The Sporting Life

On the weekend Peter and I, like many households, watched the Super Bowl game. We invited friends to join us, friends Peter has known for over 40 years. He has spent many special Sundays watching the Super Bowl with them.

Sporting events like this are held around the world. Who has not sat down occasionally to check out events at the Olympics televised from China, Vancouver, Paris, even Russia? Maybe you are a summer sports fan and enjoy watching swimming or track and field. Or you dream of mountains of snow and skiers racing up and over the moguls. Maybe you know a prticipant – like us, cheering for Rosie Maclennan a few years ago as she bounced and somersaulted and won gold for Canada, on the trampoline.

Some of these events take place right here in Toronto. Although we have to look pretty far back in history to find the Maple Leafs in any playoff activity, we remember a few other highlights. In the early 1970’s we cheered for the Blue Jays as they won the World Series 2 years in a row. And who will ever forget the Raptors and Kawai Leonard as they took us to the top of the NBA? Our city, in fact our entire country, was behind that Toronto team.

Our Super Bowl evenings with our friends are pretty traditional: our friends come before 6:00 pm to get settled and begin snacking on appetizers. The men discuss the upcoming game, and the women fill each other in on family news. During the game, everyone hopes for a glimpse of the million-dollar ads. Then it’s half-time and we watch the show while trying not to spill chili on our laps.

This year there were some extra highlights.The half-time show featured Usher, an R and B artist with a large back-up group. But the real celebrity was in the audience. Taylor Swift, in case you have been napping for the last several months, is the celebrity of the year, maybe even the decade. She has a lot of talent, writes and sings her own songs, and creates many of her own dance routines. Her shows are filled with movement, light and sparkle. Although the cameramen were told to focus on the game, they, (obviously “Swifties,”) couldn’t help sneaking glances at Taylor as she cheered for her boyfriend, number 87 on the field.

Our celebration was a little more low-key, with no celebrities. But we did have a couple of costumes to add to the excitement. You can see them in the photo:

And we had another highlight – betting. Peter created a pool where guests paid a toonie for each quarter of the game. Each person picked a small slip of paper on whch was written the name of one of the teams and a total score. At the end of each quarter, one better would win the entire pot – $12, minus the original bet of $2. Really only $10. Now we all know that $10 won’t even buy you a burger and fries at Harvey’s unless you have a coupon. But these betters went crazy, abandoning their drinks, eyes focused on the screen, even changing their original loyalties:

“Well I really want San Fransicso to win, but now Kansas City is worth $10 so Go Chiefs Go!!”

This group will be impossible to handle when the FIFA World Cup comes to Toronto for 6 games in 2026.

Sue

Canadian Chroma

Are the advantages of living in a big city worth the aggravations that sometimes happen? Last weekend we got to find out.

We took the subway to the Eaton Centre, the busiest shopping mall in all of Canada, with over 50 million visitors annually. Built in the 1970’s, it has been anchored by at least one major department store during most of its life. But that all changed when Nordstrom recently moved out.

The same thing has been happening to other malls across Canada and the US. Competition from Amazon and other online stores has drastically reduced in-person shopping. Sherway Gardens filled up vacated retail space with unique Christmas Markets. Another mall near us, Cloverdale, replaced a big Target store with – wait for it – pickleball courts! What would the Eaton Centre come up with to replace Nordstrom’s footprint? We read about it in the newspaper: Canadian Chroma.

Soon after we arrived at the Eaton Centre, the fire alarm began to beep at us. Shoppers stopped in their tracks, waiting patiently until we got the ‘all clear’ signal several minutes later. After lunch, Peter went to the washroom and came out reporting that a guy in one of the stalls was having a melt-down and the bathroom was full of security guards.

Finally we found our way safely to the new exhibit, a series of interactive displays highlighting the beautiful colours of our Canadian geography. The first stop shows dramatic photographs from coast to coast to coast: the majestic mountains of the north and west covered in sparkly snow, the golden wheat fields of Alberta and Saskatchewan ready for harvesting, the forests of Ontario dressed in autumn colours, the turqouise-blue waters of the maritime provinces. There are hundreds of photos in gorgeous hues; available by touching a colour and then a button.

Here’s one of the buttons between pink and coral:

The second stop in the display shows 4 photos of a log farmhouse from a nearby window, in all 4 seasons. The third stop depicts the Northern Lights in beautiful shades of green. The viewer stands on a set of footprints in front of the lights which respond to body movements with bubble columns and explosions.

Display number 4 promotes Indigenous art in a unique and fun way. There are 7 murals painted by 7 different artists, each divided into 7 panels. Viewers can mix and match the panels to create one entire mural by one artist or, if you have the patience, up to 49 different murals with 1 panel from each artist. It would be a good way to entertain grandchildren for quite a while.

(Here is your cheat sheet for the murals):

The final display is an interactive map showing where we Canadians originally came from. Virtual threads in different colours link places in Canada to other places around the world. For example, Peter found a fuscia thread connecting Toronto to Italy. He was so pleased to see his journey on display. All in all, Canadian Chroma was well worth a visit. And it was free!

Then we headed for home.

When we got to our subway station, the line was closed to sort out a security issue. We decided to walk south to Queen, and take a streetcar west to the University line. At Queen we discoveed that the streetcars were not running due to construction. So we had to walk to King, and then along King to the next streetcar stop. Finally we found a streetcar, and another subway, and then home.

Were the security issues, the costruction, and the subway delays stressful? Well they did slow us down. But heck, we are retired – we have the time. That seems a small price to pay for experiencing life in a big city.

Sue

PS Since our winter in Toronto seems to have passed with barely a dusting of snow so far, I thought you’d like to see this photo from the exhibit:

A Grand Sausage

High Park Club, where we curl on Friday nights, owes its existence to the Scottish game. Last Friday, when we visited, we took part in another Scottish tradition; Address To the Haggis.

The reading of this poem, by the famous Scottish poet, Robbie Burns, is the cornerstone of the celebration of Burns’ birthday, January 25, 1759. Burns was the son of tenant farmers and grew up living with poverty, hardship and manual labour. He had no formal schooling, but he taught himself the English language, well actually, the Scottish dialect. And the result was lyrics that are fondly remembered over 250 years later.

Many of us sang one of his best-known pieces, Auld Lang Syne, on New Year’s Eve. As young children, we may have heard parts of his Ode To A Mouse, a tribute to the small animals sharing his farmland.

The writing we recall on Burns’ birthday is his dedication to the haggis, intended to be read by someone, preferably of Scottish descent, as he or she escorts the mighty sausage to the buffet table. A bagpiper leads the procession:

“Good luck to you and your honest plump face, Great Chieftan of the sausage race!

Above them all you take your place. Well are you worthy of a grace!”*

*Then a wee dram of fine Scotch is used to toast the haggis.

The poem goes on to name the ingredients of the haggis, which might put you off your breakfast, so I’ll just say that they are chopped up and mixed with onions and spices, the more the better, and then stutffed inside the casing of a sheep’s stomach. Food was scarce in Burns’ life and no part of the animal was wasted. The haggis is often served with potatoes, turnips and cabbage, which help to mellow the taste. It is all very filling.

Besides his stomach, Burns filled his life with food for his brain. He wrote songs, learned some French and Latin, and eventually published a volume of poetry that was admired by farmers and literary critics alike. He worked hard to acquire the nuances of poetry writing. During his short life, (he died at age 37), he wrote so much popular verse that he was considered the patron poet of Scotland.

Burns also socialized a lot. He had numerous friends who met at local pubs and sang together. And he had a lot of female relationships including 3 marriages and several affairs. The result was 12 children. Burns’ biographers estimate that he has about 900 living relatives in the 21st. century. He certainly put that sausage, I mean haggis, to good use.

Sources say that Burns’ most famous living relative is Tommy Hilfiger. Tommy is the great, great, great nephew of the poet. Apparently Tommy does not publicize this kinship. In addition, there are monuments to Burns around the world. The closest one, should you wish to visit, is in Allen gardens in downtown Toronto. And you can find a haggis recipe online.

Sue

Monument in Toronto

Waiting In Line

As Seniors living in the city, we feel the days slipping by fast. One day it’s Tuesday and I am writing to you, and then it’s Tuesday again! What happened to those days in between? Time seems to fly by.

Which is why waiting in line is such an aggravation. It seems there are lines everywhere we need to go: the drug store, the blood clinic, the LCBO. Sometimes waiting in line can be worth it, especially when the end product is fun. In the winter those of us who are able, wait happily in line for the ski lift that will take us to the top of the hill, and the glorious run down to the chalet. In the summer we wait patiently with our grand kids for a ride on a roller coaster or an ice cream cone.

But there are lots of times when waiting in line is just a waste of our precious time. We line up to buy last-minute concert tickets and then get to the box office, only to be told that the concert is sold out. We are on a subway train which breaks down, so we line up for a shuttle bus and therefore miss an enjoyable lunch with friends. We get in line at the airport baggage carousel to pick up our suitcases after a long flight, and then…our luggage is not there!

I see these kinds of stressful line-ups at the food bank where I work. The unfortunate folks who have to visit are embarrassed at their need for this service. They come dressed in the warmest clothes they have, often missing hats or gloves and wearing shoes instead of boots. Then, because of lingering Covid germs, the line is spread out, leaving some outside shivering as they wait for their turn.

And I haven’t even begun to talk about waiting in line on the phone, twiddling our fingers as we hear over and over and over: “Your call is important to us. Someone will be with you soon.” HA!

The other day I decided to protest. I was second in line at the bank, where there was only one teller and he was dealing with a woman who had a file folder almost 3 cm’s thick. It must have been some major business transaction because she was slowly going through each page of this folder, one by one.

In line ahead of me was an elderly gentleman. We began to pass the time in conversation. He said he had been waiting almost 15 minutes already, but he didn’t mind because he was retired, lived alone, and enjoyed getting out and meeting people. Then he told me his age – 95. I was shocked. Why should a 95-year-old man have to stand up that long just to get some money that was probably already his?

I hurried over to a side wall and grabbed an empty chair. I hauled it, and then another one, into the line. I motioned for him to sit down and I took the chair behind him. When the next customer arrived, I advised him, in a loud voice, to get a chair too because the wait was really long.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a second teller appeared and unlocked her computer screen. She welcomed the elderly man with a smile. I felt somewhat vindicated.

Next time you have to go somewhere that has a line-up, maybe take along a folding chair and a book. Even as Seniors we can still make a statement.

Sue

Well maybe this is a slight exaggeration…

Heliconian

Come on, admit it. You remember Yorkville during the 1960’s too! We were either in university or checking out the job market. On Friday nights we went to Yorkville to see Gordon Lightfoot, or Joni Mitchell, or even Neil Young at the Riverboat or one of the other clubs or coffee shops that popped up during that intoxicating decade. After that we moved on to building careers and raising children, while Yorkvillke went downhill when biker gangs and drug dealers moved in.

Soon the new Bloor-Danforth subway line enticed high-end businesss, and a new class of patrons, rich shoppers, started coming by. That area is now referred to as the “mink mile.” Stores like Versace, Louis Vutton and Cartier sell exclusive items, and restaurants serve the latest in food trends, with a negroni cocktail, and a serving of kale on the side.

Through all of this a lot of renovation and rebuilding has taken place. But there are still a few old gems hanging around. The Yorkville Library at 229 Yorkville Ave is one of the earliest branches of the city library system, designed in 1929 in the Carnegie architectural style. The first site of Mount Sinai Hospital, built in 1923 at 100 Yorkville Ave, is now a trendy store.

My favourite old building is the Heliconian Hall at 35 Hazleton Ave. Originally a Baptist Church built in 1875, it was bought by a feisty group of women who had founded an arts group in 1909 and were loking for a permanent home. The building, designed in a style referred to as Carpenter Gothic, ie Gothic in wood, is the oldest building standing in Yorkville.

Inside the building that feisty group of women, or nowadays their grand daughters, still run an active arts program open to the public. The name comes from Mount Heliconian in Greece, said to be a source of poetic inspiration for the muses. There are concerts, performances, and art shows on a regular basis. And the best known? A literary lecture series once a month. The club invites Canadian authors with recently-published books to come and speak to an audience of about 150. There are rarely any empty seats.

I have seen many reputable authors there. Marie Henein comes to mind. She was the laywer for that controversial case involving Jian Ghomeshi a few years ago. I expectd her to be another feisty woman. And she was! I also heard Ann-Marie MacDonald and Wayne Johnston, 2 Canadian authors whose fame is well-known, even in the US. Later this season we are being treated to a lecture by Dr. Vincent Lam who now spends a lot of his spare time writing. His latest novel takes place in a Toronto ravine and deals with a timely subject – drug overdosing.

I attend these presentations with an old friend who shares my love of writing. On our subway trips we discuss our latest novels, stories and yes, even blog posts! When the subway arives at our stop, we have a short walk through Yorkville, beautifully lit up at night, until we arrive at Heliconain Hall. We share tea and cookies with other members of the audience. Then we all settle in for the lecture and audience questions.

What better way to spend a winter evening? Friendship, food and our favourite Canadian writers, in an historic setting.

Sue

The Chairman

Peter runs his world from a La Z Boy chair in the living room. He reads the daily newspaper with his morning coffee, he reclines for his afternoon naps, and he watches hockey playoffs and poker tournaments on TV, all from the comfort of his chair. It would be a catastrophe if something were to happen to that chair…

But nothing catastrophic happened. The chair just aged, like you and me, bit by bit. First the arm rests showed signs of aging: wrinkles, discoloured spots, and tiny rips. I made some replacement covers in a similar fabric, but they didn’t fit right and kept slipping off. Then the chair began making noises, grunts and squeaks, whenever Peter changed positions. Sometimes they interrupted his nap. Finally one side of the foot rest disengaged from the body. The chair was pretty much at the end of its life.

I kept quiet about this deterioration. The 2 of us have an unspoken pact not to point out each other’s signs of old age creeping up on us, and I thought this might apply to his favourite chair too. So I kept my mouth shut. I did not mention calling “Got Junk?” or even MAID for furniture. I just waited and watched. Life carried on.

The day after Christmas Peter said we needed to discuss something important. He sat down carefully in his chair and looked up at me anxiously. He said it was time for a new one. I was worried – what kind of health issue could it be – A knee? A kidney?? A HEART? He passed me an advertising flyer and showed me – reclining chairs. They were black in colour which suited our living room decor. And they were on sale at 50% off. We weren’t going to the hospital – we were going shopping!

We found the furniture store and located the chairs on sale. They were… Brown. My dream was shattered. A big brown chair would destroy the look and feel of our almost-elegant living room. As Peter started to get out his wallet, I delicately stepped close to the salesman and asked “um, do you, by any chance, have this chair in black?” ‘No we don’t,” he replied, “but I do have another style in black, just over there. Follow me.”

I rushed to follow, with Peter trailing behind. As we neared the black recliner, the salesman began extolling its virtues: “Look! It has drink holders that light up! And a much nicer pattern on the back that gives it a really elegant look!” It’s a little more money but it’s still 50% off! It’s a real deal at this price and I only have 1 left in the warehouse!” Poor Peter. He could feel control of his life slipping away as he stared at the 2 of us, taking sides against the brown recliner. Finally he reached for his wallet.

The deed was done. The black chair would be delivered in 2 days. At home I talked up the new chair and how good it would look in our living room. We made plans to get the old chair out to the curb where, after a few days, someone needier than we were picked it up. The old chair was not in landfill; it had a new home.

Peter was still wary. When the chair arrived, it was in a huge box, in 2 pieces. Another challenge. But the kind delivery men set it up. Peter sat down gingerly. He found the buttons on the side, and it took some time to figure them out. Then slowly, slowly his chair reclined. He settled back. He reached for the remote. He smiled.

The Chairman was in control, and happy, again.

Sue

Celebrating New Year’s Eve

I can’t believe I’m admitting this, but it’s close to 20 years since Peter and I retired. And we’ve been celebrating New Year’s Eve with the same people for almost that long too. Are our celebrations the same? Obviously not! Our bodies are almost 20 years older – modifications have to be made.

During the early years, we had just started curling together and the Weston Golf Club put on a bang-up party every December 31st. To start the new year off, we all got down in the hack and heaved those weighty rocks along the ice for several ends. Then we rushed upstairs to the showers and threw on fancy clothes: suits and ties for the men, party dresses and stiletto heels for the womem. Next we sat down to a meal of fat-trimmed steaks and loaded baked potatoes, and gorged on chocolate fountains or Baked Alaska for dessert. We hopped around the dance floor, waving our arms in time to the Village People’s YMCA, or Gloria Gaynor singing I Will Survive! After a midnight buffet snack of sandwiches and more desserts, we drank champagne and danced some more. We made it home in time for bed around 2:00 am.

When Weston cancelled their NYE party, we switched to an Italian church hall in the country for a few years. The man focus was the 7-course meal beginning with an anitpasto table, and carrying on with pasta, meat, a tripe course which most of us skipped, fish, salad and dessert. We danced to polka music and a few slow songs by Andrea Bocelli. At midnight we drank champagne and blew noise-makers, and made it home by around 1:00 am.

Then Peter and I moved to the city. You’d think that our NYE celebrations would be more upscale and end later. But we were all getting a little older, so we settled for the Famous People Players event. The men exchanged their suits for sweaters, and the women gave up heels for trendy flats. We spent part of the evening sitting and watching a group of young performers make magic with intricate movements and black lighting. We ate a big enough meal and then danced with our champagne glasses until the toast at midnight.

Following those years, we were interrupted by COVID. For our celebration of 2020-2021, we had a small gathering in our garage, with everyone wearing coats, hats, and mitts along with our masks. We had a toast to the new year, safely distancing from one another and freezing half to death. The next year we tried to host a house party with a meal ordered from a restaurant. But some couples opted out due to possible Covid symptoms, and the rest of us slowed down considerably about 11:00 pm. It was a struggle to stay awake until midnight.

Last year, in recogniation of our ah… age, we chose a different kind of party. We met at the home of one couple around 5:00 pm, armed with appertizers and wine. The dress code was “smart casual’ which meant that the men wore whatever they grabbed out of their closets, and the women wore glittery sweaters, and replaced their outdoor boots with slippers, at the door. We snacked on veggies, shrimp and sushi, and talked till about 9:30 pm, when we switched to champagne and cookies. We celebrated the new year at 10:00.

The party was so successful that, this year, we decided to do it again! We seem to have figured out a celebration that works for our age. For the next 20 years at least.

Happy New Year, dear readers. And let’s all make it our New Year’s resolution to continue finding ways to do the things we love - with some adjustments.

Sue

Traditions

So now that Christmas is over, we can go shopping for next year! Only joking…take at least today off and relax.

After I described our Advent Window activity in last week’s post, several readers wrote to tell me about holiday traditions they have experienced. Some people talked about going downtown to see the Eaton’s or Simpson’s windows, in the “olden days” when such stores existed. The windows always had moving parts: scampering mice, scurrying elves, moving conveyor belts with toys under construction, and a winking Santa sitting in a rocking chair and checking his naughty list.

Then Santa moved inside the store, and kids lined up for a visit and a chance to take a picture on Santa’s lap, while the parents got out their wallets. Next there were the years of Breakfast with Santa. We took our grandchildren a couple of times but unfortunately breakfast was ignored as the kids spent their time checking out the pile of wrapped packages and figuring out which one Santa was going to give them.

A popular neighbourhood tradition – rows of blow-up Santas. We have a few in our area – a Santa with a green parcel in one hand and a candy cane in the other. Walmart must have had a sale. Apparently one street in Toronto, Inglewood Drive, has over 50 of them. Pretty amazing until the power goes off. Then you have a whole lot of “dead” Santas lying on the boulevard. Not a good Christmas look.

Readers reported about several versions of the Santa Claus parade. A friend, who spends the winter playing golf in Florida, wrote about the Golf Cart Parade: Christmas-themed golf carts being shown off by golfers driving around the local streeets instead of on the links. I was reminded of when we lived in the country and the farmers in Schomberg held the Tractor Parade. They would decorate their fork lifts, or back hoes, or manure spreaders, and spread cheer along the main street.

Lots of families share traditional gifts. Sometimes parents buy the kids new pyjamas every year, which the kids open on Christmas Eve and wear to bed. Under any other corcumstances, this would be seen as a cop-out by the kids: ” What? You bought me CLOTHES?” But disguise it as a tradition and everyone is excited.

In our family, my son and I trade an old book that neither of us has ever read; we just take turns giving it to one another. Neither of us can remember how this tradition started. This year it was my turn to be the recipient. The package was disguised as a …Book! Still, I didn’t guess it. Duh

My son is delighted at this turn of events; one year soon he’ll be sneaking into my house ahead of Christmas, taking anything of mine he wants, and wrapping it up for me. And, as my memory fades, I’ll open it and say: “Oh how lovely! I used to have something just like this. It’s perfect.”

Christmas is now just 364 days away. It’s not too early to start planning your traditions.

Sue

The famous book

Living Windows

(designed by Mel)

Peter and I have been snooping around lately, peeking into our neighbours’ windows. It’s not that we are getting kinky in our old age. It’s an Advent thing, honest.

We got the idea from my brother, and he’s not kinky either. He lives with his partner in Port Dover and, during the first Christmas of the pandemic, they got together electronically with their neighbours and planned a social event, following all the Covid rules. They modelled their activity after the Advent calendars which you are likely familiar with if you have grandkids: from December 1 to December 24, open a tiny cardboard window and find a tiny chocolate to eat.

The Port Dover folks called their activity Advent Living Windows. Each of 24 families is given a date/number, from December 1-24. Then each family decorates a front window of their house in some festive way. It can be a Christmas theme or a winter theme like snowflakes or a movie theme such as Frozen. All the decorating is done with the window blinds pulled down, or black-out curtains, or some other secret method. Then each night, beginning with December 1st, the windows are opened, one per night, for all the neighbours to see, from the street or the driveway, or the grass.

I have been intrigued by this activity ever since 2020. But I needed a helper, somebody else who knew our neighbours and had a lot of energy and community spirit. Then I found Mel – a stay-at-home mom who lives next door and has a lot of spirit - for just about everything! She said yes and we were off and running. I mean walking – up and down the local streets, knocking on doors, trying not to act like duct cleaners or window washers. It was easier than we had imagined. In almost no time we had 24 families signed up.

Then Mel found another neighbour, Trish, who is a tech expert, and she volunteered to design a local map with all the home addresses and the numbers/dates on it. Everyone who participated was sent an electronic copy of the map, and we planned a little opening gathering for the first night.

Peter and I had volunteerd to take the first night, December 1st, so we rushed around setting up the lights and putting the finishing touches on our window. Then we hauled out a table and an unbrella, (the snow we had ordered failed to show, and we got rain instead). We plugged in a carafe of hot apple cider, with a rum bottle nearby for emergencies. Mel contributed some yummy cookies - and we were ready.

About 30 adults showed up with their kids in tow – kids who knew each other from the local school. The adults enjoyed a drink together while the kids played tag in the ditch. It was a very festive hour, a great kick-off to our 24 days of surprise windows. And here are some of them.

This window was a product of the son’s input; his favoutite cartoon characters along with some freehand drawings by his parents:

Another family effort, the children’s stuffies gathered around a table waiting for a chance to eat the gingerbread house:

This neighbour used a photograph taken by her father in High Park in the 1930’s (Tracks In the Snow), as the centrepiece of her window:

This window was designed and created by the family’s 12-year-old daughter – all her favourite Christmas treats:

And here’s ours. I gathered up all my reindeer who were wandering around the house, and stood them in the window. So far they seem quite content there.

There are six more days of Advent. Enjoy them!

Sue

A Gift For Christmas

I have post-nasal drip. I’ve had it for ages, especially in the cold weather. It’s not that interesting, I know, but I do have a point to make.

Last week I had a busy schedule – lunch with friends, a book club meeting, coffee with other friends, and a physio appointment for my achy neck. I took my kleenex and went to every one of them.

By late Thursday my post-nasal drip was joined by a mild headache and a low fever. I suddenly had a terrible thought. What if it was Something Else? I scrambled through the bathroom cupboards for our supply of rectangular green boxes. You know the boxes I mean, right? The ones with the tubes, and the solution, and the LONG stick?

It took me a while to remember all the steps and set up the experimental station. I took my time, knowing what was ahead. Finally I was ready for The Stick. I hate The Stick – it tickles until it hurts. But you want to get a good sample – there’s no way you want to do it again until absolutely necessary.

As you may have already guessed, the little red line emerged and went straight to the top, joined by another line at the bottom. I was positive. Not good news. Not for me or for all those people I had unknowingly socialized with all week. Then Peter, who had had a runny nose for a couple of days, decided to take the test too. Also Positive. I tidied up my experimental station and began to make phone calls – apologizing to the people we might have already infected and, explaining to the people with upcoming events that we couldn’t attend.

Fortunately Peter and I have had 7 vaccines, including the updated Pfizer BioNTech which we got just 6 weeks ago. So we have had only mild symptoms: a slight cough and the post-nasal drip which was not. We’ve had a chance to catch up on Christmas chores like writing cards and decorating the tree. We’ve also used our germs as an excuse for extra nap time! Peter tested negative yesterday, and I will do the test this morning, when I get up the courage to face The Stick.

This Christmas is a HUGE improvement from the Christmas of 2020. Remember how we were afraid to send out greeting cards in case COVID germs stuck to the envelopes when we licked them? Or our trips to the grocery store for Christmas dinner; wearing a mask and gloves, going at 8:00 am to avoid crowds, and scrubbing our potatoes and carrots with hot soapy water when we got home? Or our visits with family: dropping by for 10 minutes, standing in a freezing-cold garage, social distancing with air-kisses?

Thanks to science and the millions of people who have taken the time to get vaccinated, this Christmas is Much better. We know the drill by heart: washing hands, wearing masks in crowded public places, and getting out the little green box when post-nasal drip appears. Any extras? Socking-stuffers with a purpose!

Sue