Sharon's Blurb

  There is a very large Red Bud tree in the centre of our front lawn. For a week or so in May, it blossoms tiny little pink flowers. It has become something of a landmark on our street; people stop and stare, smell the flowers to see if there is a scent, and sometimes even take a photo or two. Passerby often comment on it; it has become the pride of the neighbourhood. It was there when we moved into this house ten years ago, and continues to spread and grow. It has reached out over the driveway now, shading my car, and also most of the lawn too, giving shade to the grass. Last year, an ice storm damaged one of its larger limbs, cracking it away from the trunk. We called a tree company which suggested securing it back to the tree with three bolts. Instead, we cut off the limb close to the main trunk. A large circle remains where the limb was amputated. I am not sure what the future holds for that tree; some young sucker/saplings have started sprouting around th...

  When I was taking the Journalism course at Humber College back in the late 1980's, the weekly Current Events quiz in one of my classes was the bane of my existence. I dreaded it. Unlike one fellow classmate who aced it every week, I was lucky if I got 5 out of 10. Despite being in Journalism, I just didn't keep up with the news. I didn't have the time, I told myself. Or even the desire, if I'm being honest. Even throughout my long and storied Journalism career in Broadcasting, which I enjoyed for more than two decades, I often didn't have a "world view" of the goings on and current events. My dad would often ask me if I had heard about this story or that story in the news; I was embarrassed to say that I had mostly not. He was stymied that even though I worked in the industry, I knew little about world events and goings on in the bigger sphere of things. Again, I just didn't have the time. Didn't have the time to get through...

  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...

  "Did you bring your gloves?" I found myself involuntarily asking my senior client the other day. "It's really windy out today - don't get blown away!" I then blurted out without thinking that they are a grown-assed adult and don't need to be reminded about that! Least of all from me! I have never had children and am not a birth mother. In my 20's I yearned for children, as one does when one's hormones are in peak form. However, by the time I hit 30, I came to my senses. I had a lovely little career in broadcasting going by that time and didn't want to put that on the shelf to have children. A choice I have never regretted to this day. My maternal instincts have been satisfied doting on numerous pets, however. And more recently, some long repressed motherly instincts are rearing their lovely heads, and I find myself turning into my mother. Something they say all women do, eventually. In a good way. And now, I find I...

 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...