A short time back, I “spoke” about time, and making it my bitch, and spending more time doing things I enjoy rather than taking on extra tasks and responsibilities. Not to toot my own horn too much, but so far so good. February and March were largely free of tasks I said “Yes” to instead of thinking things through. I even gasp dropped a commitment and blantantky disregarded an invite to be involved in something I’d normally jump all over being involved with. Yay me!

I have one HUGE task left to do that I don’t really wanna do, but sooo want to get to the end of. My Masters thesis. The bane of my existence. The thorn in my side, and main thing that keeps me awake at night (though I sleep fairly well, to br honest). One thing I do have goals for, fairly ambitious ones. And on Friday I need to submit a form asking for an extension. Admitting that hey, I’m not as quick as your average bear doing a M.Eng, but I declare that I AM going to finish. If they’ll let me. Maybe they won’t approve my extension, in which case I’ll have a great cry and move on.

But let’s be positive. I am making thesis progress, slowly and painfully. I am taking time for me, and cutting back on taking on tasks that aren’t worth the aggravation they cause.

As I catch a bit of the Clising Ceremonies of the 2010 Winter Olympics, I have to admit that I watched a lot more of these games than I anticipated. One reason is convenience; many of the events were on in prime time, and the TV happened to be on. But I also got sucked into the whole National Pride thing.

I’m lucky enough to be drinking some wine, sitting with B and watching TV tonight. We’re waiting for the Olympic Opening Ceremony to start. I’m not “into” the Games, generally it’s not my thing. I’m interested in seeing who was chosen to light the flame, and I do want to see Clara Hughes (apology if mispelled) bring in the flag… I find her determination and dedication inspiring. I guess the same would be true if I knew more about some of the other athletes. But other than hockey, curling and speed skating, I have no plans to watch any sports. I find some of the practises of VANOC and IOC to be insulting, ridiculous and wasteful. I do wish the athletes the best and hope the folks I know in Vancouver have a good time (and aren’t too inconvenienced by the Games). But I don’t plan on catching much of the coverage.

Having some time before bed and not wanting to do anything useful or productive, I turned on the TV. I came across the show “Hoarders”. I’ve heard about it but have never seen it until now. Gotta say, it makes me feel a little better about the state of our basement. :)

But I can somewhat relate to the whole hoarding problem. Has someone (or your inner voice) made you feel guilty for letting food go to waste? Or throwing away something that you might use in future? Have you bought something you didn’t really like or didn’t really need because it was an amazing bargain? I’ve done all these at some point. There is no real logic behind it. Now take those minor feelings, multiply them, and you’ve got yourself a hoarder.

I don’t think I’ll make “Hoarders” a regular part of my TV watching, but it’s a good reminder to keep buying and “keeping” in check. And to clean a bit more of the basement.

Just testing out writing from my iPod touch via an app. Yes, there’s an app for that.

Welcome to 2010. February 2, 2010 to be exact. sigh Time flies when you’re having fun. Or not having fun. Not that I’m not having fun. It’s just that no matter what you do, or don’t do, time marches on. It’s not waiting for the world or situation to change, like you might be. Time really has no emotions or mercy. It certainly stops for no one - I’m not one who believes in the notion that time slows in a tender moment. I normally experience the opposite. The most boring moment can last a lifetime, but the fun and touching times are over before you know it.

It’s up to us to grab the moments that matter before they pass us by and tear them open like a gift, blow them up like a balloon to fill all possible space and bounce them around, float them along, play with them and around them. I just finished watching “Groundhog Day”, and one thing I had forgotten about is how much Bill Murray’s character Phil grows, once he realizes the gift he is given - the gift of time, the chance to live each day knowing that there’s another one coming and it will hold exactly what he expects and he knows exactly how to make a difference.

I don’t have resolutions this year. I don’t even have concrete goals. I am trying to make time my friend (my bitch?), to tame it, organize it. I find too much of my time is spent doing Stuff I’d rather not be doing, and while I accept a certain amount of this is necessary in life (unless I’m independently wealthy, then screw it), I’m growing selective about what Stuff occupies my extra time. Or at least, I’m trying to. At the very least, I’m figuring out that saying “No” once in a while hurts someone a lot less than I imagine it will when I’m running through reasons not to say “No” in my head. The Stuff that occupies my time should first and foremost be good for me and the folks I love/like - I’ve started running again, trying to spend more time being social with family and friends.

We’ll see how it goes, hey?

It seems like we were fated to have Wesley in our lives, as it took him two tries to stay here.  Our first encounter with Wes was in late fall 2004, when we temporarily hosted him while Beagle Paws searched for a new foster family for him.  His previous family could not keep him in their apartment; anytime they left him alone to get groceries or even go to the laundry room, he would howl mournfully, disturbing the neighbours.  Since the foster family did not have a car and we lived close by, they walked him to our house to see him off.  He needed to a home with constant company or another dog, something we could provide for the short term, but not something we were really interested in providing on a longer basis because of April and her alpha dog needs.  During his weekend stay, Wesley proved to be a great beagle, but his non-neutered status posed a few interesting situations with April.

Once in a while after that, we would check the Beagle Paws web page to see if Wesley had finally been adopted; he had not.  In March 2005, we got a call from Beagle Paws.  They needed a more permanent foster home for Wesley, who was now living with an older couple and their dogs and cats.  Wesley was now neutered, and we felt he and April could happily co-exist until he found his forever home.  We quickly discovered that they could, providing Wesley was not kenneled during the day while we were at work or at night while we tried to sleep.  Upon kenneling him, it was the first and only time we could identify that mournful howl that had gotten him moved from his other foster homes.  So at night he took his place next to April, right by our feet.

Though we didn’t officially adopt Wesley until December 2005, he was part of our family long before that.  Everyone loved the little dog with the sad Eeyore eyes who said very little, did not seek attention but loved receiving it, occasionally said “Arrroooo” to let you know he was there, and sought treats as if he was starving (trust me, he was not).  Wesley did suffer from separation anxiety.  Shortly after we departed with out suitcases to go on a two-week holiday in 2006, our dog-sitters Chris and Kerry arrived to find long strings of rug trailing from Wesley’s mouth.  When extremely anxious, he ate anything he shouldn’t (books, important papers, rugs, clothing, human food, etc.) and was prone to “accidents”.  But all blame was absolved when you looked at his face; you could tell that he didn’t mean it, he was just worried that his humans weren’t coming back.

It is hard to pin-point Wesley’s age. When he was first listed for adoption in fall 2004, he was thought to be 3-4 years old. When we started fostering him in March 2005, his age had been bumped up to 6-7 years old (which I directly link to his neutering :) ). On our first visit to the vet as Wesley’s owners in January 2006, the doctor estimated that Wesley was about 9-10 years old.  In many photos, he has been mistaken for being a young dog because of his expression and enthusiasm (usually because someone is holding a treat in an attempt to get the photo).  Before arthritis became a big problem, his jaunty walk was almost puppy-like.

Prior to being rescued by Beagle Paws, Wesley may have had a rough life.  We’re not certain, but were told he was found covered in tar when he was taken into Beagle Paws custody.  We found this out when getting his medical history for the vet when dealing with a paw puncture that would not stop bleeding.  When they shaved him to get rid of the tar, his anxious nature led to a nose bleed that was not easily stopped.  The source of the bleed in his paw puncture was thankfully not his anxiety but rather the artery he had nicked, which was treated by a new girlfriend, Dr. Laite.  While fixing that, they removed a strange growth on his paw and he spent two weeks poorly maneuvering around the house with a lamp shade collar.

Wesley was no stranger to the vet or the lamp shade collar.  He suffered constant annoying ear infections, and upon the recommendation of the vet, had aural reconstructive surgery to remove the bend in his ear canal.  This reduced the ear infections, but did not eliminate the need for frequent ear cleanings, with “ear dirt” of the likes we have never seen on April.  He also had arthritis, for which we did not seek treatment; a semi-regular glucosamine and lifts on the bed and couch seemed to do the trick.

In May 2007, Wesley quickly became very sick.  He stopped eating, started vomiting, and lost all energy.  We were very worried.  An emergency visit to the vet and some tests showed that his liver function was quite poor.  A weekend stay at the vet’s office with IV to boost his fluids did the trick to fix him, but we left armed with a daily vitamin, special food, and a warning to stay clear from commercial treats.  In the process, Wesley had found a new girlfriend - his vet, Dr. Wilson.

Despite his health troubles, Wesley enjoyed his quiet life.  He became quite animated and pranced around when we returned home from work, if we were heading out for a walk around the street, or when he received one of his special treats (veggie biscuits from the vet’s office).  He slipped and slid on the hardwood while trying to stand and eat, or jump off the bed (he could never jump on the bed),  or if his nails needed a trim.  He enjoyed curling up on the couch or his bed, following us around to see what we were doing, and just being around his people.

Over the last four months of 2008, we noted a decline is Wesley’s health and activity levels.  Walks were kept short, and eliminated in colder weather (his hips could not keep up with his desire to get around the street).  He stopped going down the patio steps to the backyard, and would spend a lot of time waiting at the corner of the house to come in after a visit to the backyard (instead of at the door) or just staring off into space.  He slept a lot more, ate a lot less, and lost weight.  His rapid decline over Christmas led to another trip to the vet on January 2, 2009. There we received confirmation that something was wrong - a tumour in his throat that would eventually block his windpipe.  Wesley spent his last few weeks enjoying all-day love and attention from all his fan club members on Christmas vacation, and his last few moments pigging out on some “forbidden” treats and quietly cuddling in the arms of the family who loved him. He was about 12 years old.

In the second of an ongoing series of posts, I’d like to share with you, dear reader (singular), what boils my blood, what grinds my gears, what gets my goat.  Some may think I’m easy going but there are many things that get on my nerves.  And this is one of them.

I send and receive a number of emails over the run of the week.  Work email, IEEE email, social emails, responding to emails telling me how to enlarge things and get money from a dead guy’s Swiss bank account.  It’s all good.  I’m a big fan of email over actually talking to people.  But not all emails are created equally.  Not even emails written by the same person on the same day.  And some email habits really drive me nuts.  Maybe I’m old-school.  Let me share with you some of my email driven angst:

• Emails sent without subjects. I cringe everytime Gmail says (no subject) for the subject to an email I’ve received.  I don’t CARE if the email is a one-liner asking me about my weekend plans.  Or if you only email me on one topic, therefore there’s no need to explicitly state the subject.  I don’t care if you forgot.  The subject line is there to be filled in.  I like to know what’s inside.  I like to look back on the subject and determine what your email was about.  And usually, if I’m replying to a no-subject email, I fill one in.  You may not notice, but it makes me a little happier.

• Emails with more than one topic. I’m a bit… OCD about filing my email.  I love Gmail and how it allows me to tag one email with multiple labels.  But I’d prefer not to have to do that.  Personally, I’d prefer two separate emails with well-crafted subject lines.

• Emails not written coherently. It’s a informal form of communication, but it’s only communication if both parties are communicating.  If I can’t understand you, it’s not really communicating.  I’m not talking good grammar, or full sentences.  Re-read your email from the point of view of one who did not write it… can you understand what you are trying to get across?

• SPAM from myself. Do you get this?  It’s happening a lot on my school account.  And I’m not seeing a damn cent from it.  Argh.

That is all.

In the first of an ongoing series of posts, I’d like to share with you, dear reader (singular), what boils my blood, what grinds my gears, what gets my goat.  Some may think I’m easy going but there are many things that get on my nerves.  And this is one of them.

I like grocery shopping.  I like making the list, and then ignoring the list as I load up on ice cream and cookies and whatnot.  But there are a few things about this semi-weekly outing that drive me nuts:

• People who bag bananas.  Bananas come pre-bunched.  And in peels.  WHY do you need to further protect them by putting them in a plastic bag?  A plastic bag, I might add, that is good for practically nothing once it is done transporting your precious bananas home.  Really.  They’re not that fragile.  They survived growing on that tree out in nature, and the truck from Belize to here; they’ll survive the ride home.  Oh, and I hold this same grudge for people who bag one apple, orange, green/red pepper, etc.

• The lack of grocery selection in the grocery store that sells me motor oil. Okay, I don’t buy motor oil.  Someone else takes care of that for me. :)  But if I did, would I buy it whilst buying my strawberries and Havarti?  Probably not.  Some probably find it handy or convenient.  But when I need andouille sausage or dried hot peppers, it’s frustrating to know that the store doesn’t have it, but hey, they have Monopoly and a large selection of light bulbs.

• No one knows where to find the toothpicks. Toothpicks fall into a category of goods that the fine folks who organize grocery stores don’t know how to handle.  So they don’t.  Instead, they place them randomly around the store in hopes you will buy other things while looking for them.

• SUV-sized carts.  I’m generally not interested in buying groceries to fill my bomb shelter.  Why is my cart sized specifically for that purpose?  The basket is too small.  The cart is too large.  Oh, for a happy medium.

That is all.

This will be a post.  Honest.  But not right now, I’m going to walk the dogs.