Thirty seven is one of those in-between birthdays. Thirty five marks the turning point to 40, 39 is the precipice. 37 has no particular relevance, and is therefore a perfect occasion for quiet reflection. On Friday the office staff gathered to present me with a hilariously humiliating Little Stuart card, an adapted poster from the Stuart Little movie, with my face superimposed on the mouse’s head. The head shot was taken at the staff Christmas party, long after we ran out of wine, but before all the Blue was consumed. I also got a huge Sponge Bob cake, complete with bubbles. George Bush and the religious right would have blushed.…

Suzy just posted a selection of photos from the past few weeks. Check ’em out! The outdoor ones of me show how you look the day the flu sets in – ashen and blah. But Suzy says, “You look great!” So much for self-awareness.

Spent the last 3 days in bed. Flu. So much for the shot. Pounding headache, burning eyes, plugged ears and nose, and a dry knife-to-the-throat cough. Rotten. Spending so much time in bed really changes your perspective on things. Like work. It just rolled along without me. Makes me wonder why I care. And strange other thoughts drift in and out of the mind. Like wondering if Nutella goes bad, or which shoulder to throw salt over if you knock over the shaker. At one point yesterday morning I called to Suzy and realized I was yelling, “Mom! Mommmm!” I did manage to read the Da Vinci Code, and about…

Suzy and I had dinner at Le Café on Friday night. It’s only the second time we’ve been out together, alone, since Simon was born 9 months ago. By the time we got there, seated by the window overlooking skating on the Canal, we were both exhausted. But the jazz trio was good, and so was the food. They have a $20 table d’hote. We were headed to the sugar bush for some tire yesterday when Simon decided to cry, so we went to a park instead. Something wasn’t right. I had a wicked headache, which has now morphed into a bad head cold. Spent 3 hours in bed this…

My sister Valerie had a baby girl on Wednesday! Little Darcy Rees was born by caesaeran section at 3:15 pm in Charlottetown. Darcy is the only the second girl born into my mom’s family in two generations. She shares the grandkid stage with Jasper, Simon, and Ryan (brother Lowell’s October baby) . Simon, Ryan and Darcy were all born within 10 months — lots of great Christmases and cousin competition ahead! Congratulations, Valerie and Mark! Lots happening this week — which is why it’s quiet here. My pet obsession: Project Porchlight is gaining momentum and may very well brighten the national stage sometime this fall, thanks to some great emerging…

My uncle said something once that I will always remember: “Life’s tedious and generally boring, Stuart. That’s just the way it is.” I immediately rejected what he said (I was 18 at the time), although the quote has often popped into my mind since. It’s hard to be really happy. That is, if “Happy” is defined by what you’ve got, or where you’re going, what flavour is in your mouth or what’s teasing the other senses. And so much of the other happiness seems dependent on these. My kids are less likely to smile and warm my heart while living on the street — but I suppose it’s possible. I’ve…

Suzy is in the next room with her sister JD and best friend Linda. They’re watching the Oscars. I have to admit that I enjoyed Chris Rock‘s opening monologue, but I left during Beyonce‘s French solo; it sounded more like an Italian deli menu being sung. So instead of watching, I’m listening to the viewer banter. “Ooh, Tim Robbins… He’s so cute.” “Look at the bow tie. What’s that, a peace sign?” I spent a very frustrating 5 hours yesterday rearranging the home office to make it more efficient – less cluttered. I get so tense when I do this, probably because we have all this “stuff” that keeps me…

Warrior Barb recommends a special pillow for whiplash. Designed by NASA. Price: $190. My dentist talked me into buying a polymer dental device to stop me from grinding my teeth into little stumps. Price: $350. Dr. Weiss performs 40 vascectomies a week in his basement off Echo Drive in the shi-shi-la-laa Glebe. It was covered by OHIP, but the special “kit” including razor, jock strap and prescription for a single Valium pill was $60. This morning I mistook Puddy for a shirt at the foot of my bed. Lasik eye surgery: $3500. Aging is expensive. I’m saving now for my walker. Maybe the kids will kick in for that, or…

My yoga instructor has been a physiotherapist and yoga guru for 25 years. After class last night she also became my new hero. “I have two words for you: Whip lash.” (It’s actually just one word, and don’t look it up on Google at work unless you want to download lots of links to bondage sites.) I’ve had chronic pain between my shoulder blades for as long as I can remember — a burning tightness that gets so bad sometimes it feels like a hot metal pipe pierces my back and comes out just right of my heart. For the past 15 years or so I’ve thought this feeling was…

I took Friday off. I enjoyed it more than the entire Christmas season. I’ll have to think about this some more, and maybe give up on the “countdown to Christmas” calendar that (as my friends know) starts in April. I had a long bath, did some yoga, drank a nice bottle of Merlot. Jasper painted a beautiful picture — a sparse yellow circle with a single orange dot and line below. When he handed it to me he said, “It’s the Buddha, Dad.” Now I’m back at the office, feeling fine. I don’t want to lose perspective, but it’s so easy to get caught up in work. So, for those…

Thanks for the link, Juergen. I hope it doesn’t happen to me.

Finally, a way to add meaning to e-mail.

Walking to the bus stop in a light flurry, it felt like Christmas Eve but I was glad it is not. Feeling cheery on the bus, laughing aloud reading David Sedaris, the woman next to me smiled like she wanted in on the joke. But this was the bus. Waiting in line for my large with two milks, I noticed that the feature blend was described as “nutty with a hint of brightness.” That made me happy. I asked the coffee pourer (they’re called “associates” now) if he knew who writes the description. “Some copy writer, I guess.” He needs to get out in the snow.

I ride to work with my neighbour Barb. We call her Warrior because she fires up the Subaru and drives it to O Fortuna full blast, charging ahead to Tim’s and work at City Hall — traffic and cyclists beware! I love it. This winter we agreed that certain things should be banned: Those long women’s coats with fake fur hoods, tinted in colours that don’t exist in nature; chatty parking attendants; sock toques. I’d add bureaucrats, but she’s one. The waste, the waste. I’ve spent the past few weeks smiling in meetings, struggling to hold my composure with clients who are desperate to spend left-over budgets before fiscal year-end…

It was nearly 1:30 a.m. by the time we collapsed in bed, hearts pounding, sweaty. Neither one of us thought we’d be able to sleep. The carpet burns and throbbing scratch marks were almost too much to bear. Then the moaning started again, and I knew it had been a mistake to get a cat for Jasper and Simon on Valentines Day. Our first mistake was probably renaming the cat. It was 6 years old, after all, and had gotten used to “Button.” We just weren’t a “Button” family. But the cat had arrived suddenly after a friend called saying that her 10-month-old son was hospitalized with a respiratory infection.…