all began one winter evening.  I was sitting in the living room watching tv.  Waldo and Lucy (my dogs) were snuggled up beside me.  I had just finished making some homemade chicken soup from scratch.  I had turned the heat down to minimum under the pot so that it could happily simmer for a couple of hours.  The house was already smelling good.  It was nice to sit back and relax and enjoy some quiet time.  Wiseguy was working the night shift.  No kids were in the house.  Peace and quiet reigned…until IT happened!

I heard a gunshot come from the direction of my kitchen.  I screamed out loud!  My heart was pounding.  I walked cautiously toward the kitchen entranceway; I was alone and afraid.  I stood in the doorway…my mouth agape.  I was in shock.  I couldn’t move.  My eyes slowly moved around the scene in the kitchen, trying to compute what had happened.  What HAD happened?

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This is what I saw as I looked around the room:  My walls and cupboards were covered in something brownish.  I looked at the pot on the stove.  The lid was slightly askew to allow steam to escape, but no evidence of an explosion.  I saw my floor covered in brown liquid as well.  Where had it come from?  Suddenly I saw drops coming from the ceiling.  I looked upwards…GASP!!!!  There were brown droplets falling from my now-brown-previously-white ceiling.  What had HAPPENED!!??  My brain could not compute it.  Then, as if guided by a higher power, my eyes locked onto the culprit.

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You have probably already figured out what transpired.  If not, here is the play by play.

  1. Soup pot simmering.
  2. Two litre, plastic Pepsi bottle a foot away from the stove; new…unopened.
  3. Pepsi bottle was slowly being heated; refer to #1 in play by play.
  4. Pepsi bottle no longer had room for expansion.
  5. BANG!!!  Explosion of said Pepsi bottle.
  6. There was about an inch of that beverage left in the bottle…the rest was catapulted into the ceiling and dispersed ungraciously all over my counters, stove, fridge, windows, blinds, floor, table, coffee maker, toaster, dishwasher, etc.
  7. Meltdown…no…not the bottle; I crumpled to the floor in the hallway in shocked bewilderment.
  8. I whimpered.
  9. I felt a small body brush up beside me.  CRAP!  The dogs were trying to get into the kitchen!
  10. I hollered, “NOOOOOOOOOO!” at the dogs who then proceeded to back off.

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So…where would you begin the mind-boggling clean up?  Floor?  Just watch out for the Pepsi drops from the sky.  Ceiling?  Yes, you could start there, but how do you get to the ceiling without stepping into one of the puddles on the floor?  How about counters? Cupboards?  Fridge?  What would be the best plan of attack to wash up a room, literally, sprayed in soda pop.  Yes, quite the conundrum.

Where did I start?  I don’t know.  I honestly don’t recall.  I believe I was so traumatized by it, that I erased the actual cleanup from memory.  I tend to have sketchy thoughts about towels on the floor and a step stool to reach the ceiling, but it’s all kind of muddled; dream/nightmare or reality.  Not sure.  For weeks and many, many months after that “cleanup” I would find sticky spots somewhere in the kitchen.  Oh, it had spattered into the hallway too.  I learned that when my foot stuck to the floor.  I’d open a cupboard to pull out a plate and find brown spots on it.  Just when I would think it was all gone, I would find evidence of it somewhere else.  Years later, when we decided to renovate our kitchen, we pulled out the fridge and the stove and guess what we found?  A Rorschach test of that spiteful drink.  After washing that wall, and covering it with tiles I can finally say that I have never seen another spot of Pepsi in the kitchen.  That was the end of the nightmarish soda fountain episode.

The one other part of this true-life horror story is really the irony of the whole situation.  You see, I don’t drink pop.  I can’t stand the stuff.  When I was younger and used to drink it, I actually preferred Sprite or 7Up…bubbly and clear liquids!   Ironic right?  I had a volcano of brownish sugar-beverage all over my kitchen and I never even drank it.

I learned a valuable lesson that evening and I urge you to share this knowledge…for safety’s sake.  I no longer buy two litre bottles of pop.  No more large, plastic potential bombs in my humble abode.

“An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.”  Benjamin Franklin

I prefer to purchase the lovely, aluminum can versions of pop.  For safety reasons, these sugar drinks are stashed away inside the fridge at all time…far, far away from any and all sources of heat.

Moral of the story:   Soda pop can be hazardous to your health…especially your mental health.

 

 

 

 

Gnomenclature…

Gnomenclature…

Yes, please feel free to “google” that word.  It does not exist…yet.  This new word now exists in my special dictionary where verbiage is absolutely a necessity.  Feel free to use it in your everyday vernacular!  The official, properly spelled word is:  nomenclature.  The definition is:  “the devising or choosing of names for things, especially in a science or other discipline.”  Well, my newly created word – gnomenclature – shall be defined as:  “the naming of garden gnomes based on their statuesque appearance”.  Yes…I think that shall do fine!  Why do I bring up gnomenclature?  Today I shall share with you the story of two garden gnomes and their ultimate destiny.  Our story begins…

It was Father’s Day.  A sunny day.  Wiseguy was excited to have the kids and grandkids over for this special day.  I must admit that every year the children try to find ways to surprise their father with unique and unexpected gifts.  Wiseguy is now at that point in his life where he lacks nothing, nor does he wish for anything.  The creative gift ideas were becoming a challenge.  One package he opened was not something either of us expected.  It contained a garden gnome.  True, none of those existed at our house.  The second package contained another gnome.  They were each about two feet tall.  One was jovial and the other was quite stern and serious.

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Happy Gnome (on the left);  Wise Gnome (on the right) – See??? Gnomenclature!!

So, there they were; our two new residents.  Happy made me laugh every morning when I saw him.  How could he not?  He always looked like he had just finished playing a trick on someone.  Wise gnome…well, he moved, a bit, but he never seemed happy about it.  We had fun moving them around and making the grandchildren think the gnomes pulled stunts while we were sleeping.  They would move from vegetable garden to table top.  They were ingenious (and obviously, so were we…way before that Elf on the Shelf thing became the big brouhaha.)

Cooler weather arrived.  Fall was starting to shut down summer.  We moved our tenants into a bench seat to hibernate for the winter.  Better to keep them hidden instead of having to clean snow off them.  Fall became winter, winter became a harsher winter, that part of winter finally turned into slushy spring.  After all the snow melted and the torrential rains abated, we re-introduced our ceramic/clay garden-variety (haha) gnomes into the backyard.  You recall them?  Happy and Wise?

The new year had begun and many new adventures for this fun pair!  Or were there?

It was the beginning of spring.  As I had mentioned, the snow had melted, the rain continued to cover the earth, but we felt confident that our two friends could handle the elements.  After all, they were garden gnomes.

One foul evening, the wind gods swept through our city.  They ripped shingles off houses.  Garbage bins went flying down the street.  You could actually hear the wind howling.  It whistled through the tree branches in an almost taunting way.  We hoped for the spring weather of yesteryear.  Luckily the winds died down.  The clouds had finally exhausted their waterlogged fluffiness.  The sun arose with a special kind of brightness.  The inclement weather ordeal was over.  I decided to venture outside and tally up the damage to our garden.  Sadly, my first steps through the rear door revealed devastation that I had not expected.

I opened the screen door and put hands to lips to stifle the scream of despair I felt clawing to escape from my mouth.  There, on the interlock brick, were pieces; many coloured pieces.  Blue, green, black, grey, red.  There had been a fatality!  I looked to my right and saw Happy.  The wind had turned him slightly sideways.  His eternally smiling face was there and his hand was still pointing as it usually did.  However, this was something surreal.  His hand was pointing at the remains of Wise gnome.  There he was, atop the bench seat, slightly askew from the night before.  His companion…the seriously, stodgy, Wise gnome was gone…in pieces…never to be repaired.  No Humpty Dumpty future for this gnome.

Comedic value?  Hands down, high five, fist bump…absolutely 100% classic hilarity!  Do I miss our elderly Wise gnome.  Meh…he lived…but not really.  Seriously…check out Happy!  Would you not want your life to be as happy as his everyday?  I know I would!

gnomeIt does not mean that you have to be mean to other people; although he does appear to be a prankster.  Those happy squint eyes and the smiling face…look at it!  That’s the model trouble-maker image.  Even with his disheveled clothing and half torn boots, he has found a way to make himself laugh.  I guess that’s why I like him.  No matter what adversity is thrown my way, I believe I can always find something to make me happy and appreciate all the good in my life.

So, if you feel lost and lonely or if you feel like you are being bullied or if you feel like you will never win…think of Happy.  Look at this picture and remind yourself…life is what you determine it to be.  If I can be like Happy (bwahaha) I will have a happy day, everyday.

P.S.  Gnomenclature states:  the naming of garden gnomes based on their statuesque appearance.  You can be whoever you want to be.  Stand in front of that intimidating mirror and decide.  It is your choice and your prerogative.  Just know wholeheartedly that you are beautiful just the way you are.  Love and be loved.  XOXO.

 

 

‘Cause I gotta have “Faith”…

‘Cause I gotta have “Faith”…

Remember when I was telling you all about the rain drizzle weeks I lived through?  I know, I know “Stop talking about it already!!”  I promise, this is the last time I shall refer to it (this week anyway).  I bring it up because during those weeks I found that people had different coping mechanisms to deal with their SAD.  There was binge watching tv.  Extra snacking whilst watching tv.  Going out to eat instead of cooking.  (Ok, a lot of food references).  Going to the gym to exercise.  Movie night.  Those are just a few ways that folks were distracting themselves.  One that I did not mention, which I know makes a big difference and might be obvious is:  MUSIC!

Has anyone ever asked you, “Who is your favourite band or singer?”  Perhaps they have inquired about your favourite song.  In my younger years, while hanging out at THE bar after work, we used to play the Island game.  “If you were stuck on a deserted island, which album would you want with you?”  Good question!  This was not a judgemental question.  It actually led to a lot of great conversation about the type of music your friends liked and why.  Island living was basically forever so what could you tolerate for that length of time.

During my SAD time, I actually did turn to music.  I will be honest with regards to my listening choices.  In order to escape reality, my favourite thing to listen to is actually stories.  I subscribe to an old time radio show where stories from the 1930s up to the 1955s exist.  I love hearing tales and imagining the scenes in my mind.  It’s a beautiful distraction and my mind is fantastic at creating the scenes.  However, sometimes when I need to get into a better mood it is music that lifts my spirits.  I love upbeat music.  In most cases it is not even about the lyrics.  It’s about the beat.  I need a great hardcore thump-thump beat and there are so many musicians and/or singers that provide this for me.  So, when I hit my slump and I need a boost I turn to my recorded/downloaded tunes and dance away in my beloved kitchen.

Music has so many dimensions.  I used to play an instrument (looked like a mandolin, but it was a tambura).  I also sang in the church choir…from pre-pubescence to adulthood.  Music and song are a strong part of my life.  Listening to music on the AM radio was also a life changing experience for me.  When I finally got my own radio, it made me feel like I was friends with kids at school.  I was the outcast.  Being able to identify with the girls about music on the radio and the “rad(ical)” DJs helped with my un-coolness.  The AM radio phase became the FM phase (which I was not privy to), but music was still a huge part of my life.

Not only was I a member of the church choir, but I was privileged in that my parents let me quit the musical sect of Croatian culture (my tambura…prima) and let me join the dancing sect.  I LOVED (and still LOVE) dancing.  I was beyond grateful for this opportunity.  I sang well.  I played…mediocre.  Dancing…I was born for this!

I started off in the junior group because I had never done it before.  I did great!  I loved it!  I was absorbing everything so quickly that within a year I got to do stuff that I had only dreamt of doing.  I loved my group.  I loved our performances.  I appreciated everyone and everything that led me here.  I was enjoying living my life.  Even better…we got to go back to the “homeland” to perform in several cities there.  Us…from Canada…going to Europe. Pack your bags and your costumes and away we went.

Now, I know I have focused a lot on our Canadian dance group.  We were like a mini family. That was the greatest thing.  Not only were we traveling abroad, but we did have many practices to ensure our professionalism.  We had strict curfews.  Most importantly we were friends watching each other’s backs.  This was a trip that not only inspired us to do our best, but it created new friendships and several friendships led to marriages.  Quite the trip right?  The reason I bring this up is because there was one song that we, as a group, listened to over and over and over and over again in the travel bus.  It became our theme song.  It was a song that most did not know the words to except for one word.  When the tape deck (yes…it was a radio/tape recorder) came to that section of the song, everyone yelled it out in excuberance and happy defiance.  It became the anthem of our dance tour.

Thank you, George Michael, for the song that will always bring fond memories back into my life.  Your passing made me think about my life and how it would effect others.  If you can hear me, I would like you to know that your song “Faith” became a memorable part of our lives and perhaps the lives and memories of many others.  When we yelled out “BABY!” we all broke out laughing at our synchronicity.   You were special and so was your song.  If I were on a desert island, my go-to song for partying would be…

Paul Simon’s:  Me and Julio!

Sorry, not being mean, but truthful.  However our favourite line that we screamed and yelled out on our bus over and over again:  “BABY!”  from your (George Michael) song, “I gotta have faith” would lead me believe that I would be rescued.

P.S.  GM…you were so gifted.   You shared that musical talent with the world even though many did not understand you.  Thank you for pursuing your dream.  You were and are special in my life and the lives of many.  We truly believe that our lives will be great because we “gotta have faith.”

Sixth Sense or… Practically Magic

Sixth Sense or… Practically Magic

“So, what time did you get home last night?”  This was the trick question that my parents would pose the morning after I’d been out.  Did your parents ever ask you this question?  If so, do you recall silently pondering:  Did they hear me come in?  Do they know I was home after curfew?  Should I tell the truth?   Should I lie and hope that they didn’t hear me?  Yes my friends, it was a life gamble.  Sometimes I won.  Sometimes I lost.  Roll the dice of fate and see what happens!  Those were stressful moments.  Time goes by.  You grow up and perhaps have children of your own to take care of.  Guess what you get to do?  You guessed it!  Torture your own kids!  Life can be so fair that way.  Bwahahaha!

I used to think that my parents were psychic.  How did they know when I did something wrong?  How did they know when I was lying?  Their magic powers were revealed to me as I became older and watched my silly cousins doing stuff.  I watched them grab the milk jug from the fridge and KNEW they were going to spill the milk while pouring it into the glass.  As they ran around the house I KNEW one of them would trip and fall and start crying.  So, it wasn’t magic after all!  All you parents out there know exactly what I am talking about.  Let me share some of those fascinating situations and what occurs when you have not yet been gifted with that beautiful clairvoyance.

Beware the Silence:  All you parents of toddlers know this one very well.  Every adult knows that screaming, yelling kids can drive you absolutely crazy!  You pray and beg for quiet.  Anything for a little bit of peace.  Your wish comes true.  You sit back with that still warm cup of coffee and then you remember…THERE’S A TODDLER IN THE HOUSE!  Worse still…it’s quiet…too quiet.  NOOOOOOOOOO!  Yes, that little bit of heaven just cost you two tubes of lipstick (now broken after being used to colour on the walls).  That new roll of toilet paper has been reeled into the toilet.  Luckily you caught the culprit just before the toilet got flushed into action.

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The 10 Foot Dash:  Come and catch me!  That’s what your little one is miming as you hear the giggle of joy and thrill of being chased.  There is one special little way that children run while being pursued.  You’ve seen it.  They start running.  As they are moving forward they are looking backwards, at you, to see how close you are.  Hmmm, what do you think happens?  Easy to guess for us magically gifted parents…WHAM!  Faceplant to the wall.

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Third Eye:  Guardians of the rug-rats eventually grow a third eye.  Not a real third eye, but that sensory eye that can see through walls, around corners, and even into toddler’s minds.  This is the most complex and highly powerful tool in a parent’s arsenal.  Never let them know the truth for it shall shatter their illusion of your omnipotence.  Let them wholeheartedly believe that on the back of your head you have grown an invisible third eye.  My favourite would be hearing little voices shout-whisper (kids really don’t know how to whisper) “How did she know?”  Well, here is how the power of the third eye works.  Parent in kitchen prepping food.  Kids in another room watching tv and getting bored.  The Parent, with the imperceptible third eye, knows that there has been no yelling, punching, or obligatory sibling fighting.  This wise parent would, at this exact moment of realization, yell out, “Don’t you dare!”  Children stare in awe at each other.  That wondrous look that says “How did she know?”  Note:   had guardian not yelled this out, said children would have couch pillows in hand ready to swing violently at each other leading to painful tears and hollers of, “My eye! My eye!” streaming through the house.

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Blame Game:  Enlightened adults know when a youngster has done some dirty deed.  “Who did this?!”  The interrogative line to subdue the youth.  As the adult, you are in charge of this campaign of youthful entertainment.  You know that once the rule of no playing ball in the house gets broken, it ultimately leads to something else being broken.  Vases, lamps, and flower pots are the top three casualties of war.  Veteran parents know that the indoor games begin after several minutes of the “Beware of Silence” phase.  For the newbies, being distracted by doing other life chores, the war would begin.  The flower pot would disintegrate and someone was going to get it.  “Who did this?” is the parental shriek.  Children get this wonderful look on their face when they are guilty.  We adults know how to read that look.  It’s kind of a wide-eyed terror look.  Fidgeting is a good tell as well.

fullsizeoutput_1a06Parents, I truly believe that with age comes wisdom.  With wisdom comes responsibility.  With responsibility comes a time when you decide that screwing around with your children’s minds is waaaaaaaaaay more fun.  So use that sixth sense.  Bring that terror of your omnipotence into their lives.  Tell them that you have a third eye.  Tell them that you can see them no matter where they are and that you know what they are doing at all times.  Bust ’em when you can.  David Copperfield may have his magic tricks, but as adults and parents trying to raise children, we too are practically magic.

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What’s up doc?

What’s up doc?

There are two kinds of people in society:  1) Hypochondriacs and 2) FODs (Fear of Doctors).  I am of the European reasoning that doctors will only give you bad news.  If you are like me, you prefer good news and happy times.  So, with this thought in mind, why would I go to a place where there are other ill people who can make me sick, and speak to someone who will only give me bad news?  As of today I renounce my FOD status!  Why? I had a life changing experience that I will share with you and hopefully convert you from a FOD person to a…hmmm…guess I will need to come up with a third group of personalities.  Here is what happened.

My story begins two and a half weeks ago.  Remember those dreary, rain filled days?  I had decided to book an “annual” physical with my doctor (at her subtle request).  You see, I had visited a few weeks earlier unsure if I had strep throat.  I wanted to ensure that none of the grandbabies got sick so…yes…I fought my Fear of Doctor to get checked out.  That day I did not have strep, but I still had a miserably sore throat.  Although I truly believed I had no reason for it…well, hindsight is 20/20 and as you recall I proceeded into that awful cold/sinus/deafness ailment.  Now, let’s backup to that day of the physical.

As a sidenote, I would like to state that my “yearly” physical takes place every decade (if I can schedule it).  Now, being closer to my 50s, the creaky bones of arthritis and the hollering of other women to get checked out, made me think I should squeeze one in early.  This one was done after 5 years.  Good for me!  The physical part of my checkup was done and I was sent for blood work.  Does everyone know what blood work is all about?  Sure you do!  Or, are you more like me.  Last time I needed to go for surgery, when I was at the ripe old age of twenty-three , I had blood work done.  It’s been a couple of years.  Not that my doctor hasn’t been trying.  I believe that in the last 15 years she has given me the paper for blood work about 4 times.  (1) I lost it.  (2)  The paper had been in my purse so long that it was tattered and torn and unreadable.  (3) I think the dog ate it  (haha, I always wanted to say that, but he actually didn’t).  The last one she gave me (4) was still on my desk at home.  I had every good intention of having it done.  Well, this time she beat me.  “Take this upstairs and get your blood work done.”  Now, if I didn’t, I would be an awful patient.  So I trotted upstairs and bided my time.

One minute later it was my turn.  I sat in the chair, rolled up my sleeve and proceeded to have a needle jammed into me.  I asked, “So, will the doctor call me with the results?”  She looked at me like I had three heads.  I explained, “I haven’t had blood taken in about twenty years.”  “Oh,” she began, “if there is nothing wrong then you won’t get a call.”  My follow up question, “How long until the she gets the test results?”  Reply, “about three days.”

My blood was drawn Wednesday.  No call on Thursday.  It was Friday and all was clear!  Woo hoo!  Brrrrrrriiinnnggggg!  CRAP!  Doctor’s office.  Summary of phone call:  Doctor wants to see me.  YIKES!  Since doctors’ appointment days book up quickly, I had to wait a week to see her.  Naturally, I spent those five days doing what any other normal FOD would do.  It’s also a Hypochondriac’s favourite game.  All together now:  What’s My Ailment!

Yes, I spent several gloriously rainy days in a cough-ridden haze being depressed about my  extended cold illness.  I got to worry about what beloved foods I was going to have to cut out.  I LOVE PIZZA!   High cholesterol?  That was possible.  Hmmm, maybe diabetes.  Was I going to be a diabetic?  Then, through this mist of sorrow I would reach for that happy spark of simple stuff like low iron.  I could handle that!  Yeah, that’s all it was.  If it was something really drastic then I would be rushed to Emergency right?  That was how I finally stopped thinking about it.

Sunday night I realized that the next day would be THE day that I saw my doctor and got the final say.  I decided to stay with my positive side.  No matter what happened, I could handle it.  And if I had to give up pizza or french fries then I would die happily at an early age eating the foods I loved.  (I know…I’m a total realist).

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Now, not only did I wake up to SUNSHINE after three weeks (hello Vitamin D), but that just added to my increased happy thoughts.  I ate a banana for breakfast.  I got there early.  I actually got to see Doc before my scheduled appointment.  I took a deep breath.  I relaxed and believed that there was nothing bad.  She walked in, “So, we are here to talk about your results.”  My heart skipped a beat.  I reminded myself, think positive.  “You’re not dying,” she said matter-of-factly.  “You’ll be happy to hear it’s your thyroid.”  Happy?  Happy to hear that something is wrong with me?  Short notes:  I have a slow thyroid which makes me sleepy and cold and with one pill a day I’ll be good as new.  Celebration time!

So, I am sharing my story to tell you:  GO SEE YOUR DOCTOR.  It can be good news.

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Don’t be a FOD (Fear of Doctor) type.  Be a SYD (See Your Doctor).  You might be pleasantly surprised and ask, “What’s up doc?”

Note 1:  Supreme artwork and colour choices were represented and drawn by Maryann.

Note 2:  Yes, I’m proud of it.

Note 3:  Yes, I’m improving.  I might try markers next time.

 

The sun’ll come out…tomorrow???

The sun’ll come out…tomorrow???

I think I am finally over that horrendous sinus-stuffed / bruised-rib coughing / voice-losing bout.  I believe I am on the mend after four tortuous weeks of headaches and hearing loss.  I am alive and I am (almost) well.  I believe there was one main ingredient that I had been lacking and I also believe that this crucial element to my normal daily routine is what made this illness continue to haunt me.  It made my usual chipper self, quite miserable on a daily basis and I could not release myself from this funk.  I have been ill before (though not quite this like this) and I have managed to fib myself to wellness.  “I am not sick.  I’m not sick.  I am well.  I feel fine.”  This little mantra could always get me back to my happy, smiling self.  What was missing?

It appears that my good ol’ friend, the sun, decided to go away on vacation for awhile.  Had not been seen in weeks.  Why would this matter?  Well, I recall reading about SAD people.  No, not sad people, but SAD people; those affected by Seasonal Affective Disorder.  It seems that if we do not get our daily dose of those beautiful rays our serotonin (mood balancer) levels drop.  With the lack of Vitamin D that we get from the sun, our moods change and we end up in a sleep slump that could lead to depression.  So, while good ol’ fireball went into vacation mode, the rest of us trudged daily through our lives.  Our sloppy, squishy, rain-soaked lives.

So, here was I was thinking I was not getting enough sleep and that this was the cause of my awful, cranky mood.  True, I wasn’t sleeping well on those mega-cough nights, but then I’d make up for it with an almost coma-like sleep the next night.  Yes, my ears were plugging and unplugging, which was annoying, but I had really never been that irritable before.  After week three, and more rain in our forecast, it hit me.  I had not seen the sun in many, many, many days.  Living in Canada we are used to lots of snowstorms at this time of year which is accompanied by bright sunlight that bounces off the newly fallen snow and blinds you from time to time.  Here we are in January (one of our usually worse winter months) and no snow.  No flakes falling.  Nothing to shovel.  I was grateful for not having to perform that miserable task and yet, the daily rain forecast made me even more crestfallen.  What was a girl to do?

I did what everyone else around me seemed to be doing…skulking.  I would go shopping to get groceries and people were wearing their best scowling faces.  Cashiers would ramp up the: “Hi how are you?” when starting to process your order, and would then turn off the bling smile until the obligatory: “Have a nice day.”  Yeah, even smiling was becoming a chore.  What is the point of warmer weather if you are constantly walking through a downpour or even worse, the ever present drizzle of rain.  It was like wandering through a rain forest without the actual accompanying heat.  Not fair!  When was this going to end?

Update.  Weather forecast.  Cold.  Colder than the weather we had been having.  Hmmm, what was this?  Snow?  SNOW!  That meant NO MORE RAIN!  What else did that mean (besides shovelling)?   You guessed it. Look who came back!  I missed you!  We all missed you!  Gorgeous!  Absolutely fabulous!

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So what did I do?  I looked right up at that beautiful burning ball in the sky (and promptly blinded myself for several seconds. Meh…it was worth it)!

I am no longer SAD…yes, I think I did catch a quick spell of it.  It is amazing how this glorious Vitamin D provider can, literally, affect one’s mood.  This morning I was happy as a lark, singing as I went outside into the cold air to view my good friend above.  Thanks for coming back. You really were missed.

I would like to take a wee bit of time to review the lyrics to “Tomorrow” from Annie.

“The sun’ll come out / Tomorrow / Bet your bottom dollar / That tomorrow / There’ll be sun!”

My dear Annie, it was a few week’s worth of tomorrows, but the sun finally DID come out!  Hallelujah cause now I’m “Walking on sunshine / Ain’t don’t it feel good!”  (Shout out to the ’80s crowd!)

 

Transmogrified, Evil Villain…

Transmogrified, Evil Villain…

Life is great!  I am happy!  Cough…Happy!  Cough cough!  What the heck is going on?  Hmmm, there is a wee tickle in my throat.  Ahem, ahem…cough cough.  HACK-COUGH!   My nose is itchy.  What is this?  There is leakage from my nasal passages.  Grab a facial tissue and blow my nose.  Blow again.  One more time!  Phew!  Think I got it all.  Great!  Wait a minute.  I can’t hear anymore.  What is going on?  I don’t have a fever or anything.  What new strain of evilness is this?  Yes, it appears I have a cold.  If it is so normal then why do I feel so AB-normal?

I have become a transmogrified evil villain!  I am usually the upbeat “Pollyanna” type rooting for everything good in the world!  “You can do this!”  I exclaim.  “Live in denial!” I yell to myself.  This self-lie usually works to trick my body into thinking that I am not ill.  It’s not real.  I can get past this.  Yet, here I am on day 9 (yes day 9) and I have managed to get hearing back in one ear.  The Super Cough has diminished to a mere whisper of its previous potency.  My bruised ribs have finally stopped screaming at me so I guess I actually did not crack any ribs in cough-a-lot episodes.  My sinuses…oh my…those beauties made my eyes look like fish eyes…all bulgy and watery.  Why am I describing my ailments?  I believe it is vitally important to share information that might make others feel better about their life situation, knowing that there are “others” like them.

To be honest, the reason I bring up my gross illness is because I have become a horrible human being.  I have become an uber, ugly, vindictive “reality show” type personality on the person I love.

When you get sick as a parent, you are not allowed to show weakness.   You are the doctor.  You are the nurse.  You are the most patient and understanding person in their lives.  When they say their teardrop hurts their cheek, it’s a reality you need to remedy to make them sleep.  However, when the children are out of the house and you become ill, you finally get to plead illness (and insanity).  Who gets the brunt of your illness woes?  Your bestie!  The person who will always be there for you through thick and thin.  It’s true right?

Think about it.  Wiseguy told me right from the beginning that one crucial element of a good relationship is:  COMMUNICATION!  For those of you who do not understand what that means, I shall simplify.  If there is something that is bothering you and you are holding it inside instead of talking about it, that means you are NOT communicating.  This would be a perfect example of my parent’s household.

In my parents house if you were upset, you held it in because there was no point in discussing issues.  Parents were always right.  Siblings?  No talk…more about actions and getting even (bwahaha!).  So, now I had to learn this “talk” thing.

For those of you who were taught manners and behaving properly and “be sure not to offend anyone” this was a difficult task.  After several years I got the hang of it.  It’s not about yelling and picking on each other, it’s actually discussing things, in adult words, no F-bombs.  It’s sharing thoughts, ideas, opinions.  It really does work.  Well, it works while you are both of sound mind.  When one gets sick, sense and sensibility gets thrown out and the evil “sick” monster takes over.

As previously mentioned, I have been the caretaker for many.  If I did get ill (i.e.”West Nile Virus), I still had my father-on-law come to me whilst I was lying on the couch and ask me: “What’s for dinner?”  Yes, it’s true.  When children get sick, parents don’t get timeouts.  It doesn’t matter how tired you are, the children are most important and one day you hope you will have time to sleep.  So, here I am, 20 years later, sick myself, and I am incorrigible.

I have been apologizing to Wiseguy on an almost hourly basis!  Why?  Because I am yelling at him for not speaking loudly enough for me to hear him.  My ears are plugged.  When my one ear canal finally opened up I complained that he was talking too loudly.  Even better… he now has whatever ailment I have and I am complaining when he can’t hear me!  I am agitated.  I am irritated!  I can’t hear properly.  I keep throwing verbal darts at Wiseguy.  He can do nothing right.  He made me a beautiful breakfast and I complained about the pan he used.  Cruel!?  For sure!

So, this little story is two-fold:

To Cold Sufferers:  You are not in your normal state of mind.  When you find that you are going crazy and verbally assaulting those you love, remember to apologize for being an intolerable pain.

To my hubby:  You are the best!  You should get hazard pay for dealing with my psycho-sicko mood swings.  I’m here for you.  (I hear you coughing right now.  Thanks for letting me share my unhealthy goodness with you!  Bwahaha!)

P.S.  Although I am of the elder-world, I find that many children’s books can simply explain life’s difficulties.  As adults we find “big words” to explain our life situations.  Over the past few days, in my whiny state of mind, I thought about how “horrible” I felt and recalled one of my all time favourite stories.  It made me laugh out loud (nowadays known as LOL):  Alexander and the Horrible, Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

Do you have a favourite storybook?  If so, what is so special about it?