Sharon's Blurb

 I have recently realized that giving someone a tour of my home office may be off- putting. There, atop the rolltop desk, sits the beautiful lavender urn containing my mother's remains, surrounded by some lovely mementos like her stuffed toys and chocolates wrapped in purple and mauve. A short distance away, at the other end of the top of the rolltop, sit the urns of Peanut and Ivan, my two beloved cats who were brothers, born of Princess, and who both died at 15 years of age within two months of each other.  Bonded even in death. Next to the rolltop desk sits a bookcase, and atop that, a small urn with some of the remains of my younger brother, Wayne, who passed at the age of 55 from complications of pneumonia.   Surrounding him are more than a dozen miniature motorcycle models that were once his, a baby shoe, his handprint in plaster, and other memorabilia from his life that I have dedicated to him in a mini-shrine of sorts. Back to the rolltop display is...

 I was sitting on the back deck minding my own business one afternoon when I heard a whirring in the willow tree. I thought it was a hummingbird, or a chickadee. The birds are scarce this time of the year - the robins have gone, the little yellow and red finches seem to have disappeared too. It was then I saw it. A male cardinal, in all his red feathered and magnificent un-camouflaged glory. It is incredible how these birds continue to exist. Their bright red colours a calling card to all predators. It's no wonder they are shy, elusive creatures, constantly on the lookout. Unless they are looking for a mate, in which case I have witnessed them perched on rooftops calling their song. But this particular cardinal was on a mission. He seemed intent on something on the tree branch.  But he only plucked a few leaves, and then a few dead twigs from it. Then I spied its target. A nicely sized spider in the middle of its web, spanning from the tree to a deck ...

 August has arrived with a pang in my heart. It is still officially summer, but already there is a change in the air. A palpable difference to the atmosphere. The flowers are wilted - their leaves drooping with lack of rain. We are having a hot, dry summer, with little precipitation. And it is showing. The pink hydrangeas on the corner of the deck showed off only one small flower this year. The blue rose of Sharon's are barely blooming; the mallows have already given up after two small burgundy flowers emerged yesterday. And the strawberry-vanilla hydrangea tree is reluctantly offering up only small white blooms; it should be in its showy abundance this time of year. It has been a tough one for the garden. The grass is burnt yellow, the hosta leaves are brown, the tiger lilies are drying and crisp. Thankfully the air is still warm, and the cool chill of autumn has not yet begun. But the end of the season is nigh, it is everywhere and yet nowhere all at once....

 Arnold Schwarzenegger is having a moment. I wouldn't call it a comeback. He never really went away. He has always been there - always pumping out movies, advice, his opinions, books, and now a tv show, a comedy action genre shot right here in Ontario. And today, as he celebrates his birthday, I have to admit, I am fan-gurling over the 78-year-old bodybuilder/actor/politician/author/activist/fitness advocate and now motivator.  I somehow stumbled across his latest book, Be Useful: Seven Tools For Life, and I had to read it. His grizzled face on the front cover, almost in a Terminator scowl, not hiding anything, his wrinkles and grey hair there for everyone to see. It is part memoir - part instruction manual to live one's best life. To contribute to society, to make good choices, to work hard and have a servant's heart. One could argue that he took his own advice, having a servant's heart, a bit too literally, after he fathered a child with the househol...

  February seems innocuous enough. A nice little month, just 28 short days, 29 on a leap year. Hosting St. Valentine's Day for all the romantics, and home to "Heart Month", an awareness campaign for The Heart and Stroke Foundation. Short and sweet. A nice stopping point between an excruciatingly long January and March, which heralds the arrival of Spring and other fun activities such as St. Patrick's Day and Lent. However I have come to believe that February is not as nice as it would lead us to believe. In fact, it has a devious side, a dark part, which has shown its face over the years. A sociopathic, covert narcissist with underlying bipolar and borderline personality disorders, covertly waiting for the least right time and right place to reveal itself. Perhaps I am being a little harsh. I am for certain a little biased. As I look back upon the years, I am struck by how many tragedies have struck in February. I am talking about my own person...

 When the days seem oh, so dark and dreary And it's difficult to not feel old and weary When the daylight seems at best so bleary And the short, dark days have you feeling teary Remember Spring will come soon, deary And make us all feel oh, so cheery!