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Showing posts from May, 2008

Damned if you do. Damned if you don't.

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I have learned a lot of things in the past few weeks. I learned I have high blood pressure. And now I know the difference between systolic and diastolic. I know how your kidneys use sodium. I know what happens when they can't use all that you give them.

My doctor wants me to supply him with a chart of my blood pressure every 3 days for a month. So I had to get it checked in Vancouver. After squeezing the life out of my arm at least 5 times, each giving a reading of a diastolic much more elevated than a systolic number (consistent with the numbers my doc got) the little Chinese dude exclaimed, "You numbers. They close together."
"Yes, I know. That's why I'm here." I replied.
"You no eat salt. You walk." He ordered.

My doctor didn't flat out tell me to lose weight or die, but he implied that perhaps I am packing around a little more than I need to. I think I was secretly hoping he'd give me the "lose it or die" ultimatum so I'd…

I'm so full.

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We just returned home after 4 glorious food-filled days in Vancouver with Brandi & Kore. I may not eat for another week.

We arrived on Friday to the aroma of roasting pork - Kore's successful attempt to prove himself worthy of the role of head chef at the wedding. As if we weren't stuffed enough, we later cruised the streets of the city in search of dessert. And dessert we found!

Right there on the corner of Broadway and Alma was a little piece of heaven: a dessert only restaurant, True Confections. Mmm mm m. The hard part was choosing between cake, pie and cheesecake. The coffee is good too.

Rather than stuff myself sick eating the entire 15 inch piece of melt-in-your-mouth goodness, I saved half of it for breakfast. But of course did not eat it for breakfast because we awoke to the sumptuous smells of coffee, eggs, hash browns and toast which we ate on the sunny balcony over looking the city with the mountains in the background.

Lest the calories go straight to the hips and …

Apparently "annual" means once a year.

I went for a routine female exam with my doctor whom I've had for over 20 years. The receptionist had a hard time finding my file. Apparently I was filed with the dead people due to lack of activity.

I'm not dead yet. But by the flurry of activity that took place once my blood pressure was taken, you'd think it won't be long now. My doctor normally takes the "just leave it alone, you'll grow out of it" attitude whenever possible when treating things. So when he read my bp and scheduled me for every blood, organ and cell test known to man, you can be sure that if my bp wasn't high enough to start with, it was by the time he finished.

He then proceeds with the task at hand.

"Umm. I can't find your cervix."

He removes the tool the nurse had nicely warmed up in a bowl of hot water and inserts some other object he found in a draw full of ice or something. After he dug around for a while and just about the point I thought he was going to reach for…

Honk honk!

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As a general rule, all of my work shifts start at noon. If I were a person able to sleep in, this would be an absolute luxury. Even though I don't sleep in, I do enjoy going to work at this time - except for the drive to work on school days.

This means I am driving through the John McInnis school zone at precisely the same time the kids get out and head to the corner store or Panago for lunch. Even though there are crosswalks and lights at the corner, 90% of the kids choose to randomly step into traffic in the middle of the block. For three years now, I have managed to remain calm and meander along amongst the kids. Although I will say that my urge ranges from screaming at them, to phoning the school, to wanting to have a stack of 5 dollar bills in my car one day and jump out at the intersection and reward the relatively few kids who use the crosswalk. - Of course my suppressed urge totally depends on where I am in my PMS cycle.

Today I made it through the regular throng of kids t…

Prov 16:31 Gray hair is a crown of splendor.

... and most of us pay a lot of money to get rid of it.

Jed's budgeting and financial skills are somewhere between nil-to-none. A lot of that is largely inherited, I suspect. Either way, I carry his bank card and dispense it for short periods of time on an as needed basis.

He reminded me yesterday morning that he needed his bank card because he had made an appointment for a haircut. He had just gotten a hair cut a few weeks ago, before going to Vancouver, and he even paid a substantial amount of money to get some cool blonde streaks put in. I, however, am the only one who has ever seen these cool streaks cuz he always wears a hat - even to bed.

So although he didn't really need his hair done, I was quite encouraged by his initiative to take an interest in his own person grooming, I handed over the bank card before I left for work.

When he said he was going for "a" hair cut, he meant "a" hair cut. I'm sure she only cut one hair because it really doesn't …

Significance of Seven

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I looked down at my countdown clock this morning and these are the numbers I saw. Holy crap! Do you know that significance of that? ... Nothing more than the fact that there are less than eleven weeks till the wedding, but I thought the number looked cool so I took a screenshot of it.

They always warned me not to skip breakfast.

As a child I remember disliking a number of foods: peanut butter, watermelon, cucumbers, green peppers. I don't recall us kids ever being forced to eat anything. My husband's family was the opposite, they had to try some of everything on the table. As adults, my family will eat just about anything and everything - and a fast as we can. Alb's family has a number of picky eaters.
Coincidence? Possibly.

A couple of weeks ago, Alb asked me if I'd had one of Tim Horton's new slow roast beef sandwiches. "They're quite, good," he said. Then the other day he commented how he and Jed had gone to Timmy's for lunch and had slow roast beef sandwiches. "Have you had one yet? They're quite good. Except the horseradish is maybe a little strong."

Now I had see them on tv ... they are covered in onions and mushrooms - Alb's 2 least favourite foods in all the world, so I knew this must be a fantastic sandwich for him to go back twice and be willing t…

Four Hundred and Twenty

420. Four-twenty. If you are under the age of 40, you probably know how this seemingly innocent looking number relates to cannabis. Since I am not under the age of 40, I do not know the origin of it, but I do know that it somehow relates to cannabis. It is my belief that it stems from the 70's in either a movie or a book where a group of kids would meet after school at 4:20 to smoke pot. I even have an inkling this group of kids was called "The Waldos." Okay, that's all I know. I plead innocent of anything else.

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Today my innocent special needs son, aged 21, asked me at least 15 times in the first 45 minutes after I arrived home from work, "What's your plan?" This is his favourite question. He cannot comprehend the answer. "I have no plan. I am tired. I am going to kill time. I am going to go to bed. The end."

After the 15th time I said, "Make me a plan. You decide. I'll do it." As a result we spent an hour in Value Village ton…

Men are Dogs.

When I was in a creative writing course 4 or 5 years ago I totally offended one my male classmates by titling a story "Men Are Dogs." He didn't even want to read it. However, if he'd been the least bit open minded, he'd have realized that the story was in fact more of a slag against the fickleness of women.

Anyway, since I have been trying to help the kids come up with some appropriately "medieval sounding" vows I remembered this story I wrote (which has nothing to do with medieval, but it is about vows) and thought I'd post it. I wrote it from a male voice.


Men Are Dogs

I am spellbound as my bride, wearing her favourite blue jeans and that tight red sweater that I love, walks down the aisle towards me on her father’s arm. My heart is pounding, my palms are sweaty and I am grinning so hard I think my lip is going to split. I wonder what kind of basket-case I will be tomorrow when it’s not just rehearsal. We have been planning this for over a …