Sharon's Blurb

  Princess hopped up onto the ledge and into the sunbeam. It was her favourite spot in the whole house on sunny days. Despite being a black cat, very nearly becoming too hot to the touch after sitting in a sunbeam for any length of time, she loved her sunshine. The problem this day was that Chester, the other black cat, was already lying on that ledge. Something Princess had seen and taken note of, but jumped up there anyways. Perhaps in her old age she didn't care that the ledge was already taken. Perhaps she thought she could squeeze into the other half of the sunbeam that wasn't already being taken up by Chester. At any rate, there she was, up on the ledge, a mere three inches away from Chester. Chester, for his part, was flabbergasted. Neither of them are cuddle buddies; in fact Princess is very particular about her bubble, preferring a fairly big one around her, all day, every day. Chester at first was startled at the sudden presence of Princess.  

  Remember the one where Penny fell in the shower and Sheldon had to drive her to the hospital? Or the episode where Sheldon got several cats to replace Amy but then ended up giving them away to kids along with $20? Or the one where... It doesn't really matter which episode you watch. They are all great therapy after a really long, hard day. Or an emotionally grueling experience. Or you just need some mind candy for awhile to take your thoughts off things. Great therapy. As all the characters wend their way through their own foibles, there is always a message in there somewhere for all of us. As Howard negotiates his overbearing mother, and frighteningly similar wife, somehow, somewhere, we can all relate a little. And there is always a great deal of humor to get us through. Always at someone's expense, but in the end, all is forgiven in the name of friendship. And there's always a lesson thrown in along the way. Either for Sheldon, as he learn

 Dear Mrs. Raccoon; I would like my garden back please. I know you are raising your five adorable babies in the window well under our deck. I know you need a safe space to do so, and thought that would be suitable. Well, you have worn out your welcome. I am sure they are big enough to move along to a suitable forest. I know one just down the street. I realize they are still nursing on you. I can see you all through our basement window. A clear view of your nursery. And yes, your babies are cute beyond reason. Snuggly and cuddly and who wouldn't want to just pick them up and kiss them to death. It is you, Mrs. Raccoon, who has put the fear of god into me. I am afraid of you, to be quite frank. Ever since that afternoon last week when I was enjoying a snack out on the back deck. I saw you out the corner of my eye, as you came up onto the deck and wanted some of that snack! Thankfully I had a broom handy - just in case - and was able to wave you away.

  When I was first hired by CKVR-TV as an anchor and reporter back in 1993, I was living in a small apartment in Richmond Hill. I was happy to commute back and forth in my little Honda Civic, up and down Highway 400. There was no way I was moving up to Barrie. That was farm country. Where the rubes lived. It even had a Co-op store, where country bumpkins bought their farm feed and supplies. The only culture that city had was agriculture. Imagine! I was better than that! I had been born and raised in the thriving metropolis of Oakville, then we moved to Brampton when I was a teenager.   I even lived in Montreal for several years while in my roaring twenties, for goodness sake!  La creme de la creme of culture and sophistication! Well, after three long years of driving up and down that Highway 400, surviving snow storms and other harrowing highway experiences, I succumbed. In 1996, I moved up. Literally and figuratively. And I have, since then, eaten a lot

  The Snowbirds came to town this weekend. And no, I am not talking about the senior migration coming home from Florida. I am talking about the jets. The Snowbird jets that perform their rounds entertaining crowds and wowing us with their aerial acrobatics and stunt maneuvers with an aplomb and finesse that would make anyone with anything less than ice running through their veins faint. There's a reason Val Kilmer's character in Top Gun was called ICE. And it doesn't stand for In Case of Emergency.  Or Internal Combustion Engine. None of the above. It stands for the ice ice baby, ice cold, cool as steel, cool runnings, laser focused and dead centred concentration required to operate a vehicle travelling hundreds of kilometres an hour at a fairly high altitude while in a formation with your fellow pilots who are sometimes just six feet apart from each other's wing tips. How is that for nerves of steel. It is quite a sight to behold. They fly their j

 Another letter came in the mail the other day. Another notification from the TD Bank regarding my father's estate. He had passed away more than two years ago, and yet these letters still arrive in the mail. After having closed everything out, completed all the required tasks of his estate, carrying out all the executrix duties that I was appointed with, this one last account keeps on keeping on. Every few months I am notified by this letter that there are $.02 cents left remaining in this RRIF account. An account that I know that I closed down and dispersed. An account that should have long ago been shuttered and done away with. But no. There it is. A constant reminder that my dad has passed away, and that there are $.02 cents left remaining in this particular RRIF account. I have tried calling and emailing the bank, to no avail. This notice persists on being mailed and delivered. And so I have come to think of it as my dad's two cents. He is still gi