I woke up feeling sick even after handfuls of Chinese herbs and mega doses of vitamin C the night before. The Sweetie tried to coo something sympathetic but I could see him recoiling slightly, edging himself away from me and my stuffed up nose, fearful that my germs were going to leap on him at any second. I know I caught it last weekend. It may have been the guy behind me at the airport who coughed so enthusiastically that it actually ruffled my hair like a virus-laden breeze. I shouldn’t have reached for the inflight magazine on the plane. They are germ incubators masquerading as glossy reading material. You never know who has been thumbing through that thing and how many times the pages have been used as a kleenex. The sickness may have been delivered by my niece and nephew who were both extremely phlegmy. At one point I looked down to find a glistening mound of mucous on my thigh, hand delivered by my nephew. Whatever the source, I woke up this morning feeling woe-begotten and sporting a taupe complexion.

Then I stumbled across a brilliant gem on YouTube and had the best laugh of my day. Everything was going to be alright, plugged head or not. I immediately demanded that The Sweetie watch it with me. He just seemed puzzled.

“What are we looking at?” he asked as I laughed uproariously. “It’s just a photo of a cat.”

“But the music!” I yelled,” It’s that horrid Rick Astley song!”

“So?”

“The cat looks just like Rick Astley, it’s like they’re twins!”

I then forced The Sweetie to watch the ghastly Rick Astley video from the eighties. “You see it don’t you?” I cried.

“Who would look at that cat and then think of Rick Astley and then put it on YouTube?” The Sweetie mused to himself as I continued to slap my knee in delight. He began to back away.

“I am happy for you.” He said as he turned away and left the room, probably suspecting that I have been swilling the cold medicine a little too eagerly.

I am off to Boston for the weekend to visit my sister and her kids and I am approaching it with a touch of trepidation. My three year old nephew is going through a phase of nightmares, waking up screaming that there is a giant cow in his room. I know most kids experience nightmares or night terrors, imaginary friends and other freaky phases. My concern is that maybe being young and unformed, my nephew is more psychically in tune and is in fact picking up on something. They live in an old house. There have been a few times that I have jolted awake in the middle of the night feeling something oppressive and needing to to have the light on. Sometimes when I use the back stairs I feel strange and disoriented. A ghostly cow wouldn’t be the worst of hauntings, although the Amityville Horror featured an ominous pig (not that I ever saw the Amityville Horror, I knew it would scare me too much, but I’ve heard things).

When I was a kid I used to see apparitions march around my crib and I would scream until my parents came running into my room. Perhaps my nephew is just going through a normal phase in childhood development but maybe he is really experiencing something.

I am left with a few dilemmas:

a) Do I bring sage to burn to rid his room of bad energy and risk having my sister think I am a new age freak?
b) Do I bring my baggie of sage on the plane even though it looks like a baggie of pot? How do I explain to security that I am bringing sage leaves to help exorcise my nephew’s room of ghostly cows?
c) Do I burn the sage and risk pissing off some restless spirits in the house?
d) Do I bring the spooky book that I am currently reading for fear that I might freak myself out?
e) Do I ask my sister to get some Boston Cream pies from the Omni Hotel, known for the best Boston Cream pies, or do I let her just concentrate on dealing with her kid?

If I didn’t have so many things to ponder I could work on heightening my own psychic ability. Then I would know what I was dealing with and I’d be able to eat some Boston cream pie in peace.

Sometimes my penchant for cute animals in ridiculous costumes can get tiresome. Not tiresome for me, however. With that in mind, enjoy this Halloween treat. How can anyone not love a cat that looks like an old man wearing a pumpkin costume really, really enjoying some chicken?

Sometimes you don’t know when a good day will sneak up on you. I am startled if I am low on a bright warm day when the birds are chirping. It feels like a sucker punch. Likewise it seems like tumultuous weather should correspond with tumultuous events. Today I had moments of giddiness in the drizzling rain. Go figure.

I had to run an errand somewhere not easily accessible by public transit. It was dark and drizzly outside, I felt lazy and definitely not in the mood for errands. My hood kept blowing off my head and eventually I gave up trying to make it stay put. Not being a fan of damp late October cold, I expected a strong does of crabbiness to settle in. Instead I looked up to see a cardboard heart tacked to a telephone pole and I was instantly cheered. I was moved by the idea that someone took the time to cut out a paper heart and leave it on a pole as a warm greeting to whoever lifted their eyes. I walked through residential streets decked out for Halloween with plastic ghosts and graves with corny inscriptions like Ima Goner and Bad to the Bone and found myself snorting. I was delighted when I passed someone walking their cute muzzled terrier. I initially thought that the dog must be dressed up as Hannibal Lecter for Halloween until I realized it was probably just a biter. Crossing guards in their bright orange raincoats looked extra helpful helping kids across the street. I didn’t mind the misty rain that was making my cheeks sting. I felt cold but didn’t want to cry and crawl under a blanket. My heavy bag cut into my shoulders but somehow I felt like skipping. I don’t know why. Moods can be like that.

I am a cliche. I am not proud to be a stereotype but I love firemen. They aren’t like cops who seem too testosterone driven and just want to boss people around and be intimidating. Firemen are all brawny and heroically throw themselves in the face of danger to save lives, then use their ladders to help kittens out of trees. After a shift of rescuing they return to their cute spotted dogs at the fire station. What’s not to love? My admiration is now solidified after hearing about the story of two firemen who gave mouth to snout resuscitation to a dog that had succumbed to smoke inhalation. Giant dreamy sigh.

Yesterday a one-hundred year old man set a new world record when he completed the Toronto Waterfront Marathon. What is even more remarkable is that he only took up running at the age of eighty-nine. As I continue to bore myself with my extended mid-life crisis, I am humbled and inspired by this man who decided to take up a new hobby when he was twice my age. I tend to drone on about chances I’ve missed. I lament that I never backpacked through Europe when I was young because now I am too antisocial for hostels and fear bedbugs. I sigh that I should have had torrid affairs when I was cute and flexible. What I really need is for an old withered hand to reach out and bitch slap me. If a hundred year old man is running marathons I hardly think my ship has sailed. If I think I am old I will make myself old. Maybe I won’t have the knees to support me through a marathon when I am an octogenarian, but it’s time to stop thinking that it’s too late for new beginnings.