Why My Floor Won’t Stay Clean

Thus begins an epic three part saga on why my floor never seems to stay clean. This first part deals with the seasonal enema that is Fall.

Part One: Where Walt Whitman Can Shove His Leaves of Grass

It’s fall.

I like fall.

As a concept.

As a reality fall is messy. Fall is wet. Fall is damp. Fall sees wet leaves enter into my domicile and unless I’m fast enough and smart enough to find them all they dry out and emerge from their hiding place to crackle themselves all over the floor making a hellova mess and requiring constant sweeping.

I curse you leaves (though since you’ve already fallen from YOUR home and entered in to MY home and are breaking apart on MY floor – what curse could I put upon you that would be worse than your current fate?)

Fall.  Think about it. It’s the season of Death. Everything born in the spring and living the high life in summer is now in the process of dying, or trying to hide itself under the earth in the hopes that it can last through the winter.

Those leaves falling slowly and beatifically to the ground are not picturesque. They are dead things cast to the ground because the tree they were on is now trying to protect itself from the winter that comes.

Yeah you’re beautiful fall. But you’re the season of DEATH. I would spit on your children if you had any (would they be called Fallings? Fells? Fallens? Fallen ones?) But you don’t have any – because spring has children – FALL KILLS.

Sure these falling leaves can teach us things if we look close enough:

1)     Beauty in death
2)     Intransigence of beauty
3)     Fall is evil
4)     Rain is wet
5)     A lot of rain is really wet.
6)     Rain + insufficient drainage = flood
7)     Etc

But right now I prefer not to look for any of the above deep seated themes because it’s too hard to watch all those leaves that I’ve come to know over the summer dying, sometimes violently, sometimes peacefully.

Good bye Leif Leaf, Lucy Leaf, Lucky Leaf (who incidentally was NOT so lucky), Lefty Leaf, Llew Leaf, Bob Leaf, Llewellen Leaf, Laura Leaf, Lori Leaf and the rest of the Leaf family. I look forward to seeing your children in SPRING (cause that’s the season of birth).

Tomorrow: Part 2: Cats.

The Long Yellow Light

On my way home today I was pulled over by a cop. And rightly so.

Right about here you're asking yourself why I would have been pulled over. Actually right about now you're wondering why you're reading this boring piece of trash, but back to the point.

Did I rob a bank and lead the coppers in hot pursuit? No. Did I defraud some grandma of her life's savings by telling her to invest in my company that makes golden trivets? No (business idea!). Did I publicly criticize the fact that Barack Obama has been in office as president of the US for over a year and still the world isn't fixed? Well yes... but that's not a crime (until the democrats read this).

In fact all I did was run a yellow light. It was a long yellow too. I saw it coming and tried to break. My foot got caught between the pedals and then I had a split second - slow down and get smucked in the intersection or go on through.

I went through.

And of course right behind me is your friendly motorcycle cop. He caught up to me at the next intersection and told me to pull over. I did, shaking my head all the while. When he strolled up to the window I already had the licence and registration out (this is the first time I've been pulled over by the cops, but TV has taught me the lines). He asked me if I knew why he'd pulled me over. I thought about saying "Because you wanted to say hi?" but the officer didn't look like a Backyardigans fan.

For one of the few times in my life I wisely kept my mouth shut.

"I went through the yellow back there," was what I actually said.

"What happened?" he asked.

"I saw the yellow," I said. "I tried to brake but my foot got caught between the pedals. So I went through." I didn't try to deny it. I didn't give him a lame excuse (I gave him a lame reason (a reason is an excuse that happens to be true)).

"Fair enough," he said. He took my information and went back and checked my credentials and verified that I didn't have any priors. He wrote up a warning ticket and let me go.

Of course, it didn't hurt that I showed him my boobs.

Is perfection too much to ask for? I say no.

This house has seen a number of brooms go in and out the door.

I can, for no good reason, trace my way back through at least four of them. Each and everyone of them, with the exception of the last one (which was a complete piece of shit but at the time we just needed a broom), had features that initially made them attractive. When we got them home, however, the honeymoon was off.

• The fourth last broom we had went to bristle pretty quickly. Turns out it wasn't up to the rough task of cleaning up porous tile. Instead it got relegated to patio duty. Take that fourth to last broom.
• The third to last broom had a guard on it that cracked and that just got annoying. It would cling to things. And let's face it - the only time clinging is good is when its to a rope to keep you from falling off a mountain.
• The second last broom we had - you know I'm really not sure what happened with that one. We still have it - its in the shed and I've used it to clean up the carport and its been fine. Maybe it just got boredom. Boredom, like cheating, has ruined many a good relationship.
• The last broom we had was the aforementioned piece of crap broom. We also still have that one (we're pack rats okay? leave off).
• This current broom - this one is a piece of art. It's a Vileda. If the world of Hogwarts witchcraft and wizardry actually existed, Vileda would be making brooms for the Canadian Quidditch teams. Its beautiful (in the way a stick of wood can be beautiful) but... that's right there's a but. If you turn this broom at just the wrong angle the stick starts to come loose - and not just a little bit loose. If you're not careful the stick will shoot off and impale you to the wall.

These brooms are like tragic heroes - essentially good and admirable but with one fatal flaw that, in the end, is their undoing.

As I was sweeping this evening I got to thinking about the brooms of days past and found myself questioning why each of them had that one great flaw. Why can't something as simple as a broom be perfect? You don't ask much from a broom, it has a simple function. But why does it falter so often.

Or perhaps, like beauty, imperfection is in the hand of the broom holder.

This ... Is.... Jeopardy... but not really

I just heard a commercial for Jeopardy and once again it reminded me of how we, as a society, have taken the punch out of the really good words.

How is it Jeopardy?

The good people at dictionary.com define Jeopardy as: risk of loss or injury, peril or danger. Now that's Jeopardy.

Let's rework the show.

Let's say Bob, a home maker from Desmoines, gets a question wrong. I think Bob should have to pay for his arrogance, for thinking that he could walk on this show and interact with his intellectual betters (Dave, a Lawyer from Providence, Rhode Island and Emily, an Editor from New York). Bob actually thought he could win. Silly Bob.

So when Bob answered: This is the part of the eye that controls how a person sees colour with Rods when it should have been "Cones" he now has to pay the consequences. Of course we could just deduct from his actual bank account the dollar value of the question we got wrong - but that's just money - its so clinical.

How about we take one of Bob's organs? I'm sorry Bob, that incorrect answer is going to cost you a kidney - which will then be donated to a children's hospital (you see? I'm not a complete monster). Choose your next category wisely, Bob.

Other ways to put the jeopardy back in Jeopardy:

An incomplete answer entitles three warriors from a pygmy tribe to strap you to a whirling table and shoot blow darts at you.

You have to listen to Carmen Diaz's audition tape for Moulin Rouge (okay so maybe I am a complete monster).

You're downgraded to the "Wheel of Fortune" level of the game show circuit.

And I think we all can guess what would happen on final Jeopardy can't we?

If I could turn back time...

If I were a time travelling superhero and had already reset all the important things in history that had turned out wrong (you know, like killing Hitler in his sleep, etc) I'd be able to turn my attention to the smaller stuff..

If I could find a way...

One of the things I think I would do is zip back into that meeting room where the guy, during the brainstorming session, says: "You know, we have squeezeable kethcup, and we have squeezeable mustard... what we need to complete the ensemble is squeezeable ... relish!"

At about that point I would turn to the guy and would say: I am from your future. The utopia that exists today is because I brought it all about. I have monitored the strings of time and have sought all those strains of dischord and now I come to you - creator of squeezeable relish. I come to bring you these portentious words...

I'd take back all those words that hurt you...

"Your squeezeable relish does not work! For you see, relish, by its nature, clings together tighter than a trailor park family. You cannot separate it. Only by a feat of inhuman strength can you squeeze hard enough to get more than a relish juice which is both demoralizing and disgusting. Heed my words!

Oh, and nice work on the spray cheese."

And you'd stay...

Rock You Like a Hurricane

Okay so somewhere right now in the Atlantic Ocean there’s a hurricane with my name on it. At last count it was sustaining winds in the neighbourhood of 135 km/h giving it enough juice to be considered a Category 4.

It looks like its going to avoid the east coast US altogether, and that’s good news because God knows those people have had enough bad weather in the last few years.

Hurricane Bill is right now a-blowin’ in the wind on its way towards Canada – Nova Scotia and the Maritimes to be specific. So here’s my question.

Am I a bad person because a part of me is rooting for the Hurricane?

Probably.

So here’s my hope. Bill reaches a 5 and blows and blows and blows and becomes the strongest hurricane there ever was… but never lands. After letting the world know of his awesome power, Hurricane Bill will unleash its rage upon the uncaring ocean and wend its way out to sea in a harmless blustery endeavour (that describes a lot of what I do – harmless blustering endeavour).

Go Bill!

How Facebook Saved My Neighbbor’s Cats

A harrowing story of how two cats almost starved (not really) but were saved by the awesome power of the Internet.

My wife is a nice person.

Most days I’m not. I’m not a bad person per se I’m just not necessarily one of those really thoughtful people. I’ve accepted it. I know what I am. Because I’m not thoughtful I don’t think about it.

Back to my wife. One of her friends and coworkers lives two doors down from us. It’s a mutually beneficial relationship as we can ask her to babysit occasionally and in times of need she can ask my wife to feed her cats should she wish to go visit her parents on Vancouver Island.

This past week however, we had ourselves a little perfect storm (by definition a perfect storm refers to a critical or disastrous situation created by a powerful concurrence of factors (Source: Meriam Webster Online). In this instance the concurrence of factors includes my wife being out of town for a week, my wife’s friend being out of town for a week and me being the sole person in the vicinity able to feed the cats. In a rare moment of consideration I volunteered to fulfill that role.

Where’s the disaster you ask? Well when you put me in sole charge of anything that breathes of its own accords you’re inviting danger in for a stay over.

On Sunday morning my wife departed for the lovely shores of Gambier Island with our 2 kids in tow. On Sunday evening my wife’s friend departed for the shores of Vancouver Island leaving her kittens in the hands of yours truly. The cats were fed, I wouldn’t have to do anything at all until the next day.

Sunday night went by peacefully and Monday morning being a holiday I had myself a sleep in; I awoke and leisurely enjoyed my morning. And what could be more leisurely than hanging out on the Internet playing Bejeweled Blitz on Facebook? (Highest score 210K if you’re wondering). That’s when I saw it.

In the list of scores your friends have gotten over the last week I saw a pic of my wife’s friend, reminding me of two things. One, while her high score was a good high score it wasn’t as good as mine, and two, I’d better feed her cats. I looked at the clock. It was 11:00am...

As fast as I could I walked two doors over and found two very p.o.’d cats. I promptly fed them (with no small fear for my life; I’ve seen that episode of CSI where the cats feed off the old lady) and went back home. When I got home I put post-it notes in very prominent places reminding me to keep up the feeding schedule.

The cats survived the week. I survived the week. The neighbor doesn't know... unless she reads this mind you, so let's keep it between you and us.