From Marshland To Playland

Last weekend Peter and I went to play in the marsh and it was fun.

Back in 1913 the City of Toronto decided to do something about the waste space where the Don River dumped into Lake Ontario, forming a huge marsh. Over 20 million metric meters of dirt and waste were dumped into the marshland making it a useful area for docking cargo ships. The port lands increased dramatically in usage and value following the opening of the St Lawrence Seaway in 1962. In the 1960’s and 70’s the terminal included rail and truck freight as well.

This area, often called the Cherry Street Spit, has gone through many iterations. Freight delivery service gradually switched to other docks and airports. The lands themselves stood empty for several years. Joggers and bikers often took advantage of the one pathway, but at the end of the trail there was nothing but a polluted river. Until just recently! The island area is being re-naturalized and renamed Ookwemin Minising, an Indigenous name indicating a place of new growth. The only reminder of the old life is a crane which was used to load and unload cargo ships. It has been painted white and heritage-designated as a piece of construction history. It now joins the CN Tower as a landmark on the Toronto Skyline.

Peter and I wanted to see the new space so we took advantage of the newly created East-West Shuttle service. It carries passengers along the lakefront between Bathurst St and Ookwemin Minising with a stop in between at Yonge St. We paid $5 each to travel on a party boat with a jovial captain and comfy wicker seats. The trip took about 15 minutes.

We were glad we had worn comfortable shoes because the new parkland is massive. We explored features of the redeveloped land interweaving with streams of the old Don River. The new trails are endless, running along both sides of Cherry St. We probably saw about half of the area before our energy and time were up. Here are some of the features we encountered:

We walked along the brick boadwalk. Art installations and modern light stands now replace the cargo docks and steel rope holders.

We found several play areas. We watched kids riding on the zip line:

We admired would-be basketball players scoring points from far below the artistic tree of hoops:

We wandered along the trails past Indigenous flags and artifacts, reminding us that we were on the lands of the Anishinaabe.

It was a lovely day. The rain hid and the sun came out. Our personal needs were taken care of with plenty of tables where we could stop to eat our picnic lunch, and modern clean rest rooms too.

It was a day full of surprises. And, when it was time to leave, the returning shuttle was on time. What more could you ask from a trip to the marsh?

Sue

PS If you go, either take the shuttle or ride your bike. This place is meat to be natural so there is no parking in the area. And there is no Tim Horton’s either, so pack a picnic lunch.

Starry Starry Night

Are you singing along to that Don McLean song about Vincent van Gogh and his struggle with mental illness which eventually led to his suicide?

Well this post is a 2026 update. It’s about another starry night, a lot closer to home. Yes, van Gogh’s 1889 painting is brilliant. It lives at the MoMA in New York City, available for all to visit. It’s described by some critics as “transforming a turbulent mental state into a timeless version of cosmic beauty.”

But, for us, seeing the real thing a few nights ago was even better.We were visiting our son’s cottage in Muskoka with other guests who live in New York City. They had done their homework about things to do while in cottage country. One of them was called the Torrance Barrens, best visited in the evening. We ate a quick dinner, packed up the cars with blankets and flashlights, and headed out into the night. It was only 8:30 but already starting to get dark.

The drive was longer than expected. The first part, on a major highway between Bracebridge and Gravenhurst, was speedy. Then there were a few two-lane roads to navigate as we looked for signs of Torrance Barrens. Finally we came to a crossroad and a tiny sign. We turned into another back road, even narrower and very curvy. It felt almost spooky, like we were going into nowhere. There were no other cars around.

Then suddenly we saw lights. Cars, 20 or more, were parked on both sides of this country road. In the middle of this stretch was an an entrance to a parking lot which was full to overflowing. We drove along farther until we found parking spaces for our group. We gathered up our belongings and followed other visitors through the parking lot and into the unknown.

The pathway went across a granite rock face with little cracks and crevices. Luckily the other guests had known to bring red light flashlights, enough for all of us to see as we made our way across the uneven surface. Soon we began to hear quiet voices. Then we came across the viewing site – a large open area, where people were sitting on chairs, lying on the ground, or even standing. Everyone was looking up. Nobody was talking.

The view above us was awesome. There was no light pollution. We easily made out the big dipper, part of the Ursa Major constellation. Then someone mentioned that there are 88 constellations in our northern sky. We began to identify shooting stars, countless tiny lights darting across the sky above. One guest had brought his phone and called up an app, one of at least 20, which tracks and names the constellations overhead.

We whispered quietly among ourselves about space travel. It was a night with no moon, and the space station was out of sight, on the other side of the world. The nearest star was light years away. Like the astronauts, we began to feel small, oh so small. And insignificant. We stayed for about an hour, admiring the magnificent view and our tiny place in it. Sorry van Gogh, but your image of space in 1889 can’t compete with what we can see for ourselves in 2026.

Then we went back to our cars. As we drove out, more cars were driving in. They had heard that the best time to view this scene was at 1:00 am. But our kids had other ideas. They were hungry and wanted to head back to civilization. The bright lights of the Golden Arches were calling.

Sue

An Almost-Perfect Family Day Trip

In an attempt to get together with my 2 adult children and their spouses, I proposed a trip to Stratford to see a play. It turned out that 2 of them hadn’t been to Stratford since they had gone on English class field trips about 30 years ago, and one, who grew up in the Philippines, had never been. It was time to visit.

We debated about the play we would see and, nobody else having a clear preference, I stepped in and suggested The Importance Of Being Ernest, showing at the Avon Theatre. I clearly remembered seeing it as a teen ager and laughing uproariously at the hijinx of the husband in the play who dabbled in trans-dressing. This would be a good choice for everyone! Or so I thought.

We met for lunch at a pub across from the theatre and had a great meal of pub sandwiches, fries and drinks. Then, having nothing much to do for the next half hour, we went next door and had gelato. This was perfect for us, because we had all travelled to Italy 4 years ago and had spent the entire trip searching for perfect gelato. We found it several times. And there it was again in Stratford!

After our treat, we made our way to the theatre and found our seats. The leg room was a bit tight but we snuggled in. As the show began I wondered which character was the cross-dresser. There didn’t seem to be any likely candidate. Furthermore they were all doing a lot of talking and not much moving around. We, on the other hand, were all getting a little stiff in our tiny seats. Two of us were nodding off as well.

Finally intermission came and we unfolded ourselves and went to the lounge. We discussed the play and everyone asked about the cross-dressing. Then someone said maybe I had confused the play with another one? Maybe a Shakespeare comedy? Maybe La Cage Aux Folles? Maybe Mrs. Warren’s Profession? Or Maybe the cross-dressing would come in Act Two! ( Obviously that was my suggestion).

Costumes on display in the lounge

When we went back inside for Act Two we spread out into seats we knew were unoccupied. This way we would be comfortable at least while dozing off. The action did speed up, with several funny moments where social mores of the 19th century showed off their hypocricy to an audience of the 21st century. The actors were quite brilliant and deserved the standing ovation they received. But there were no wardrobe highlights.

Before leaving Stratford, we took a side trip along the Avon River and past the iconic Festival Theatre. We all agreed that the day had been worthwhile. But the drive home – well that was another story.

The traffic jam started around Guelph, over an hour from Toronto. As we inched along we began to take notice of other drivers. We saw one young muscular man with his arm stretched out the window, showing off, not only his biceps, but also his bling from fingers to elbow. His gold, diamonds and other precious jewels sparkled in the sun. We had plenty of time to study the wealth he displayed.

The next driver who caught our eye had toys glued all across his dashboard and back window. We saw tiny stuffed animals, key chains, evil eyes, charms, plastic widgets, Lego figures, and more. It was a miniature Toys Are Us on Wheels. We were entranced. But could the driver see the road? We weren’t sure.

Suddenly we were distracted from our study by a loud alarm on our cell phones. It sounded like an Amber Alert. But it wasn’t – it was a Tornado warning – in our vicinity! We looked around and, sure enough, there was a large black cloud on our right. There were black clouds behind us too. And the sky ahead didn’t look great either. If we turned right, the sun was out, but we’d be driving through a field. We saw a bridge ahead but it didn’t look too sturdy to hide under.

Meanwhile the cars all around us were probably having the same conversations. Should we stop at the next farmhouse and ask for cover? But what if All the cars stopped at the same place and time? In all our learnings about tornadoes – going to the basement, hiding in a room without windows, getting into the bathtub – we knew nothing about being in a car surrounded by hundreds of other cars out in the country.

So what did we do? We all just drove on! And eventually we made it to a clear blue sky. We were glad to be safe; safe for another fun family day trip.

Sue

Liberty in Toronto

Generally when we think of liberty, our minds turn to places like Auschwitz, Gaza or Siberia, with freedom at stake in the daily lives of the residents. Surely there was no place with that kind of history in Toronto?

But then I read a novel called Liberty Street and my curiosity was heightened. The book was about the Mercer Women’s Reformatory built in 1880, and about the mistreatment and abuse of the inmates during those early years. The address was on King St West, in the middle of current day Liberty Village, a trendy neighbourhood of glass and steel condos, and lots of night life. I knew I had to see this place for myself. So Peter and I took a Toronto Heritage tour last weekend to find out.

Our first stop on the tour was at 1151 King St West, Allan Lamport Stadium. This stadium was erected on the Reformatory Site between 1974 and 1976 after the reformatory had been demolished. The only visible signs of the reformatory are a plaque and an outline in steel on the back of a park bench.

The tour director told us that the idea behind the reformatory was that women committed “moral” crimes and could be reformed inside a prison of this type. The speaker didn’t spend too much time talking about the abuse that went on, only giving us a few ugly examples of the mistreatment, including inadequate, dried-out, stale food, and the reformatory doctor who was found to be practising sterilization and eugenics on her patients. It was so bad that inmates went to great lengths, even setting fires in their cells, as they tried to escape.

A second stop on our tour was at Toronto Carpet Factory, known for its inclusion of women in the workforce. This factory was one of the largest employers in the entire city of Toronto. But there was a dark side – the women were forced to work long hours and were paid well below the salaries of the men for doing the same work. Often there was abuse going on between the bosses and the female employees who needed those jobs so badly that they did not report such incidents.

Farther along King St, where it intersects with Strachan Ave, is the site of the former Toronto Central Prison for Men, built in 1873. In this prison the premise was that men’s crimes were more violent and they could only be reformed with physical punishment. The only building of the prison complex still standing is the chapel, a place of peace and calm, in startling contrast to the prison where the punishments were horrific.

Connecting the back doors of these two prisons was a street, running parallel to King Street. This was where the prisoners were released after their years’ long sentences. This street became known as Liberty Street. You can walk along Liberty Street today, stop for a latte or enjoy an aperol spritz while listening to jazz, or even buy a swanky condo and build a technology business from scratch. You can almost forget the ugly past of this neighbourhood.

Or you can take the GO train back to your comfortable neighbourhood where trees flourish, life is pleasant, and the past is much less disturbing.

Sue

One way in which former criminals could return to the city was via streetcar. A replica has been preserved:

Death By Chocolate

Many people consider chocolate the food of the gods. Some would even say they’d die for it, figuratively that is. Peter and I would not go that far, but on the weekend we took our lives in our hands, and a subway, to an alleyway that looked a little suspicions from the street.

We inched cautiously forward, and discovered some interesting boutiques; a flower shop, a craft brewery and finally Soul Chocolate. We stepped inside, entranced by the aroma. And the choices!

The chocolate teacher, Adrian, invited us into the classroom and began his story of the history of chocolate, with a real Cacao bean:

Then he showerer hundreds of cacao seeds on our “desk” and explained the make-up of each bean. He had us sort through them and choose the best ones for making chocolate. It was a time-consuming process.

He made us tea from the shells and a chocolate drink, from the beans and some added chili powder, that were both delicious. To show how truly versatile these beans are, he covered his face in the cacao butter that comes from squeezing them. This was a lesson in cosmetics as well:

Then he had us get to work, grinding the beans by hand, which required a lot of strength and determination. Soon we gave up and he showed us the machine that is used commercially for this process. After the beans were ground down, the result was a smooth liquid that had to be cooled on a stone surface. This stage too is labour-intensive:

Then came the fun part; choosing our extra ingredients: coconut, cherries, banana, orange, nuts, salt, and putting them in the little compartments that would then be smothered by the cooled liquid chocolate

For the final exam of the course we did a tasting test, identifying 6 chocolate samples for their quantity of cacao, sugars and other flavours. Despite our newly acquired expertise we had some difficulty. We were not experts yet.

After class was dismissed and we said good by to Adrian, we knew we would have to spend a lot of time doing our homework: sampling our homemade chocolates and trying new varieties.

If you are looking for an adventure, and are not afraid of the addiction that might result, then go to Soul Chocolate and eat your heart out.

Sue

The Battle of the Fryers

When I was staying with my grand daughter Agnes for 10 days, while her parents were on a European holiday, I discovered a new way to cook. It’s clean, efficient, and the results are delicious.

I was hesitant at first. After all, I have been cooking in traditional ways for over 50 year and, while I may not have won any awards for my creations, nobody has been poisoned either. Full disclosure, there was one time, back when my kids were little and by accident I left a couple of burgers staying warm on the BBQ overnight. The next day they smelled OK and I was afraid that my first husband, who was very frugal, would catch me in the act of throwing them out, so I heated them up and served them for dinner. James knew what to do – he threw up all over his bed and felt fine by the morning. Jennifer, on the other hand, was not so quick to react and she had an upset stomach and diarrhea for several days.

Other than almost killing my children, I have done pretty well in the cooking department. I thought “why mess with a good thing?” But Agnes was anxious to have the chicken wings her mother had left for us, and she said they had to be cooked in their new air fryer. I carefully read the operating instructions and recipes that came with the fryer. I got the salad ready and then held my breath as I cooked the wings. They tasted pretty good considering my inexperience! Agnes and I ate lots and then I cleaned up, which was very easy.

A couple of days later, I cooked some pork chops in the fryer. They were thin and I overcooked them a bit, as in 5 minutes instead of 3, but they had a nice glaze and some good veggies and once again the meal was successful and the cleaning up was a breeze. Meanwhile at home, Peter was avoiding our BBQ due to outdoor heat, and therefore running out of food. I decided that this appliance would fit nicely into my cooking routine.

When I got home, I told Peter my plan and he went right to his Ipad and started looking for air fryer sales. He found a second-hand one for only $40 and decided that we should buy it. It was small and round and a brand with a poor reputation. Meanwhile I did some research of my own and found out that the recommended brand was Ninja and one new model had 2 baskets so that 2 different items could be cooked at different temperatures at the same time. This meant that, for example, you could cook meat in one basket and vegetables in the other, all for very short times and with little cleaning up. The battle of the fryers began. Peter was insisting that $40 was a real bargain, and I was insisting that $40 was not a bargain if it wasn’t what we needed. We went to bed on different sides of the basket, I mean the debate.

The next day an opportunity presented itself. Peter went to play bridge with some friends. What was I to do? Of course I went shopping. I drove to the first likely store which happened to be Canadian Tire. I strode purposefully to the customer service desk and asked the clerk where I could find air fryers. She said, and I am not making this up, “You mean the Ninja model with 2 baskets that’s on sale for $80 off?” I made a fool of myself screaming “Yes that’s it!!”

The poor clerk recovered from her shock and led me to the aisle, measured the machine to make sure it would fit on our counter, and carried it to the cashier where I paid. Then she picked it up and carried it to my car. I would have hugged her but she was rushing back to the store.

At home Lucy, the cleaning lady, helped me carry the new appliance into the kitchen where I unpacked it and began planning dinner. I cooked chicken breasts in one basket and tiny potatoes with broccoli in the other basket, all in less than 20 minutes. Peter arrived home from bridge and sat down to dinner. He declared the meal “delicious.” He didn’t even question how I had cooked everything. The battle of the fryers was over.

Sue

The Winner:

We Are Canadian!

Last Saturday night, when most people were out socializing and then sleeping, Donald Trump was posting. He posted on his social media feed at 11:18 pm, at 12:33 am. 3:16 am, 4:54 am, 5:27 am, and 6:07 am. The posts were rants, and boasts and lies, all documented by journalists.

As we watch the US implode before our eyes, worsening every day, it seems wise to ignore this and to consider the future of Canada instead. Losing our closest neighbour has been a heartbreak that we can see and hear and read about through the advancement of technology. The world changes by the minute as our cell phones buzz and beep with new information from across the globe. Unmanned drones fly overhead, while state-of-the-art submarines and new fighter jets are on Canada’s next year’s budget. But do we need to know all of this?

How can we as older individuals possibly plan for, or even think about, the chaotic future we are seeing? I guess we could reminisce about the past; all all the times we went to Buffalo to shop, and then sneak back across the border wearing 2 dresses or shirts, and brand new shoes that we had scuffed up a bit. Or we could look at our photos of winter trips to Florida along with our families, sitting on beaches while the grandchildren made sandcastles. Another option is to read fiction where writers speculate on the future; stories like the Handmaid’s Tale or Stephen King or Ian McEwan’s new book, What We Can Know. Then we could start building bunkers in our back yards, stock up on prescription drugs, buy extra pairs of glasses, and spend time inside away from crowds and street festivals. And wait for the end.

But there are other choices for us. Here are a few that I can suggest: First, spend quality time with those we love. Buy those Cirque du Soleil tickets that cost a fortune and take our grandchildren to see it. Meet a vegan friend at a vegan restaurant and order a new dish like shashimi or miso something and ask the waiter for chopsticks to eat with. Invite another couple to go for a walk through the trails of High Park, even the ones with hills. Take a bus through major traffic disruption on the QEW to visit childhood friends, even though the trip is longer than the visit.

Second, show your pride in Canada for everyone to see. Fly a flag somewhere on your property. Sing at the top of your lungs when Oh Canada is played at a sports event, even if you’re in your own living room. Buy Canadian food: Alberta beef, Nova Scotia lobster, PEI potatoes. If you must visit COSTCO, buy Canadian products there. Go to Simon’s or another Canadian store and purchase some red tops to enhance your wardrobe. Cheer on the Blue jays even if they are on a losing streak.

Third: stay healthy. Eat Canadian fresh produce like strawberries, cherries and asparagus. yummy. Take a walk along Martin Goodman trail, near the shore of Lake Ontario. Participate in an exercise class, available at most local community centres. Or visit cottage country in Muskoka and Haliburton where trees flourish, lake sparkle and the night stars are bright.

And most important: connect with as little world “news” as possible. Only make an exception for Mark Carney because, when he speaks, he speaks from the heart and with integrity and knowledge. As for Donald Trump, his chaotic world will continue to spin, whether we watch or not.

Sue

Hair Care

As I get older, I find that my hair requires more and more support. Every 5 weeks I go to see Sofia for a cut, colour, and blowdry/styling. And on every second visit she adds “highlights” which make the colour look more realistic, ie not just one shade. It’s an illusion thing. I like Sofia because she is talented, efficient, and close by. She knows about all my friends and family. She listens to my worries and is good with her advice. But her work is expensive. You bald guys out there sure save a lot of money!

I have been going to see Sofia regularly for the last 6 years. But for the last couple of weeks, life has intervened. On the day of my appointment 3 weeks ago I woke up with a stomach bug and Sofia was happy to cancel. We agreed I would re-book as soon as I was feeling better.

I felt better the next day, but I had a “vacation” planned. I was going to spend 10 days with my grand daughter Agnes, while her parents were away on their own vacation. I would be staying right downtown, quite far away from Sofia’s salon. Maybe this might be the perfect opportunity to find a different hairstylist, one who did not cost an arm and a leg.

First, I asked Agnes’s parents for the name of their local hairstylist. This would solve my immediate problem at least. But I forgot to write down the name or the address of their stylist. While sitting in their living room ruminating, I saw a piece of paper stuck in the seam of the sofa and, voila! It was a receipt for a recent haircut, complete with address and phone number. Surely this was serendipitous! But I hesitated. It was a lot for a new customer to ask: cut, colour, highlights, styling. And I didn’t even had a photo of my usually perfect hair to show them. Maybe I’d better wait…

Instead I called someone named Barb who had been recommended by friends. She was close to my house, skilled and cheaper. But I had been told that she was very very busy. Hmmm… I could probably last another week if she could fit me in then. I called. I told Barb how much my friends LOVED her work. I even said “Please?” a few times. I was getting close to begging. Finally I got Barb to agree that she would see how things went, and would give me a call if she had time.

Meanwhile I was getting shaggier and greyer every day. So I called Sofia and she said she would come into the salon early to help me this past Saturday, at 10:00 am. I “borrowed” some of Agnes’s mom’s expensive shampoo and conditioner which helped keep me presentable for another week. But at 9:00 am on Saturday, Sofia texted me to say that their air conditioning in the salon was broken, the temperature inside was 37C, and they were not opening for the day. Aggghhh

By this time I was ready to shave my head and buy a wig. I guess Sofia could hear the desperation in my voice, so we worked together with our calendars and found an opening next Friday. In the meantime I have a few social events coming up. But my time with Agnes is now finished so I have no easy access to the expensive shampoo and conditioner. After more ruminating, I ordered it online to get me through another week.

At the end of it all, I have Sofia who still costs me an arm and a leg. And I now have shampoo and conditioner which also cost an arm and a leg. I’m not sure I have made any hair care progress at all!

Sue

PS Photo definitely not available.

ROM: Through the Eyes Of My Grandchildren

Last week I spent a day with a couple of my grandchildren, Agnes 14 and Ben 10, at the ROM. They had both been there before, but they wanted to go again – together. They wanted to show each other their favourite exhibits.

The plan was to wander through each floor, stopping when a favourite spot came along. The first exhibit that caught their attention was in China. Right away the kids noticed the swastika on an Emperor’s robe. I had thought the swastika was a marketing tool of Hitler’s, but it turns out that the symbol has been around in Chinese culture for at least 5000 years, symbolizing good fortune and prosperity. Along with all his horrifying atrocities, Hitler had been plagiarizing as well.

Next we visited the biodiversity section where we saw the bat cave, numerous crawling things, exotic fish, food webs, a piece of rock from the moon, and of course dinosaurs. The dinosaur exhibit was of particular interest to me because it has been moved from its original dark space near the entrance to a bright and airy new section on the second floor. Dinosaurs of all sizes can now be examined up close.

After all that, it was time for a break. The kids had never been to the restaurant; they had always come with other groups and their lunch, and sat in a different area. The restaurant is not gourmet but it serves pizza with good pepperoni (according to Ben) and a delicious salad with greens and fruit (according to me!). We were happy eating, as we made our plans for the next part of our visit.

We had saved the third floor for last. This area contains Ancient Egypt which is a crowd favourite, mostly because of the mummies. But Ben and Agnes had seen them all before and walked by with only one comment: “gross.” We found 2 versions of Cleopatra – one carved in stone, and the other one a replica of Cleopatra putting on her make-up. That interested Agnes immensely.

The Japanese exhibit is also on the third floor now. At first Ben said he wasn’t interested, until I reminded him that he and his family had visited Japan only a year ago. Then he spotted the samurai swords and rushed over. He and Agnes studied the swords and the kimonos. Then they were attracted to the gift-wrapping table, Japanese style. This, like many other exhibits, was hands-on.

And that is what impressed me most about the updated ROM. Most of the exhibits have some sort of interactive display which engages young visitors fully.

Pushing buttons:

spinning wheels:

activating lights:

listening to mini-lectures:

tapping on images:

Our final stop was for more food at a small cafe on the main floor. Agnes chose a dessert square, Ben found a Kermit Gingerbread Man who quickly became legless, and I got a very sugary Nanaimo bar. We left the ROM with tummies full of calories and minds full of interesting things we had learned from our ancestors. Not one of us had even thought of using our cell phones.

Sue

Driving Lessons

One day last week when I was outside watching the cars go by, I turned my attention to a small black car stopped near our curb. A young girl got out of the passenger seat and skipped merrily over to the driver’s side. The driver opened the door and slowly stood up. He spoke to her briefly and then headed towards the other side of the car. How sweet! I thought. A dad is teaching his daughter how to drive!

I thought back to the time when I was about 14. My dad used to make me sit in the passenger seat while he drove, talking non-stop about defensive driving: looking out for the other guy as well as yourself. I learned about 2-way stops that other drivers assumed were 4-way, lane changers who didn’t signal, and kids dashing out from between parked cars. I assumed that my dad would be my driving instructor.

One day when I was 16, it happened. I drove my dad and his car for the first time – right into a peach orchard! I thought it was cool sitting there in a car underneath all those juicy peaches. But Dad was apoplectic. From then on, Mom took over my driving practice, guided by lessons from a driving school.

When my own 2 children started asking about driving lessons I thought about my dad. I turned to Young Drivers Of Canada. Their basic philosophy is defensive driving. You start by walking around your car checking for flat tires, doors ajar, and dirty windshields. Only then do you get into the car and fasten your seat belt. I can easily say that both of my adult kids are very safe drivers.

How was this young girl going to do?

The man opened the trunk and took out a cloth. He wiped the roof of the car, and then affixed a sign: Young Drivers of Canada. YEA! This instructor seemed serious. As soon as he got into the car, he began speaking and gesturing with his hands. I could tell by his gestures that he was pointing out features of the dashboard. First the windshield wipers went on and off. Then the turn indicators flashed, and the warning lights flashed. Finally and most important – the brake lights shone.

I wondered how the instructor was remembering everything. So I got out the binoculars and peeked. He had a clip board in his lap and was ticking off items as he went along. Smart guy. There is a lot of curriculum in teaching a new driver how to handle a huge lethal weapon. There are the mechanics of it all, including backing up, turning safely, and dealing with other vehicles. There are pedestrians looking at their phones instead of the road. There are little kids racing with one another on motorized scooters. Then there are the moral obligations of thinking on behalf of other drivers who are not paying attention, as my dad had taught me so well.

I watched the black car while the instructor finished his lesson. Then I waited for the girl to begin her new life. Suddenly – she stepped on the pedal and roared off. Good luck young driver. And slow down!

Sue