It has taught 80 million of us to count. It is seen in more than 140 countries. It has won 77 Daytime Emmys. It has logged nearly 4,000 episodes in its 35-year history. It is Jim Henson’s legacy. It’s Sesame Street!

This week, Legacy and Sony Wonder have released a three-CD box set called Songs from the Street. To commemorate Sesame Street’s 35 year anniversary, this collection will include such classics as “Sing After Me”, a duet with Grover and the late Madeline Kahn, and “Bein’ Green”, Kermit’s poignant statement on racial and human differences. Now I know what I’m buying at lunch time.

Today’s post has been brought to you by the letter H, and the number 5.

1) Do you have a favourite Sesame Street moment?
I loved Grover’s Near and Far segments.

2) Who is your favourite Muppet?
It’s impossible for me to pick just one, so I will say that my favourites include the Mahna Mahna dude, Lefty (do you want to buy an O), and Snuffaluffagus.

3) Bert and Ernie – gay or straight? Discuss
Gay. So, so gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

4) What is your favourite song from Sesame Street?
I have two: the “Mahna Mahna” song, which is now stuck in my head, and “Letter Be”.

5) Where were you when Mr. Hooper died, in 1982?
By that time I was no longer watching Sesame Street, but I do remember hearing that he died. Apparently, the episode in which the grown ups tell Big Bird about Mr. H’s death is one of television’s historic moments.

My Doctor is a Tool (not to be confused with my vet, Dr. Toole)

Aside from the fact that she thinks Mr. Crabby beats me (I went in with two falling-down-the-stairs-type injuries recently), my new doctor has proven herself to be a complete knob.

Example #1: “Are you SURE you slipped in the tub?” It’s her job to ask, I suppose, but Mr. Crabby was very offended.

Example #2: After I described my migraine medication to her, she told me I was wrong. “There’s no codeine in that.” I’ve been taking those pills for twenty-some years, and she’s been out of med school for ten minutes. “Oh, you are absolutely correct,” she says, after consulting the Neophyte Doctor’s Big Book of Drugs.

Example #3: She is terrified of needles.

Example #4: During our appointment, she had the wrong chart in front of her. “That’s not my name,” I said, pointing to the manilla folder. She blanched, and glanced down at all the notes she’d written in somebody else’s chart.

Oh my. I’ve been taking migraine pills for twenty-some years. No wonder I’m Crabby. Where does the time go?

Buy a Poppy for Pappy. It's a Good Thing
"It is symbolic of everything that Canada stands for -- for our freedoms... The poppy is our way of thanking the veterans for the privilege of living here and everything that we enjoy in Canada."
= Mary Ann Burdett, chairwoman of the Royal Canadian Legion’s poppy campaign

Shame, shame, shame on Pier 1 Imports, and any other company that evicts poppy-selling veterans. "It's deplorable", says Burdett. "To turn their backs now, 50 years later, on the very people who gave them their freedom -- it's a disgrace."

And, if you catch anybody with a green-centred poppy, kindly tell them to unlock their wallets and squeeze out a loonie for one of this year’s black-centred ones.

I awoke this morning to blessings. Beautiful, rich bell-tone voices singing on the radio – the voices of Ugandans. Jewish Ugandans, imagine that. They were singing sacred blessings into my ear, while Tosca kitty purred at my feet. I love CBC Radio One, and Errol Nazareth for giving me mornings like this.

I’ve been sleeping so beautifully lately. It’s such a treat for me; I’m barely exaggerating when I say that I haven’t had a solid night’s sleep for the last twelve months. Insomnia is such a cruel, lonely thing. Everything is worse at night. Small stresses and this month’s bills lurk in the corners of my mind, waiting to pounce in the middle of the night. And pounce they do, sometimes leaving marks on my face. I can see them under my eyes in the morning. Sluggish, accident-prone, and marked, I stumbled outside each day to walk for an hour, or two, or three, marching to a beat of “maybe I’ll sleep tonight maybe I’ll sleep tonight maybe I’ll sleep tonight.”

“Count sheep, breath deeply, go lie on the couch, read a book, keep a journal…” It’s sound advice from the clear-eyed sleepers, from those whose minds are filled with dreams, not monsters in the middle of the night.

But lately, I’ve been sleeping. Beautifully. When my eyes open now, it’s because the music on the radio told them to. And if that isn’t sweet enough, this morning I awoke to blessings.