A Pint of the Good Stuff

What just popped into your mind?  Coors?  Heineken?  Maybe a nice cold Bud Light Lime?

Nope, this time I'm talking about O negative, as in my blood type.  I just finished making my 10th donation despite being a life long needle phobe.  My first donation was a spur of the moment thing. Just happened to hear the call for donations on the radio as I was driving by the hotel where the clinic was set up.  For some reason I didn't even think twice, just turned in and started the process.  Turns out it was probably one the best decisions I ever made.  Because giving blood may have actually saved my own life.

During the pre-donation screening process they test your hemoglobin for iron, take your temperature and your blood pressure.  'Your blood pressure is a little high,' I was informed.  'DUH!  No kidding I'll bet it's a little high.  I'm about to be stabbed with a needle.'  Next donation, same thing, even though I wasn't so nervous this time around.  By the third donation I was informed that my blood pressure was 201/100.  WHAT??!!  How was my head not exploding?  They let me sit and relax a bit before checking it again and I was within their acceptable range to give my pint.  'You should see your doctor,' they recommended.  'DUH!  No kidding.'

Turns out I have high blood pressure.  'How can this be?' I lamented.  'I don't have any of the life style risk factors.  I don't smoke, I'm not obese, I exercise all the time, the salt shaker has been banished from my table, I rarely eat fast food, and I'm definitely not stressed.'  (Okay, maybe I was a little stressed but only after the diagnosis.)  'Did either of my parents have high BP?'  'Yeah, both of them.' 'Well genetics outweighs all the lifestyle factors.'  'Gee, thanks, Mom and Dad.'

So here's something for you to think about.  When was the last time you had your blood pressure checked at the doctor's?  I know for me, number one:  I rarely needed to go to the doctor.  And number two:  whenever I did go, my blood pressure wasn't checked.  The days of the complete physical seem to be long gone.  So now I'm on medication.  Every morning when I get up the first thing I do is take my little white pill.  And I monitor my BP at home.  This is serious business because the consequences are far too scary:  kidney disease, impaired vision, stroke, hardening of the arteries, heart attack, congestive heart failure.  Gulp.  I've seen first hand what can happen -- my mother is in renal failure and has kidney dialysis three times every week.  I love my mother but those are some footsteps I don't want to follow in.

I believe that everything happens for a reason.  And it's pretty clear to me now why I made that decision out of the blue to donate a pint.  Today when I was checked at the clinic my BP was 130/78. That's a long way from my exploding head just a year ago.

And if you need one, there's another good reason to give blood.  I mean, other than the fact that you may help to save someone else's life.  It's a guilt free way to put your feet up and eat cookies.

The War on Weeds

Thought I was joking about the weed post?  Wheelbarrow x 2 = the amount of weeds I took out of my 10' x 25' vegetable garden. (Is it just me or does this seems an inordinate amount of weeds for the space?)  I have no idea what kind of weeds they are.  All I know is they are prolific, pervasive and a big fat pain.  I have taken the liberty of naming them myself and have identified the six main types that overrun the garden every spring.


1 - The Carpet Weed:  A low lying ground cover that spreads like mad.  But it's very easy to pull out....it literally rolls up like a carpet as there are very few root areas.

2 - The Carpet Weed II:  This sneaky buggar hides under the other carpet weed.  It's nothing but roots and grows so low to the ground it's damn near impossible to get a finger hold on it.

3 - Dilly Weed:  It looks just like the dill weed used in pickling....tall and fragile.  So fragile they just break off without letting the root be pulled.

4 - Clover:  God forbid clover invades your garden.  Feels like it's rooted in cement.

5 - Horsetail Weeds:  I used to hate this one...until all the other weeds showed up.  When it's small it takes hours to clear one little patch.  But once it's grown a bit, they pull out very easily, roots and all.

6 - Bellatrix Weed:  A new one that just showed up this year.  Tall stems with teeny-weeny-itsy-bitsy white flowers.  As soon as you touch it, brush against it, or even disturb the air around it, the little flowers pop and seeds fly everywhere.  As I was battling this one and trying to avoid getting the flying seeds in my eyes, I felt like I was in Bellatrix's vault at Gingrotts with the multiplying charm.

Now I'm ready to plant the veggies.  The war on weeds will continue all summer.  Always something to look forward to.  So if I hate it so much, why do I keep doing it?  There's no law that says I have to keep gardens.  It's simple really.  Beer tastes so much better when it's earned.

Cheers!

PS -- No cats were harmed during the writing of this blog post.

Mary Mary Quite Contary

How does YOUR garden grow??

I'm about to make a very Un-Canadian confession -- I don't particularly like gardening.  I say that's an un-Canadian thing to say because here in the great frozen north (or the great soggy north in my case), we are supposed to rejoice when the ground thaws and rush outside to get out hands into the soft, warm mother earth.  I see my neighbours outside for hours on end bent over their little weed patches, wide brimmed hats firmly in place and frankly, I just don't get it.

Sure, I love a beautiful garden and home grown vegetables as well as the next person.  And I go through the motions every year.  I plant the flowers.  I plant the veggies.  I weed, I prune, I dead head, I fertilize.  I curse the plethora of neighbourhood cats that use my gardens as their personal litter box and spend my gardening time plotting all manner of revenge.  But do I enjoy it?  Not really. There are just so many other things I'd rather be doing.  (And not all involve the aforementioned cat revenge.)

Think of it this way.  We get, what?....three -- maybe four if we're lucky -- really nice months of weather. We look forward to summer all winter long.  Just so we can get outside to work, work, work??  Just so I can set out a very tasty smorgasbord for the deer??  By the time we clean up from the winter, put out the summer patio furniture, plant the gardens, care for the gardens and mow the grass ad nauseum, it's time to put it all away and wait, noses to the window, for the next summer to roll around so we can do it all over again.

Maybe it's because I'm not very good at it.  I grow great daffodil leaves, but no blooms.  Same for tulips.  My hanging baskets are limp and pathetic.  The petunias are straggly, the roses forlorn.  My lilacs hate me.

But I think I'm coming up with a solution.  Grasses.  They're beautiful, perennial and the deer don't eat them.  I have a New Zealand sedge grass that looks dead before it's even planted.  And it's supposed to look that way.  Now, that's my kind of plant.

For my next blog post I'm going to tell you what I really think about weeds.

Up the Ladder to the Roof

There are definite advantages to living on an island in a rain forest.  Mild winters...spectacular scenery...amazing wildlife.  Really, really big trees.

There are also disadvantages.  Like rain.  Lots and lots and lots of rain.  I'm talking buckets of rain.  If you don't like liquid sunshine, I wouldn't suggest living in a rain forest.  But at least you'd be well hydrated.  Bet you can't tell from my photo that I'm 110 years old.

But the biggest disadvantage of living in a rain forest is the moss.  It's why I run -- stand still too long and the moss starts growing on your north side.  My lawn has a large moss component, it grows on my cement walkways and chokes out my flower pots.  But worst of all is the roof.  In the wet winter months it looks like a living, breathing, creeping entity that is slowly swallowing my house.  At Christmas its bright green hue lends a very festive air to the neighbourhood.

Every time I drive up to my house I think, 'damn, I better call someone about that roof', but once inside it's out of sight, out of mind.  In my 20's my friends dubbed me "the princess of organization" and it's a crown that I'm pretty confident I could still compete for today.  But I can procrastinate with the best of them and when it comes to the roof I've been the Queen of Procrastination.

So why not just do it myself?  I mean, it's just sweeping...right?  Spraying on a little bleach.  Well, it all comes down to one word -- ladders.  And heights.  Okay, so two words.  I've always had a healthy fear of heights.  That just makes good sense.  My fear of ladders was a little harder earned...

December 2000.  I'm a newly single INDEPENDENT woman.  Which means I can put up the Christmas lights myself.  So I'm up the extension ladder on the sloping driveway and it's wet (rain forest, remember?)  And it seems I incorrectly factored the base of ladder to roof ratio.  Next thing I know I'm riding the ladder face first into the driveway.  I'm left with a broken elbow, split chin, shifted teeth, swollen face and a very healthy fear of extension ladders.  (And the realization that all those years I held the ladder -- I really was being useful.)

So I finally hire some guys to do the dangerous stuff -- to climb the ladders and go up to de-moss my roof.  (I know I've left it a little too long when the first words I hear out of one of them when he gets out of his truck are -- "Oh, Christ.")  Before they even start, one of the guys runs headlong into the hydro pole on my front lawn and nearly knocks himself unconscious.  How can you not see a hydro pole??  He gratefully accepts the Tylenol I offer.  When the ladder they have on the roof to get from one level to the next comes crashing to the ground I start to wonder if I have enough house insurance to cover these guys.

In the end the roof looks like new and they're still in one piece.  I breathe a sigh of relief and go inside to wash up.  Seems I've been standing still too long and I'm looking a little green around the edges.


On another note...My Leafs blew a 4-1 lead in the 3rd period of game 7 tonight and then went on to lose in OT.  I'm a forever fan but I'm bummed.  I ate chocolate. 

The Art of Multi-Tasking

When the weather gods bestow upon you August-like temperatures on the first weekend in May, how do you justify going inside at 4:00 to watch a hockey game?  First off, let me clarify -- this isn't just any hockey game.  This is the Leafs in the Stanley Cup playoffs for the first time in 9 years.  As a die hard never jump off the bandwagon fan since 1972, not even weather perfection is going to stop me from watching game 2 against the Bruins.  The key is to find a way to do so guilt free.  And the key to that is setting goals and multi-tasking.

It's early in the season so I don't feel compelled to do all the yard work in one day.  I can bite off manageable chunks, say like the front garden.  But first, bake a cake, start the laundry and walk the dog before the heat of the day sets in.  Hang the laundry -- it's dry almost as soon as I put the line out.  Sweep the front porch, furniture out and washed.  Bring in the laundry, hang another load.  Plant the lilies of the valley that have been languishing in pots since last summer.  Dig a hole.  Bury my little budgie who died a few days ago.  A moment of silence and quiet reflection for my little Johnny.  I had him almost eight years.

Oh wait, I'm supposed to be finding balance in my life.  Time out for a cup of coffee and read a chapter.

Check the clock.  I'm doing good.  Weed, weed, weed.  Water.  Garden ornaments in place.  Bring in the laundry, hang another load.

Don't forget that balance.  Into the shop.  Cut some glass.

And it's 4:00.  Into the basement.  Hockey Night in Canada theme song.  I get comfortable.  I'm practically guilt free, except for one thing -- the fish tank is right behind me.  The fish tank I haven't yet cleaned out.  Okay, I can do this.  I can clean up the tank during commercials and intermissions. No one really wants to listen to Don Cherry anyway.

Scrub, scrub, scrub.  Add water.  The final horn sounds.  LEAFS WIN!!  And the fish tank is clean and pristine...a beautiful thing.

This morning I check the tank to make sure everything is running the way it should.  The pleco is out swimming around, not sucked onto the back wall where he spends 98% of his time.  We make eye contact.  And then, I swear, he smiles at me.

Hmmm, I think....maybe some fish would be nice.