Really? You are asking yourself if you want to read on, aren’t you? Go ahead. Have some fun!

Every Monday morning, armed with my re-usable bags, my loonie for the cart, and my list, I go to No Frills and load up on the necessities for the week: bread, onions, kleenex, milk, chicken legs and chocolate bars. It takes me only half an hour to navigate the aisles and check out because I know the route by heart. This store definitely has no frills; no fancy displays, no free dessert samples, nothing to distract me from my routine task.

But on Fridays, (or thereabouts), I go to the Other grocery store, the one With the frills – our nearby Sobey’s. Sobey’s has always been a fun place to visit; offering all the little extras that I might need when guests come for a meal or Peter and I want to up our Saturday night cooking game. Recently the store went through a renovation and now it’s… well let’s just say that I am thinking of moving in.

I have to admit that the renovation was no fun, not for staff or shoppers. It was a weekly hide-and-seek game for consumers. Where is the coffee hiding this week? What secret spot did the carrots find now? It must have been a nightmare for the staff but they seemed to manage. One time a clerk even joked with me. “Those pesky eggs, always sneaking off on us!”

But now? Now the store is glorious. I asked the manager to join me on a tour, but he was busy, so you can join me instead…

Walk in through the front door and choose from a variety of carriers: regular shopping carts with drink holders, smaller versions for a single shopper, baskets for a few items only. Or choose a “Smart Cart” if you dare. Then follow the delicious coffee smells to the Starbuck’s and order a latte grande. You are on you way to shopping joy.

First attack the produce section; grown in Canada and freshly-picked. Ready-made salads wait beside the hot table. Go ahead and buy dinner. You deserve it. At the bakery, choose a 1/2 pie – perfect for people who feel some guilt about their sugar intake. Check out the meat section, complete with a dry-aged beef refrigerator. Next door the fish market sells all kinds of freshwater and sea creatures. Pick up something you don’t recognize and surprise your grandchildren next time they visit.

Then scout out the boutiques. A wine boutique features Canadian wines from west coast to east. The only thing missing here is the table with the free samples. Drop in at the wellness centre where a wellness expert, Rachel, will help you choose a new hair colour. Visit the celebration area, selling greeting cards, balloons, and floral options, or seeds if you want to try growing your own. Finally feast your eyes on the candy display: tempting shelves of Hershey’s chocolates, licorice sticks, S’Mores kits, marshmallows and Sour Patch candies; the perfect way to get a sugar rush at the end of your shopping spree.

Then head for the cashiers who are always cheerful and ready to help pack the bags. Unless…you have bravely opted for a Smart Cart. I usually avoid these at the entrance, but last week I approached a woman boldly navigating one through the canned goods aisle. She said the carts were “super easy to use” as she demonstrated: use the device attached to your cart to scan the item, and pay with your credit card as you leave the store. If you ah…forget to pay, the cart lights up in fluorescent orange and the manager comes running.

Next week I’m going to try a Smart Cart. It might be fun. Maybe I could even meet the manager!

Sue

Peter and I have adopted that off-hand anonymous comment as our philosophy of aging, for the past several years. And we see many others who live by it too.

We saw proof of it when we spent a month in Florida this past winter. Take 80-year-old Phyllis, for example. Every single morning at 8:00 am, rain or shine, warm or chilly, there was Phyllis at the pool with her little speaker gizmo, running the women’s aquafit class for an hour. She arrived, dressed in one fashionable bathing suit after another, some of them quite sexy. She would join us in the hot tub at the end of the class, and tell us about her favourite restaurants, tourist sites, and shopping outlets.

There were others in the class too who kept going, despite hardships. Joanne, for instance, was battling Parkinson’s disease and walked with a cane. After she finished the aquafit class, she went to ballet classes or boxing. Or Peggy, who was coping with severe bouts of arthritis, came whenever she could manage, and we all cheered as she stepped carefully into the pool.

Boxing for seniors

At the golf course we visited, the volunteer staff were well past 70 years old, and mostly from Ontario. They drove south each year, with their aches and ailments, and they were often on duty for 10-hour days, directing cart traffic, marshalling on the course, and dealing with people trying to butt in line. The grey-haired clerks at our local Walmart, stooped and limping, greeted us at the door or rang up our orders, and handed us the heavy bags with a smile.

These signs of resilience are evident here in Toronto too. It’s just not so obvious in bad weather when we tend to stay inside, avoiding rain and dampness. But we see it in the media: on TV, online, and in flyers. Merchandisers are hunting us down and clearly making a profit from our desire to keep going. They try to sell us every gadget and gimmick they can conjure up. In a recent pamphlet I found: compression knee massagers, pelvic floor muscle strengtheners, a help-me-up handle, and a stool stool. (OK, I’ll tell you -it sits in front of the toilet so you can raise your knees and “go” more freely… Sorry but you Did ask).

Friends have told me about other finds. Apparently there is a golf club made especially for people with Parkinson’s disease that has a spring-loaded device on the end of the driver and fairway clubs, so golfers can manage the long shots. When they reach the greens, they are able to chip and putt on their own. For cooks with arthritis in their hands, there is the “jar key” that helps open those pesky jars of sauce and pickles, so the cook can finish the recipe and impress the guests.

Jar keys

As for cars: the new ones have all sorts of driving assists so we can keep going on the roads too, despite arthritic necks and weak hip joints. My car beeps whenever I inadvertently drift just a tiny bit into the next lane, or if I get even a tiny bit too close to the car in front. My favourite assists are the ones that help me back up – the camera and the beeper. Now I don’t have to search desperately for a drive-out-forward parking spot. I can actually back up, with a little technological help, all by myself!

So dear readers, Keep Going. And if you have any devices or activities you have found useful, share them on our site.

Sue

Peter and I hadn’t been to the circus in ages. We figured we were just too old for juggling and clowns. But recently we got an offer where we couldn’t say no.

Our 3 young grandchildren were going to gather at our house. Our plan was to send them to the circus with their parents while we stayed behind at home to cook dinner and have a nap. But the parents had other ideas. It seems that They wanted to be the ones to stay home, (at our house) cook dinner and have a party! Well this was not just any circus; this was Cirque du Soleil. Peter had seen signs that it was performing in our neighbourhood about a kilometer from our home. It was time for us to join the kids and get educated about this troupe.

Agnes quickly googled the show, Kooza, and her attention was drawn to some contortionists and a couple of men in a large hamster wheel. Gavin wanted to know what snacks were available. Ben was skeptical: “I don’t want to see any more elephants!” Bit we promised him there would Not be elephants as he climbed into the van to join his cousins.

The show, on Lakeshore Road, is performed inside a big tent, with a smaller tent acting as an entranceway and mammoth snack bar. The kids stopped dead…Peter had to use his best bargaining skills to assure them we would return for snacks at intermission. Once seated, we discovered that the pre-show had already started. Goofy clown-like performers were interacting with the audience, enticing them onstage to hold ropes or perform other non-essential jobs, while the clowns “borrowed” their wallets or purses. Our kids were torn: did they want the thrill of being chosen to go onstage, or the safety of their seats with us?

Soon the lights went down and the show began with special effects: lights turned on with a magic wand, billowing curtains emerging from the shadows to reveal a 2-storey bandstand, and a big red box appearing with a body inside. The kids were stunned into silence.

As followers of Cirque du Soleil know, the acts were breathtaking. Three women in tight body suits twisted their bodies into contortions that Our bodies at 70 can’t even remember doing at age 3. A skimpily-clad woman executed incredible twists and turns around a scarf, high up in the air, and another delivered top-notch routines with several hula hoops at a time. The first half ended with four tight-rope walkers precariously bouncing along with several props, and then biking across the very high wire.

Then came another feat of agility – the race to the snack bar! Peter and I could hardly keep up with the kids as they ran towards their favourite treats: popcorn and drinks for 2 and ice cream for the third. They also mentioned hot dogs, but we convinced them that dinner was waiting at home, as we secretly crossed our fingers that the parent partiers had remembered to put the food in the oven.

The second act featured more show-stopping routines. An acrobat climbed atop one chair after another, rising several stories above the stage as he piled them up and up. Then he seemed to defy gravity as he balance on the top chair with only one hand, the rest of his body pointing skyward. It was gut-wrenching to watch.

The finale, the piece de resistance, was the hamster wheel, suddenly morphing into the WHEEL OF DEATH. A massive set of spinning beams with wheels at either end began rotating faster and faster as two acrobats ran counterclockwise, first inside the wheels and then on the outside; occasionally jumping, sometimes appearing to lose their balance, as the wheels sped up. The audience screamed in fear…and delight.

Then it was over.

At first there was stunned silence as everyone absorbed what we had just witnessed. Then wild applause and cheering. And finally heading home. The kids filled the silence of the van with their plans to climb on chairs piled high in their kitchens, and ride bikes outside on their clotheslines. Peter and I smiled to ourselves, realizing that nobody is too old for the circus.

Sue

Cirque du Soleil is performing Kooza in Toronto until June 18.

On Sunday Peter and I went to our first baseball game of the season, the Blue Jays against the Tampa Bay Rays. Was this going to be another ho-hum 9 innings of waiting for some action? No – because this year the Jays have upped their game. There are new team members, new rules and a newly-renovated home.

We hopped on the GO train early and joined a train load of other fans, everybody wearing their hopeful attitude and their Jays tee-shirt with the name of their favourite player on the back. One new name we noticed was Kiermaier; a recent trade, having played with the Tampa Bay Rays for the last 9 years, winning numerous awards. Right away we knew we were heading towards an afternoon of heightened rivalry. What other excitement would we find?

During the train trip the fans were busy dissecting the new baseball rules, mostly meant to speed up the game. Everyone agrees with this; 4 or 5 hours of sitting in the sun and doing “the wave” is too long for even die-hard fans. And how many $12 boxes of popcorn can you afford to eat, anyway?

One of the popular rule changes relates to a big timer, well-placed so everyone can see that the pitcher and the batter both have a limited number of seconds to step up and do their thing. No more scratching their crotch, talking into their hat, or searching for their son or daughter sitting in the bleachers. Just get up there and go for it.

After we arrived at Rogers Centre, Peter and I took the long way to our seats, wanting to explore the new amenities that had been built during the winter. The aim of the renovations is to get spectators closer to the action. In order to do this, 5,000 seats were removed and replaced by more venues for socializing, aka drinking at pub tables while you watch the game. The most popular one is called The Patio on level five. The patio aspect is accomplished with the help of a few fake plants and some round patio tables, but the view from up there is quite amazing.

The View from above

Next door to The Patio is Park Social, an area meant for families. There were little kids everywhere, climbing on the large Legos, playing the giant Connect Four game and throwing bean bags at the bean bag toss. Meanwhile the parents enjoyed a drink and the occasional glance at the baseball action down below. Everyone was happy.

The Park Social

We found expanded food choices too. For the kids at the Park Social there are grilled cheese sandwiches and flavoured shaved ice. Patio-goers can enjoy nachos and margaritas. For the fans of traditional baseball food there is the TWO-FOOT hot dog. How perfect can a menu be?

Grilled cheese

For fans who want to get Really close to the game there are 2 places, The Catch and The Landing, each one attached to a bullpen where the pitchers warm up. Home runs often land in these areas and baseball wannabes are invited to wear their baseball mitt in case they get a chance to do some real catching.

The Landing

As we settled into our seats with our loaded nachos, Peter and I looked around. The baseball feel is still there, but the experience is much more welcoming. For only $20 you can buy a General Admission ticket and wander around, taking in the tacky sculptures, admiring all the baseball memorabilia, enjoying some interesting snacks and maybe even catching a free baseball.

Tacky sculpture

Another tacky sculpture – with Peter underneath

During this year’s baseball season, go and spend some time with The Boys Of Summer.

Patio People

Sue

PS Thanks to everyone who wrote to say that the mystery bird in a recent column was a Muscovy Duck.

It’s been a couple of days since we all stuffed ourselves with ham and Easter eggs, or traditional Passover food. So I thought I’d give you another take on a food topic – our local food bank.

I wrote about this over two years ago, on October 6, 2020, after I had started a program with the food bank down the street. I first noticed that the children, wandering along aimlessly as their parents chose carbs, dairy, canned goods and protein, were looking a little bored with the line-ups and the tedium of it all. What could I give them to take home for themselves?

How about some food for the brain – reading? I approached the local library where the head librarian was delighted to give me children’s books recently culled from her collection. I was almost overwhelmed by the sheer number of books, but it all got sorted out and we were on our way to a successful literacy program.

Since then the numbers of families using our food bank have almost tripled. When the pandemic caused companies to shut down, more people were out of work and in need of a helping hand at their dinner table. Then the war in Ukraine sent refugees fleeing to our neighbourhood. And lately the stock market and food supply chains have felt the influence of world tensions in the far and middle east, causing unprecedented inflation. Parents have little money for food, never mind books.

Through all of this we have found lots of book donors. Many well-off families are more than anxious to clean out basements and attics if they think their beloved children’s books are going to a good cause. Grandparents tear up as they donate books, fondly remembering reading Good Night Moon to the grandchildren nestled on their laps. We discovered a Value Village nearby with shelves loaded with all sorts of children’s books in good condition, for only $1.59 each. Add a seniors’ discount on Tuesdays and the cost is just about $1.00 per book.

Then a local entrepreneur, looking for a project, found us. He partnered with his Rotary Club and together they located a couple of high schools looking for community hours for teen volunteers. The enterprising teens gather up more books than we can handle, so we have had to start buying second-hand bookcases for extra storage.

There have been other issues besides storage. Sometimes the weather wreaks havoc on our clients waiting in line outside, not always dressed for Canadian winters or spring hail storms. Sometimes clients become so frustrated that they try to butt ahead in the line. Occasionally a customer tries to utilize the services of 2 food banks in the same week. But, for the most part, people are pleasant and appreciative.

And the biggest improvement? I now have 3 other volunteers to assist. Jessica, a retired librarian, joined me almost 2 years ago. And Catherine, a former book store employee, signed up in the fall. Together we have access to more books, and we can spell each other off for vacations or family emergencies. And this past winter Agnes, my 11-year-old grand daughter who donated a lot of her favourite books, said she would like to help out too. She has first-hand knowledge of many books, and I often hear her telling a younger reader, “That was my favourite book when I was your age.” Ahh… the wisdom that comes with getting old!

Agnes sets out books at the food bank

Last Saturday, the day before Easter, the food bank was very busy. The buzz in the air was palpable as people grabbed up much-needed food for their holiday meals. And the looks on the faces of the kids as they reached for a new book? Priceless. We smiled, knowing that they would be sharing their book with their moms or dads, and that everyone would benefit from this literacy experience.

Sue

Peter and I spent the last month in Florida, living the wild life. Are you imagining us playing beach volleyball while wearing our thong bathing suits, and drinking margaritas all night on outdoor patios? Well forgetaboutit!

But we did enjoy the other kind of wildlife…

For example, the view from our lanai: for those of you who have not visited the sunshine state, a “lanai” is he local term for screened-in porch. We enjoyed breakfast out there every morning, and drinks with friends before dinner. The lanai faced a body of water referred to by the resort brochure as a lake, but it was more the size of a pond or, in these dry times, a puddle. There were 5 such lakes on the property.

We wondered if there were fish in our lake because we often saw a man standing patiently with his fishing rod. He told us he caught small-mouth bass, and followed the catch-and-release protocol. We never actually saw this happen but he was there on several occasions. We also found a small fishing boat hidden among the shrubs, looking forlorn and useless. Maybe there had been fishing in the lakes at one time, before climate change.

The many birds hanging around the lake were distantly-related to the heron family. We saw cormorants diving aggressively into the water for food. We watched graceful white egrets stretching their long necks up or hiding them under their shoulder, a useful trick I wish I could master! And we caught a brief glimpse of a little blue heron, all glistening in different shades of navy, slate, and silver. But we kept watching for a peek at a special one – a pink spoonbill. I spent a lot of time running from lake to lake, hoping to get a photo for you, dear readers. But I was unsuccessful.

Until…one morning Peter called me to the window. “Sue, I think it’s here… the one you’re looking for… it’s pink!” I rushed outside, grabbing my phone and zipping up my housecoat. Quietly I tiptoed closer and closer, taking photos as I went. The spoonbill was a very good subject, striking all sorts of poses for my lens, and she hung around our lake for most of the day. (I apologize to anyone whom I have offended by naming this bird a “she” but she did look feminine in pink… Or maybe she is a “he” since male birds usually are more colourful than their female partners. This gender identity is all so confusing. )

The lakes attracted other forms of wildlife. We often saw turtles swimming and tortoises sunning themselves on the rocky shoreline in the afternoon sun. We sometimes noticed tiny geckos hanging on the outside of the screens in our lanai, and we had to step around them as we walked on the paths. Once we jumped back in surprise as a garden snake slithered past us on our way to the grocery store.

And of course you are hoping we saw alligators in the lakes. There were rumors about that, and I would love to tell you that one chased us across the grass. But the best I can do is relate the local lore about “Hunchie.” He was a 15-foot monster who lived on a nearby golf course. Many golfers gave up balls, golf balls that is, rather than do battle with Hunchie.

There was one other bird-like creature that we saw near our lake, but nobody seemed to recognize it. So, this morning, instead of doing Wordle, why don’t you figure out what kind of creature this is? Thanks!

Sue

Mystery bird

As Peter and I packed recently to go home from a winter vacation in Florida, we realized we had a big problem – too much stuff!

We went a little overboard with the shopping. To be honest, I went a little overboard. Peter stuck to the essentials: socks and t-shirts. But I couldn’t resist the adorable golf tops and capris, and the cute sandals. I think that’s all, except for the beach bag… and the sweater. And did I mention the water shoes? You see the problem. We needed to sit on the suitcases to get them closed.

One thing we would have loved to bring home was recycling stuff. Although Florida has great weather, it does not have a great recycling program. In fact it has NO recycling program. At our resort there was one gigantic bin; the kind rented from Got Junk? for home renovations. And everything went into it: compost, glass jars, cardboard boxes, newspapers, plastic bottles, as well as all the other things that, in Canada, we would call garbage. It broke our hearts to casually toss wine bottles and kleenex boxes, knowing that they could easily be re-cycled or turned into another form of useful material. What a waste!

At home we really try, Besides following the recycling guidelines, Peter composts everything he can. He puts egg shells, coffee grinds, even the water from cooking pasta, into the compost bins. He says his compost worms are the happiest in the neighbourhood. We use a Soda Stream machine to produce our own soda water, we wash clothes with True Earth laundry strips, we have re-usable shopping bags in the car at all times. Meanwhile in Florida, plastic shopping bags are handed out like free advertising. During our vacation we kept them to use whenever we could, but at last count we had been given 53 of them in just 4 weeks.

We had time for counting plastic bags because we were unable to walk on the beach. Red Tide had taken over. What exactly is Red Tide? It’s an overgrowth of toxic algae which produces red blooms. The blooms give off fumes which cause eye, lung, and skin irritation in humans, and death to thousands of fish. Both the seriously-irritating Red Tide and the foul-smelling dead fish send tourists fleeing in droves.

What causes Red Tide? Unnatural weather systems, aka Climate Change – duh. And Another climate change disaster is floating towards Florida at a reckless pace. This one, a massive seaweed blob, the Sargassum Seaweed Belt, is expected to arrive in the Gulf Coast in early summer. It will deter tourists too, and it will be much harder to deal with. Scientists have already determined that the blob, 5,000 miles wide, can’t be used as fertilizer because it contains a poison – hydrogen sulfide. Nor can it be burned as waste because, once again, there are toxic fumes. So what to do with it? That is a whole lot of extra stuff to add to those already-full trash bins.

And that brings me back to our over-filled suitcases. Did I really need to buy all that stuff? Can I be sanctimonious about Florida’s lack of interest in recycling protocols, (which translates into climate change) when I am doing something similar? Except that, instead of throwing out bottles and bags, I will be throwing out slightly used clothes. Settling back into our lives in Toronto, I will need to reassess as I trade one outdated pair of capris for another newer, more stylish pair.

At the very least, I need to find a better place for them than the garbage bin.

Sue

It seems that Peter and I have been thinking about funerals a lot lately. (But don’t worry – this story is not about grief).

When we were in Italy in October, we visited the cemetery to deal with Peter’s deceased father. His body had been buried in the same plot for over 75 years and now, we were told, his time was up. They were running out of space and he had to move. Who knew that one could get kicked out of a cemetery plot, posthumously? We debated about having his body cremated and bringing the ashes back to Canada. But Pietro senior had never Lived in Canada. It seemed cruel to move him to a foreign land without his consent. A kind nephew solved the problem by offering us space – in his family’s crypt in the same cemetery – for Pietro senior. A gentle and respectful transition.

Back in Canada on a dreary winter morning, the phone rang. I rushed to pick it up until I saw Angela’s name on the screen. Oh oh! Angela is Peter’s Italian family’s news conduit. She calls us with details of births, marriages, and more recently, deaths. The conversation, in Italian, is always the same, beginning with a description of the deceased relative: a cousin of a brother’s niece, or a sister of an aunt on the grandfather’s side, followed by details of the visitation and funeral. No matter who it is, a relative is a relative, and must be honoured.

We prepared for the visitation; finding our black clothes and then driving to the funeral home. Inside we signed the guest book and made our way to the front of the hall where the body lay in an open casket. We waited our turn to kneel beside the deceased and say good bye to a person I had never met and Peter barely remembered. Then we rose and walked to the receiving line where we shook hands with the immediate family. We then moved along to seats in one of the rows behind the family, where we sat silently for several minutes. Finally we headed for the door, nodding to others as we left. The ritual was peaceful and reverend, but quite impersonal.

Then last week Angela called again. Oh dear, this was getting to be too much! We saw our social lives descending into everlasting days of funeral planning and line-ups at visitations. This time the deceased was George, a second cousin. But when Peter hung up, he looked a little puzzled. He said he didn’t recognize the name of the funeral home: Zitto Zitto. He translated the Italian: “Quiet quiet.” What kind of a funeral home was this?

The next day we put on our black clothes and checked Google Maps. We found Zitto Zitto in an Italian neighbourhood, on College St. There’s not much room for parking there so we left home a little early and found a parking spot a few blocks away. As we walked towards the address we passed restaurants, banks, pastry shops, shoe stores, but nothing resembling a funeral home.

Then we found the address. It was a …. Pub? Our faces brightened as we swung open the door and entered. In front of us stood an antipasto table laden with asiago and blue cheeses, prosciutto and salami, and slices of fresh baguette. Not far away the bar was set up with opened bottles of wine, and a coffee station nearby. As we carried our bounty around the room, we noticed photos everywhere showing George with his family: celebrating birthdays, hugging his beloved dog, opening Christmas gifts with grandchildren, and many more.

After a survey of the pub turned photo gallery, we found some empty seats and sat down with a couple who appeared to be about our age. We spent a happy hour sharing stories about life in Italy and our collective memories of George. On our way out, we signed the guest book and thanked George’s son, who told us it was just the kind of event his father wanted: not a sad gathering for someone’s death, but a joyful celebration of someone’s life.

The next time Angela calls, we are hoping for Zitto Zitto.

Sue

On a recent snowy Friday I had two ideas for a great adventure. But neither of them worked out.

First I was going to suggest that we stay inside – at Canada Blooms. This annual event, a convention hall filled with flowers – in arrangements, on sale, in gardens, along walkways – is a real pick-me-up on a cold dreary day. There are unusual garden tools and landscaping ideas to consider for spring, and little cafes for food and drinks when you need a rest. But this year, the show was cancelled at the last minute. I’m not sure why…

My second idea was to visit Winter Stations. This annual event runs every winter at The Beaches. Each of the lifeguard stations along the shoreline of Lake Ontario is adorned or embellished and becomes a piece of art. Two internet examples from this year’s presentation: Life Line is an interactive display where visitors can send a ball rolling along a tunnel filled with wind chimes. Ripple Hut is a composition of canoes standing upright, in a configuration which represents the ripples in the lake, while also providing a refuge from the wind. This is a great March outing, as long as the weather is mild and the wind is low. Neither was the case on that Friday.

So Peter and I took the road less travelled: a pedestrian pathway under downtown Toronto, coincidentally named THE PATH.

Before Covid, THE PATH was more travelled. In fact it was Teeming with travellers! But since that nasty pandemic forced workers to work from home, this route has been quiet. We found many businesses closed or on reduced hours. The unfortunate shops selling men’s shorts and women’s bikinis looked a little forlorn without customers to try things on as they dreamed of sunny days. Even the stuffies in one window looked sad.

Without much shopping to distract us, we kept on walking, working on getting 10,000 steps. Our plan was to find our way to the Eaton Centre and stop there for lunch. The signs were plentiful and there were welcoming security guards as back-up. We even came across a compass embedded in the floor at one 5-way intersection. Trying not to get lost was like doing brain games on foot.

We passed several eateries along our route but they were either closed or empty, not enticing at all. We carried on to the Eaton Centre where we ordered food from our favourite Thai vendor. But here we had to look hard to find an empty table – there were Lots of kids around. We ended up sharing a a large round table with kids eating next to their mother. We found out why – PA Day at school! No wonder the kids looked so happy and the caregiver so despondent!

Then it was time to make our way back to Union Station and the GO train home. Following Peter’s edict never to take the same route twice, we had to find a different path. We were delayed mid-way by a pop-up Calypso Band – a delicious distraction from the quiet walkways and the snow outside! Then we moved on.

Now dear readers, admit it – you are thinking that we got lost. Being well into our 70’s, what else would we expect to happen? And I confess that we did make a few U-turns, But we eventually arrived at Union with just over 10,000 steps. Granted there wasn’t a lot of greenery, but it was a pretty good way to spend a snowy day in Toronto.

Sue

PS If plastic indoor plants aren’t your thing, hop on the Queen Streetcar to the Beaches Winter Stations – open until April 3rd.

My step-daughter, Andrea, is a Geriatric Psychiatrist, widely respected in her field and much loved by her step-mother. But can you imagine how stressful this is for her older family members? Every time she visits us, we imagine she is doing some sort of dementia test as we play games or cook dinner. Forget which suit is trump? Oops. Leave the salad in the fridge until after dessert? Help! Knock over a chair while standing up? That’s it for sure. We’re demented.

So when she asked me recently to be part of a new project she is co-leading, I was a little anxious. She and her team had been awarded 2.5 million dollars by the federal government to study anxiety in seniors and come up with guidelines for support. And this sounds to me like money well-spent.

I know a lot of us have anxious feelings as we get older. Our bodies are falling apart before our eyes, the ones without cataracts, that is. Every morning when we wake up, our first task is to test things. Legs? Working. Shoulders? Not too stiff. Hands? A little joint pain. Then we move on to our minds: can we figure out the jumble and sudoku puzzles? Can we remember our phone number? Then we read the newspaper, (the one delivered to our door because the online one is hard to navigate), and there we discover that the world is falling apart too: Putin is destroying world peace, the climate is burning up, Covid germs are still around. No wonder anxiety is flourishing among us.

So when Andrea told me they needed an Older Adult to be part of the launch presentation, thanking the Federal Minister For Seniors, Kamal Khera, for the grant, I really wanted to be part of it. I said yes without thinking through the implications. Later that day the anxiety began to set in. What would I say? How would I get to the venue? What would I WEAR?

First I began to write my speech – with a time limit of 3 minutes. After I finished writing the first section and read it out loud to myself, it was over 6 minutes and I hadn’t even started on the main point! After a lot of chopping, and then editing by Andrea, we were down to a reasonable length and I moved on to my outfit. Definitely not my new leggings – too sporty. Not my interview suit – too old. I finally settled on pants that weren’t too tight, and a red jacket that helped subdue the grey in my complexion.

Next, how to get to the venue: car or subway? After hearing the weather report – a massive snow storm arriving the evening before – I chose a subway route that I was familiar with: 50 minutes according to the TTC trip planner. Add in an additional half hour for delays, and I was so confident I slept quite well that night.

Well I shouldn’t have. After dressing and reviewing my notes, I boarded the subway. A few minutes later – dead stop! And the driver’s voice: “We have a switching problem. Shuttle buses will be running.” There were collective gasps and moans from the riders as everyone rushed towards the exits. I hastily considered my options and started running towards the station beyond the trouble. But a lot of other commuters were doing the same, navigating the piles of slush and snow, and it was very slow going.

I imagined myself arriving late to the presentation, my hair snowy, my notes soggy, my pants mud-spattered – a total old-person look that I did not want to have in front of an audience. Quite anxious by this time, I called Andrea who sent UBER to the rescue.

Are you waiting anxiously for the ending to this story? I made it on time, Minister Khera noticed my red jacket, and my little speech was well-received. My subway ride home was peaceful, and my anxiety was gone. But I am looking forward to the results of the Anxiety Project and how it can help all of us oldies who suffer from anxiety, in small ways and big, nearly every day.

Sue