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Slow progress

You know, until July I was making decent progress towards the goal of running a marathon. I was steadily increasing my weekly mileage, and was running 45 minutes 3 times a week, and 2 hours every Sunday. It was great. But then I started getting this stupid pain in my hip…it wasn’t excruciating or anything, but I was concerned about ignoring it and letting it get worse, so I went to see a physiotherapist.

She’s very sweet and I like her, but man, she’s a taskmaster. Every week she piles on some new exercises I have to incorporate into my hip-strengthening regime. It’s a good thing she hasn’t let me run during the course of treatment, cause who has time to run when they’re doing hip exercises from dawn to dusk every day? I’m gonna have hips of steel by the time Judith is finished with me!

Anyway…she says I can start slowly incorporating some walk/run sessions back into my life, twice a week for now. So, optimistically, I’m hoping to do a half-marathon in May, and a full marathon the following May.

The impractical dream

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Who buys a piano when they live in a cramped apartment at the top of 3 flights of stairs with no elevator? Who buys a piano when they have baseboard heaters running the length of most of the walls in their cramped apartment at the top of three flights of stairs? Who buys a piano when they have a pipe that bursts every winter and soaks everything in the living room?
I’d be crazy. Besides, I love my guitar. I don’t need no stinkin’ piano.

The average idiot on the street

Sad, pathetic, ridiculous, outrageous…but amusing.

Man-on-the-street interviews: Who should we invade next?

Meetings

Meetings make me feel all narcoleptic…my eyes get so heavy and I just want to rest them, just for a minute, and next thing you know I’m waking up after a 10-second nap, the first in a cycle of 10-second naps that continue until the meeting ends. It’s aggravating, and it doesn’t look all that professional either. It even happens when the meeting is interesting.

Deeply disturbing story

Kay’s an 80 year old professional jazz musician, and probably the best person I know. Recently we were sitting at her kitchen table and she told me an interesting but deeply disturbing story. If you don’t like deeply disturbing stories, you might wanna skip this entry.

Kay has lived in her house for 55 years. When the kids left home, she converted part of it into two apartments, and rented them out. She told prospective tenants that these were smoke-free and pet-free apartments. At one point she has a lovely young woman living in the upstairs apartment and a pleasant young tech whiz in the downstairs apartment.

After a few weeks the upstairs tenant muses to Kay that she thinks maybe the downstairs tenant has a cat because she has been hearing odd cat-like noises. Kay asks the young man and he denies having a cat. The young woman, however, continues to suspect there is a cat downstairs, and even suggests that there’s something wrong with the cat because of the strange sounds she is hearing.

At Christmastime, the young man announces he is going away for a week, confesses to having a kitten, and asks Kay if she will feed it while he is gone. She agrees to do so, despite not wanting a cat in the house and having no fondness for cats herself. On the first night, her husband enters the apartment to feed the kitten, and then comes back out to fetch Kay.

“There is something wrong with the cat,” he says. They go back in together, and the kitten is crawling pathetically across the floor. Not being cat people, and unsure of how to take care of a sick cat, they fetch the upstairs tenant. She heats some milk for the kitten and tries to feed it. It doesn’t eat. They put it on a soft pad, and cover it with a towel to keep it warm. The next day, when they return, the kitten is dead.

The young man phones to see if his car has been towed from the street, and they tell him no, his car is fine, but sadly his kitten died. He seems neither surprised nor concerned. He returns a week or so later.

Even after the death of the kitten, the upstairs tenant continues to report strange and disturbing cat-like sounds coming from the downstairs apartment. Kay calls the Humane Society regarding the sounds, and they phone the young man, who says he was just giving his cat a flea bath. Satisfied with this explanation, the Humane Society closes the investigation. Eventually, the upstairs tenant moves out because of these ongoing, disturbing sounds.

Meanwhile, as the months go by, several strange occurrences come to Kay’s attention. Her brother-in-law finds a dead cat in the bushes in the front lawn. Her neighbour sees the young man putting a dead animal in the trunk of his car. Kay and her husband repeatedly hear a sound like someone banging on the pipes. Kay calls the police at one point, but nothing comes of it. The final straw is when Kay’s husband sees the young man, through the window of his apartment, running across the room holding a cat by the throat. Kay and her husband evict the young man the next day. When they go in to clean the apartment, they discover incredible quantities of cat fur everywhere, even clogging up the drains.

Some months later, there is a news report about hundreds of cats that have gone missing in the west end of Ottawa over the past year or so. People are beginning to suspect foul play. Kay calls the tv station anonymously and tells them she might be able to shed some light on their cat mystery. She tells them the whole story and gives them the young man’s new address.

The next day the police show up at Kay’s house to inform her they have arrested the young man. They followed him and saw him throwing a dead cat into the ravine behind his workplace. They figured he was responsible for the deaths of over 500 cats, which he had obtained by various means, mostly theft. He had even been running an ad in the paper offering pet-sitting services, and killed the cats he was paid to care for.

This was an intelligent, well-educated young man from a well-off family. His mother was a psychiatric nurse. He was tried and convicted, but Kay believes his family’s money helped him avoid serious punishment. She believes he paid a $20,000 fine to the Humane Society and served time in a psychiatric institution in Calgary. He is now president of a high tech firm in Calgary.

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I told you it was disturbing. But a quick Google search reveals it’s not that rare.

These things, disturbing as they are, make me feel so sane.

Happy Birthday to me!

Yesterday was my birthday (on a SATURDAY! woohoo) and I had an especially good one. I spent the weekend floating among friends who all wanted to feed me wonderful food, so that made me feel pretty special. Friday night I had a seafood stir-fry and Saturday night I had filet mignon, lobster tail, a baked potato and a veggie medley – followed by a pretty sad-looking but delicious poppy-seed cake with lemon icing. Check out my birthday dinner!

Not only that, but I spent the day totally indulging myself at the annual fabric and yarn flea market and then my favourite yarn store. I bought outrageous amounts of wool. All in all, a most excellent birthday.


P.S. Here’s my birthday cake, and no my name isn’t Sun.

Dog Gone!

He’s back home safe and sound now, all waggly-tailed and smiling. Me too.

Lost Dog

Hmmm.

I took the day off work today because my dog, Sam, is lost. He’s a scruffy old mutt, smart as a whip but old and deaf and frightened of thunderstorms and not good about traffic, and he has been known to bite people who invade his space, especially women and children, so he really oughtn’t be wandering the streets on his own. I left him with friends for the long weekend and I went to visit my sister in northern southern Ontario. When I got back I learned that he had vanished from my friend’s house in the middle of the night on Saturday. A number of clues point to him being at the Humane Society now, but they don’t open till noon.

In the meantime, I sit and wait and contemplate our 13 years together and rue the lack of a truly decent photograph of him. He’s a difficult dog to photograph; he seems to blend into every background.