44

My birthday is the day before Hitler's. True, I came around 20 years after Hitler was gone forever, but it's still sad that this is the easiest way to remember my birthday by. Or, I could have said it falls on the anniversary of the Oklahoma bombing. Not sure which is worse.

This year it's number 44. I'm no wiser than when I was 43, though. I don't feel older, just the number that follows my name and a comma (if written the way the newspapers do) had changed. It's not a round number and there wasn't a celebration. Maggie and I lazed it away nicely, starting with a dim-sum, continuing with an overpriced Cafe Mocha at Distillery district's Balzac's cafe--we like the atmosphere and went to take our fill of Toronto's snobbism; it ended up at the Black Bull on Queen Street West where we took the window table and enjoyed a OK food and a view at the artsy, wacky people strolling by. The shocker came with the $23 parking bill at the Richmond and John underground parkade. It costs more than a dinner for one! If I remember the lesson when I'm 45, I'll take the subway to downtown!

Winter legs

This is just a theory, but I seem to find more proof to its validity daily. By careful and extensive observation I came to conclusion that in certain season, which starts right after the deep colds of winter, but before the pleasant warmth of spring, women who bare their legs in shorts and mini skirts have the same type of meaty, chunky legs. I call those the winter legs. The other kind, the sexy legs, are not yet to be seen, because their owners wisely keep them warm and covered. After many months of the long winter, men will turn after any kind of naked female flesh. So, before there's a choice of sexy legs to turn heads, the winter legged women bask in temporary attention and stolen glances of the flesh-starved males. In shortest of shorts and skirts, they risk frostbites, pneumonia, and they brave the barely above freezing temperatures which turn their fleshy legs purplish and goosebump-ish. Today, there was an exhibition of the winter legs on the streets of downtown Toronto, under deceiving sunshine of a chilly Saturday.

Bunny update

With all the spices and repellents Maggie dumped on her tulips to repel the rabbits, I was afraid the plants will wither, but they miraculously survived. At least so far. Unfortunately, the rabbits kept visiting and nibbling the leaves. The bite marks are much smaller now, probably because of the amount of the hot pepper powder Maggie generously applied, but there are new marks nevertheless. Today we changed the strategy and bought chicken fence, wrapped it around the flower bushes and now our garden looks like an unsuccessful sci-fi exhibition with three wire-fence cylinders. Makes me wonder what good is it to have flowers if you can't have them grow and blossom openly in the garden. I suggested Maggie to plant something with thorns next year. Or, better yet, a meat-eating plant. One that can digest a rabbit.

Vacuum

I'm not talking about the spiritual vacuum, although I may add a few choice words about that too. But, maybe not today. No, today I'm talking quite literally about a vacuum. We did same hasty cleaning on Sunday and our old vacuum cleaner vomited all its dirt on our freshly cleaned floors. Then it didn't want to suck as it's supposed to and we ended up applying the broom. After a long discussion whether to buy another hand held vacuum we decided to explore the central-vac option.

Result: in the garage is a small but feisty central unit that really sucks! Just as it should. The floor is so clean we could eat off it. But, we won't try that. Maybe Maggie's constant sneezing subsides now that the dust is efficiently dealt with.

Easter Bunny (no, really!)

If I were a rabbit, I'd be afraid of humans! Heck, I'm afraid of humans anyway. But, if I were a 0.5 % of their size, I'd be terrified.

Now you wonder what I'm rumbling about? See, Maggie and I went out for an Easter dinner tonight and returned after 9 p.m. As Maggie pulled into our driveway, I spotted something on our lawn. It wasn't moving, looked like a lump of garbage. I already started cursing the neighbors for throwing garbage in our backyard, when the headlights fell on the lump and it perked its long ears, but otherwise stood there immobile. Margo pulled the car next to it. Nothing. Rabbit stares at us unimpressed. A bear in me wakes up and I come out with a growl, arms spread like an eagle and moved menacingly toward the bugger. Finally some sense came to it and it moved away. I chased it to the corner of the fence, not quite sure what to do when I have it cornered, but half-decided to try and grab it by the ears, when he (or she--sorry it was dark, I couldn't tell) (actually, I wouldn't be able to tell even if it wasn't dark) darted underneath the fence through the gap I thought to be too small for a bunny of that size. And so my hunting instincts went unused. I'm not even sure I installed enough of the fear into this one to keep it away at least for the night. I think I'll change tactics--checking the hunting rifle prices online...

Night thugs

They come quietly at night. They scutter around leaving small footprints in the wacky April's snow. They poop in the backyard with no regard for the property. Then, sneaky and vicious, they move to the front yard and attack the tulip buds. Their teethmarks are on every leaf, every bud. Soon there are no leaves and no buds, but chewed up green stumps. They move on, unrepentant. They are wild rabbits, and we hate them!

If you followed previous episode of our rabbit saga, you know that Maggie prepared a potent potion meant to repel the furry thugs. She sprayed it all around the surviving few tulips, with no effect. Next morning there were more stumps and bite marks. So, Maggie rolled up her sleeves, locked herself in the kitchen and came out with even spicier (and stinkier) liquid. This time she applied the remedy on the tulips. It worked, or so it seems. The number of flower-casualties in our garden showed no increase. Or, maybe the ruffians moved on to the greener pastures, now that they reduced our tulips to lettuce. The war continues...

Hating snow (and rabbits) in April

I know this is Canada, but snow in mid-April? Just as I was about to put away the snow shovel for the season? Not to mention the soaked shoes, wet clothing, slush-sprayed running gear...

Didn't we have a long enough winter as it is? Why is it coming back, just as Spring warmed us up for a couple of weeks? Whine as I may, it has been snowing the whole day yesterday and as a result the roads are slippery and wet today. People here have very short memory, seems that they'd forgotten how to drive in winter conditions already, so the roads are full of ice AND idiots. For my part, I mellowed down, driving slow and letting all the bozos cut in front if they want. It must be because I'm so spent with my runs--they are getting really long. When you consider a 16 km run a short one, you can imagine what the long ones are like...

As I feared, the bunnies found Maggie's flower garden, nibbled a few tulip buds. Maggie is livid. No more "cute bunnies" it's all the "stupid rabbits" now! She wanted me to pee on the flowers--what's left of them--to repel the bunnies. Imagine me, standing in the front yard for everyone to see, urinating on our flowers! Luckily, the snow saved me, Maggie reconsidered and is preparing some lethal concoction of spices and other ingredients which I dare not mention. It will be dispersed around our mini-garden. Watch out, stupid rabbits!

The ugly men's thing

Maggie calls it the ugly men's thing.

When you run in chilly or windy weather (today was windy as hell), the nose starts misbehaving: it gets blocked and it drips. At first I tried to sniffle and contain the downpour inside, but with the wind in chest I was struggling for air, and there was no other way than doing the ugly men's thing. I have it perfected so I don't even need to shorten the stride, just turn the head aside, slightly lean forward and blow it all out. I even manage to avoid the shirt sleeve. And, I try to discharge when there are no people around. I am even so considerate never to unload on somebody's front yard; I am equally good doing it on both sides and can always drop it at the opposite side of the sidewalk from the front lawns. Sometimes, though, I catch disgusted looks of the people passing by in cars. Ah, one can never avoid it completely. I try not to spray the pedestrians, but I can't possibly wait for the traffic on the street to clear before I blow my nose!

Now you're thinking why don't I use handkerchief, right? Simply: the handkerchief made of fabric gets soaked quickly and is quite disgusting to handle during as well as after the run; the paper tissues usually dissolve from sweat even before I'm about to use them. See, there's really no other way, but to empty it all in the nature. At least I'm trying to be considerate about it!