"WINTER WALLOP: NOT ON MY WISH LIST"

Fifty centimeters of snow divided by three winter storms multiplied by thousands of skyrocketing insurance premiums, whiteout conditions, flight cancellations, school closures, aching backs (and trips to the emergency room) followed by the slight possibility of power outages, equals one big sloppy mess we won’t soon forget.

‘Hit Me Baby One More Time’ is not exactly what I had in mind as the theme song to the last few days leading up to Christmas. You might call it the ‘gift’ that keeps on ‘giving’ and ‘giving’ and ‘giving’. It’s just too bad it’s not refundable. You don’t see any ‘gift cards’ for that now do you? Have we made Santa’s ‘naughty’ list prompting him to fill our stockings (hung by the fireplace with care mind you!) with snow (not coal!) this year.

Well, newsflash, we mustn’t been very ‘nice’ last year either because it’s almost a year to the day we were hit with a 36-hour snow storm, which makes me wonder if maybe we should be forwarding our ‘Dear Santa’ letters to ‘Mother Nature’ instead. It’d go something like this…Dear Mother Nature, Please don’t send any snow, sleet, freezing rain and bitter temperatures our way. Sincerely, MS Diva (your biggest and quite possibly your only fan!) Hey, maybe a little buttering up will get her to relieve us of the ‘wind chill’ too (one can only hope).

And if that doesn’t work we only have another three months of this left. Ahhhhh…Tis’ the season for extra-strength Tylenol cause I suddenly feel a migraine coming on.

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"WELCOME to MS WoRdZ of WiZdOm"

I'd been thinking about a catchy title to my blog for quite awhile. The name had to be something that would have me taken seriously as a writer and yet at the same time speak volumes without me even uttering a single word. At last, 'MS WoRdZ' was born!

I became really excited at the prospect of making this site my very own, from its content and colour scheme to its accent pictures and quotes. I've devoted so much time into nurturing it, watching it slowly grow and envisioning its bright future. It has become my second home (aside from 'The Crimson Diary') and allows me the opportunity to showcase my writing and freely discuss things that are important to people and what affects them in life and in everyday society.

I aspire to make both sites (although very different from one another) to be open and interactive places where people can openly express their inner most thoughts, feelings and ideas. I encourage people to get involved and post their opinions on anything from interests, to what concerns you, to what gets under your skin.

There is an endless array of topics to really sink your teeth into and I just know that everyone is passionate about something or other in life so please don't hold back and let the world know what's on your mind. Oh and don't forget to check out 'The Daily Grind' while you’re there.

Hey! Have you heard the 'WoRdZ'?!...That's 'MS WoRdZ'!

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"THE CRIMSON DIARY"

An idea came to me while I was washing my hair one day if you can believe it. A flurry of ideas began spinning around in my head (whilst I was waiting for the leave in conditioner to do its thing) prompting me to create a whole other site. Thus, "The Crimson Diary" was born.

The concept...to create an inventive new way to try to uncover the mysteries of love while attempting to dispel the myths behind the whole 'men are from Mars, women are from Venus' thing. Can I be successful you ask? That remains to be seen, but it'll sure be fun trying.

Besides, who knows if 'The One' you've been searching for your entire life might be waiting for you just around the corner. Stay tuned.....



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"THE DAILY GRIND"

The latest feature added to the "MS WoRdZ" family has to do with 'what's brewing' in the mind of a particular Torontonian - namely ME! It's all about things that affect and concern me in everyday society, about the movers and shakers that have shaped not only our present, but our past and our future generations. The section will touch upon anything from grips and pet peeves to pleasures and pastimes and everything and in between. So sit back, grab a cup of coffee and enjoy the ride. Read more on this article...

"COOL KISSER @ A PERFECT PRICE"

Matte, gloss, stain and frost are just some of the various types of lipsticks on the market to pump up even the most boring of lips without breaking the bank.

"Lipstick, as in all cosmetics, is catered to one's face," said Cosmetics Manager, Sandra Achkar of Shopper's Drug Mart.

"First I ask then when they're going to be wearing it?" said Achkar, of a series of questions that gives her a feel for what customers are looking for and what will look best on them. Questions like, "do they want a long wearing lipstick?" and "do they want a certain type of finish, like matter gloss or sheer?" narrow down the choices of some of the big brand names such as Lise Watier and Revlon to Shoppers Drug Marts' very own 'Quo' cosmetics line.

By asking the customer, "what colours are they wearing now, do they have a particular brand preference," and "if they want to try something completely different than they are normally use to," also helps to determine what lipstick would be most suitable for the individuals’ wants and needs.

"If they say they have no particular preference, then I suggest our own 'Quo' cosmetics line." They have testers in the store and the customer is more than welcome to try them on.

"This is all a process of elimination," said Achkar, who has been in the cosmetics for well over 12 years. When the customer still hasn't found what she is looking for "there is a safe colour." She said, "a combination of soft brown and dusty rose, like the matte finish of Rose Intemporel No. 568 from Lise Watier is a perfect example of this."

Prices vary anywhere between $2 for an NYC lip colour, to Revlon's, Lise Watier, and Shoppers home brand Quo that are a little more pricey, it just depends on how much you are willing to spend.

Overall, Achkar said, "every brand is known for something different, it's just a matter of testing them out at one time or another."
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"TRASH, TRINKETS & TREASURES"

Tiny beads of sweat had formed above my brow. They danced in unison with every twist and turn I made before two of them decided to break free of the rest. They trickled down my cheeks as if racing to get to the bottom of my face, but then lingered as if to temporarily delay its fate.

Finally, they landed on the faded black t-shirt I was wearing along with many others before them. The day, one of the hottest in June proved to be far more sweltering inside the garage that outside of it. I’d chosen this particular day to clean out the garage after two years of putting it off and with good reason. I’d been repeatedly making silly excuses to avoid doing it when the reality was that I simply didn’t want to. It was a big job, a heavy job, a dirty job, and most importantly a very painful job.

I had dreaded moving things dad carefully placed in there himself after all these years. Unfortunately, the more I stood and stared at what looked like a pretty mess the more it became evident that something had to be done and soon. My worst fear was that the roof would eventually cave in with all the weight of the wood resting on the rafters and land on my car parked below. How would I have begun to explain that to my insurance company?

It had been two and half years since he’d passed away and I had been putting off this big job for several reasons. Dad had been such a pack rat and the garage had always been evidence of that. It was his own little dusty sanctuary of wood, tools and various nails he’d brought home from work; after all he spent the most time in there out of everyone else in the family. It’s a place where he’d spent hour’s perfectly storing things away, moving things around and trying to fit things into the smallest spaces. He went by the theory, “never throw things away because you never know when you might need them”.

Despite dads inability to throw away anything along with his preservation of decades gone by I’d couldn’t help but feel surrounded by the many stages of not only dads’ life but that of my own. All this had transported me on an emotional journey of blood, sweat and tears. There in the garage I stood alone, taking the last few refreshing sips from what I’d believed to be the fourth bottle of water I’d consumed since I began that morning. Water had formed outside the plastic bottle and I’d occasionally hold it up to my face for some much needed relief from the heat. One by one, I tossed the empty bottles into the recycling bin watching them gracefully hit the edge in slow motion before finally falling in. With arms crossed in my sweat soaked t-shirt and shaking my head in disbelief at the mess that awaited me, I was trying to decide where to begin and most importantly trying to anticipate when I’d finish. It appeared such a long way off at the time but I had to start somewhere and travel bit by bit around each side as I went through everything.

Assorted boxes of nails and partially used paint cans rested on the floor at the back while snow shovels neatly hung on rusty nail hooks by their handles adorned the wall right behind the mower and BBQ. Wood of all lengths and sizes tucked into the side pockets all the way around the perimeter seemed to hold up the walls as if to create a fortress of wood to protect the contents inside from the elements of the weather.

As I worked my way to the back of the garage I had remembered all the bicycles I ever had as a kid and looked way up to the back wall where they were each tied to the rafters with a thick white rope. It was there that I noticed my first tricycle, my first bicycle with the training wheels still in tact, my infamous 5-speed bicycle before finally graduating to my 10-speed in the later part of elementary school. The multicoloured striped baby carriage dad had given me for Christmas one year decades ago gently rested on an angle behind the many boxes of Barbie dolls and toy cars I used to spend hours entertaining myself with. Each one of them lovingly stored away with care by dad in hopes of some day being passed down to his grandchildren.

I couldn’t help but fondly look back at my own childhood. How could I not? It was an endless sea of special memories laid right before me. I sighed deeply and couldn’t help but be moved to tears revisiting decades gone past and the exciting adventures and dreams I had experienced courtesy of my dad. It wasn’t hard since he was always a big kid at heart and it showed through his patience and kind words. Yet, never failed to remind me of the importance of getting a good education, to aim high and follow my dreams for the future. He had come to this country over 50 years ago from his native Italy to find a better life which he did. Dad was a self-taught man. He learned to speak and read English through conversation and the many forms of media available to him, one being reading the daily newspaper.

I uncovered a cardboard box full of old Toronto Star newspaper clippings. The pages were crisp and yellowing but displayed years of history behind them. They’d covered important events and happenings throughout Canada and the entire world. Anything and everything from politics to sports and from health care to entertainment and it was all neatly stored away in that one box.
This has always had me wondering if he knew something that I didn’t at the time. Did he know that I would go into the field of writing and journalism one day? His own fascination with the many forms of media and his thirst for knowledge prompted me to believe that he really was.

It took mom and me an entire day to finish. We’d have been done a lot sooner but couldn't help ourselves from stopping to reminisce and rest between each section we had gone through. With daylight fading fast the garage became nothing more than a dusty room of dark silhouettes and we knew we had to start wrapping things up. We managed to do that just in time with the sun slowly setting in the distance. The patio looked like a tornado had hit it with the things that needed discarding laying there on the ground. All that could be seen were several piles of wood, various metal poles, old cardboard boxes that needed recycling and the frame of an old bed he was saving to use as an extra guest bedroom one day.

All in all it was a very productive, exhausting and memorable day. Not only did this major cleaning decide the fate of my garages future but that of my cars as well. I’m sure dad had his reasons and valid reasons at that for collecting all that he did. The fact that he’d safely kept all my childhood memories and perhaps what might appear as my path to the future says a lot about my dad and the warm hearted man that he was. He’d always look to the future. My future and I’d like to think he’s watching me accomplish my dreams from heaven one newspaper clipping at a time.
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"FIREFIGHTING: THE LATEST RAGE"

I want to be a fireman when I grow up has uttered out of the mouths of hundreds of little boys for decades.Louis Renzo Jr. wasn’t one of those little boys even though his own dad Louis Sr. was a proud dedicated volunteer firefighter in Hawthorne FD, NJ for 54 years. Renzo himself, now a veteran with 26 years of service behind him loves his job and doesn’t consider it a job at all.

A day at the Station can be an unpredictable waiting game uncertain of how many calls in the day they’ll have. Calls can deal with anything from a child falling off their bicycle to car accidents to a major fire, and “anything that people don’t know who to call.” He’s even gone as far as to save a man’s cockatiel in a tree.

Every situation is different and each one is handled professionally. However, depending on the circumstances you always have to be prepared to expect the unexpected as things can seriously go wrong in an instant. Renzo says, “With fires you try not to create another victim. If the situation is hopeless you don’t go in there and do the impossible. Most people die from smoke inhalation long before the flames get to them.”

It is also standard practice that they accompany the ambulance to numerous medical calls and all car accidents. Renzo says, “Medical stuff is tough sometimes since having a grandson hits home a little more. It’s hard when we’re doing CPR on somebody and the victims’ family has hope but we know they’ve checked out. We still go through the motions for the people. We’re not heartless.”

He can never forget a car crash that happened 20 years ago and how it could have ended in tragedy but fortunately didn’t. “A drunk driver had entered on the wrong side of the parkway through the exit ramp. She was going northbound on the southbound side and hit a Cadillac head on. It had minimal damage compared to her Hyundai and he had only suffered a cut to his hand. It took one hour to cut her out of the car and she thought she’d loose her legs. One year later she walked into the firehouse and thanked us for saving her life.” It’s moments like these that also make the job a very rewarding one.

When asked how he separates himself from his job Renzo says, “I don’t know how I do that but I’ve been able to leave all that at work. We meet people at the worst times of their lives. If I cried every time I saw a dead person I would have floated away by now. I’m not scared about anything about the job, which scares me sometimes because it’s kind of gruesome. I can go back to the firehouse and have dinner after a call and just resume where I left off before we went out.”
He also doesn’t feel that the movie Backdraft was an accurate portrayal of firefighters. Renzo says, “It was a joke to a point where it was ridiculous. It was a very unrealistic movie that tried to glamorize firefighting.” However, he did praise the movie Ladder 49 and says, “It was the most realistic portrayal of firefighters. It showed a lot of the antics and practical jokes we do to each other around the firehouse. How close the guys get to one another like a real family. The way we live together, eat together 24 hours a day.” He’s seen a lot of things change on the fire department since he started but wouldn’t change a single thing had he done it all over again.

Besides, it made him feel good when he asked his four year old grandson Thomas what he wanted to be for Halloween this year and his reply was, “I want to be a fireman like you because I love you.” But that dream was short lived when he seen a photograph of a chef in a magazine and said he wanted to be that too. Renzo laughingly says, “Been an interesting 26 years for sure, been an interesting 26 years indeed.”
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"MY SURVIVOR HOLLYWOOD"

Starring in my own action adventure should have been listed in the brochure when I booked my trip in Toronto. But in typical tourist fashion the very thought of spending two weeks in Tinsel town had me wanting to shout, “Hollywood here I come!” from the top of the CN Tower.I’d specifically chosen the Sheraton Universal for its luxurious appearance, convenient location and most importantly, star gazing. It was a stunning five-star hotel that was picturesque in nature and sat atop a hill high above the valley below. It was my first night in room 1117. I had dreamt of this moment for so long and now it had finally become a reality. Sleeping was the last thing on my mind and for a brief period I lay there staring at the ceiling in my hotel room. I turned on my side and noticed something strange. It was circular in shape and contained a glowing red light. I was wondering what purpose it had and did all the rooms have them. But my questions would be answered soon enough.

My restlessness got the better of me. It was apparent that sleeping was not on the agenda for tonight or at least it wasn’t now. I decided to sit on the couch near the window and gaze out towards the 405 (highway). The digital clock on my nightstand flashed an eerily 12:50 a.m. but you’d never would have known it with the heavy volume of traffic moving about outside. The headlights and taillights looked like tiny white and red dots flowing rapidly in opposite directions between the valleys. They flickered in unison moving in an S formation in the distance until they disappeared out of sight around the mountains. Once again my attention turned to the glowing red light on the wall. The room was dark and silent but that would soon come to an end in hurry. No more than ten minutes went by when I was startled to the sound of a horrific buzzing noise echoing throughout the hotel forcing people out of their peaceful slumber. Luckily, I wasn’t one of them. I leaped off the couch and opened the door to a startling realization. I needed to get out and quick.

Smoke had filled room 1119 before starting to seep into the hallway. It began to billow below the door adjacent to mine. Yet, I still managed to quickly gather my things, get my shoes on and bring my luggage with me. I exited my room dragging my bag along and joined one of the many hazy silhouettes that rapidly moved through the corridors. Panicked voices echoed down the stairwells awakened from their sleep at 1 a.m. to the sound of the fire alarm. I had finally found out what that glowing red light was. Oh how I wish I hadn’t. I found myself racing down the stairwell passing people at lightening speed. I could barely make out their faces and their voices sounded muffled. All I knew is that I had to get to the bottom as fast as I could.

The stairwell door flung open like the saloon doors in an old spaghetti western. Only then did I breathe a sigh of relief. I had finally made it to the lobby in one piece. Out of breath but in one piece. There was so much confusion all around. Firefighters in their gear dragging hoses, guests in their pajamas moving about in frenzy like ants in a colony, while the phones at the front desk could be heard ringing off the hook. I drop my luggage near my feet after having clutched it for dear life down 11 flights of stairs. I’d never been so happy to be on the ground in my entire life. The plush lobby chair felt good as I fell into it. I was completely exhausted and sat far enough from the elevators to absorb all the action but not be immersed in it.

An hour later we were given the green light to go back to our rooms. Completely wired from my ordeal, I sat up in the bed watching reruns of Green Acres. I must have dozed off at some point because the last thing I remember was that glowing red light staring back at me on the wall. I was relieved to know what its purpose was and that it did its job when the time came. However, I hadn’t bargained on auditioning for any show while I was down there on vacation. Hollywood or no Hollywood this was one reality show I did not want to star in.
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