Sharon's Blurb

  My mother always told me that I was born during a heat wave. I checked the historical records of May 1962, and sure enough, a few days after I was born, temperatures soared to 34 degrees Celsius.   I can only imagine the discomfort of my nursing mother, in a tiny apartment, with a new tiny baby, with only maybe a fan, and definitely no air conditioning back in those days. But I have always thought that explains why I love the heat. I love the warmth on my skin, and don't even mind the humidity. I thrive in the heat, adore the sunshine that accompanies it, and of course, everything to do with spring and summer. The plants and flowers, long days and short nights, the birds and bees and even the insects. Love the sandals, shorts and t-shirts; heading out the door without having to don hat, coat, boots and mitts. But now the entire world seems to be heating up, warming to such a degree that people are dying. I do recall Nostradamus made a prediction back...

 I had to stop into the local drug/everything store the other day. I was on my way home from the barn, and needed to pick up a thing or two. I was wearing my hot pink toque, my orange scarf, my army green winter barn coat, black jeans and tall winter boots. Not only did my hot pink toque and orange scarf clash like the dickens, (I can hear my mother now), my coat was decorated with horse hair, jeans covered in mud and hay, and boots covered in manure. I realize I may have looked like a person who is housing challenged. Is that the politically correct term these days? Someone who may or may not have a roof over their heads, or had a shower that day if at all. To say I turned a few heads is an understatement. I realized I did not look like the usual customer in that very nice drug/everything store, where the first department one entered upon was the cosmetic and fragrance counter. I looked like I needed both. I pretended I was nonplussed, and proceeded to go up an...

  Did anyone else feel that? A subtle, yet seismic shift? March 1st, the Meteorological First Day of Spring, brought with it a palpable feeling. As if Mother Nature got the memo. The temperatures started climbing. The snow started melting. The snow, which had begun to fall in November and seemingly hadn't stopped since, was finally seceding. We were thankful we hired a snow removal service this winter; we lost count of how many times he came after he cleared our driveway 40 times. There was a moment when the city thought it might run out of salt. There are still mounds of rock solid ice and dirt left at the roadsides. But now, there is hope. The sun was even caught shining the other day. Dog walkers are daring not to wear their parkas. The sidewalks look surprisingly safe for pedestrians, no slippery patches of black ice in sight. Yesterday, I saw not one, but TWO motorcycles!   AND an assortment of shorts, tank tops, and running shoes. I...

  I was sure my ears were bleeding. I was sitting in the waiting area of a local mechanic shop, innocently getting a new bulb put in my left rear brake light, when the words coming from a back office hit the fan. Fuck this, and fuck that, and fuckin', fuckin', fuckin'. I felt assaulted. Violated. There I was, a paying customer, minding my own business, reading a book on my tablet, patiently waiting, when someone might as well have clobbered me on the head. That's how shocking and disturbing it was. I didn't say anything; just glanced up and at the woman at the reception desk. She was nonplussed. I guess this happens all the time. I had heard it during a previous visit while in the same waiting area.   Sounded like the same male voice. Should I say anything? I didn't. I let it slide. A few days later as I was entering a grocery store, some construction workers were putting up a scaffolding to do some work on the exterior. And the...

 "You always look so busy!  What exactly do you do all day?" I was asked recently. I took it as a compliment. It was meant as one. The person asking was not meaning to be offensive; just curious and interested as to what I was doing to look so occupied all the time. As I began to rhyme off my daily activities, I realized it was a lot, and yet nothing of any real consequence, at the same time. Retired from my previous "full-time" occupations as broadcast journalist and then realtor, I now busy myself with a part-time gig as a companion caregiver for seniors.  That gets me out of the house for many hours of the week, and gets me out of my head as I focus on helping others. The rest of the time is filled with volunteering duties:  helping people exercise in their homes; editing a non-profit magazine; and showing up for a program that helps seniors. In between those duties, there is a household to manage, pets to care for, things to clean, laundry to wash,...

 He fell out of the sky one day last summer, landing at the horse barn. A tiny, bright coloured green, yellow and blue budgie. He was caught and put in a pretty cage in the tack room. And there he stayed. For days. Weeks. Months. A tiny room with a closed door so the barn cat couldn't get in. A cage with only two perches, a water dish and a seed dish. The thought was that his owner would want him back. But despite repeated and numerous attempts to find an owner, none ever showed up to claim him. Perhaps he had escaped through an open window somewhere. Perhaps he was set free intentionally. They can be noisy. I brought him a few seed sticks, where he would get some enrichment having to chew away to get to those tasty treats. I brought him a couple of hanging toys, so he would have something to do and wouldn't be lonely. And then, November came. It turned cold. The heater in the tack room was on high, but it would sometimes get overheated and t...