In preparation for my post this morning, I re-read last year’s post about Thanksgiving. Last October we invited 18 family members for dinner, I bought a huge TOM Turkey which I had trouble lifting into the car, and then I read a magazine article titled “How to Host the Perfect Thanksgiving” which I followed exactly, of course. That was only 12 months ago, but how the world has changed since then!

For this year’s Thanksgiving: instead of 18 guests, my husband Peter and I had just ourselves, and a few short back-yard family visits. Instead of striving for perfection, I was striving for survival. And in addition to TOM, we had Venus. Venus is my son’s big dog and she has trouble getting into cars too. She came to visit while my son and daughter-in-law went on a short vacation.

Venus is a little puppy in an adult dog’s body. She spent her time running from the living room, where she had a dog-height window from which to view passing pedestrians (and one racoon), to the back porch, where she could stalk the neighbour’s cat, Minou. Back and forth, back and forth she went, her routine only interrupted when I “stole” her ball. This squeaky orange orb with spikes looks amazingly like a covid germ. She carries it around, stopping only to squeak it if she is stressed. It’s like her security blanket, her worry beads.

Another thing we did was go for walks, twice a day. I had no idea there were so many dogs in our new neighbourhood. I counted 11 on one walk alone. As all dog-walkers know, it’s best to avoid one another because dogs have a different sense of which other dogs are OK to meet. Venus can spot a yappy, mouse-like creature and it’s love at first sight. Or she can come across an adorable male specimen and growl as if he’s a terrorist. Venus checked out all the other options on our walks, but not one was suitable. Instead she wanted to go home to see TOM.

TOM was the highlight of Venus’s visit. He was huge and she was impressed that we went to such expense just for her. She watched intently as I stuffed him and put him in the roasting pan. She hung around the kitchen salivating for 4 hours while he roasted up. Then Peter and I sat down to eat our quiet Thanksgiving dinner, making small talk while Venus waited nearby. Her contributions to the conversation were grunts and snorts, indicating that her patience was running thin.

After dinner, we sliced TOM up and gave some to Venus. She “gobbled” every mouthful. Then she spent the rest of the evening lying on the living room rug, doing turkey toots. Very rude, I thought.

Meanwhile Peter and I made up 5 packages of meat, stuffing, gravy; one for each of our “kids.” On Saturday Venus went home, accompanied by her parents and one of the packages tucked safely under the front seat. The other families made arrangements to drop by on Sunday or Monday, sit in the back yard, socially distanced for 1/2 an hour, and then pick up their Turkey To Go.

Today the house seems lonely. No more family visits, no holiday excitement, and no Venus running back and forth, squeaking her ball, or checking under the table for turkey bits. It’s going to be a long winter… Does anybody have a dog we can borrow?

Sue

These days, with summer giving way to autumn and the daylight hours shrinking by the minute, we are hearing other bad news too. The pandemic is in a second wave. How are we going to fill all the dark cold hours that lie ahead?

One thing everyone is doing a lot more of is…No I’m not talking about baking, or walking, or watching the latest Trump fiasco. Something more cerebral – reading! Newspapers, best-selling novels, magazines, even store ads – all are flying off the shelves during these lonely times. We crave an escape, away from our worries and into another world where we can find somebody or something else to think about.

But not everyone has access to decent print material. Children, especially in low-income families, are deprived. Store-bought books are expensive, regular schooling is not available to everyone, and libraries have limited access. So how to help? One day I was walking past a local church and I saw a long line of people waiting, some of them with kids beside them and wagons trailing behind. I soon discovered that it was a Food Bank. And it was really busy. But those kids dragging along; they seemed bored. They needed a book!

A few phone calls later an idea was born. “Get reading! Food For the Brain!” After we got the OK from the Food Bank and a place to hand out books to kids, we needed the books. I mentioned this idea to some friends, many of them YOU dear readers! Soon I had people cleaning out cupboards, searching in basements, and dropping off books, lots of them. One family actually donated 97 books, most of them nearly new.

Meanwhile I contacted the library next to the church, and the librarian said my call was timely; they were culling their shelves and would be happy to donate the children’s books. Otherwise the books would be going into recycling. What a shame! A few days later the librarian called back to say the books were ready for pick-up. Did I have a car? A Big car? Oh oh…..

I conscripted my dear husband Peter and we took his SUV to the library. There on the curb were bags and bags of books. We estimated about 250 books in total. They were in good shape too! We drove them to the church for storage. Samantha, the person who had agreed to take this project on with me, looked a little worried. It seems that the church, like many of us, has a shortage of storage space. We loaded the books into Sam’s office: on the floor, under the side table, and finally onto her desk. She said she would find somewhere else to work.

Next, Sam and I walked around the neighbourhood, putting up flyers on hydro poles, in apartment lobbies, in bus shelters; anywhere we thought the flyers would be seen by people who used food banks. The flyer announced the day the project would start – September 23. We hoped that at least a few families would take advantage. We really needed to unload all those books!

Well I am happy to say that, in the first week we gave out about 50 books. The second week was just as good. A few children showed up and were delighted to pick out their own book, but it was mostly parents choosing for their child. They had special requests too. “My son hates reading but do you have any books on basketball?” “My daughter Loves unicorns. Are there any unicorn books?” And a scary one: “I don’t have any kids, but do you have any adult books?” Oops…if we took on adult books, Sam would have to move out of her office entirely.

I went home feeling pretty upbeat about all this, despite the work involved. Then the librarian called again to say they had more books available, another 250 at least. Yikes! It seems we may have created a pandemic monster! A literate one at least.

Sue

PS No picture due to technical difficulties. Go read a book instead!

Feeling isolated? Depressed? Entertaining thoughts of cutting off your right ear? It could be pandemic fatigue. So put down that razor and get yourself to the Immersive Van Gogh exhibit. You’ll feel much better in an hour or so.

Highlights of Van Gogh’s impressive body of work – over 900 oils produced in just 9 years – are on display in a unique exhibit. Easy to get to by car along the expressway, or by GO train if you dare, the Toronto Star building, number One Yonge Street, once housed its massive printing presses on the ground floor. The presses moved north to Vaughan in 1992 and the space is now rented out to other tenants.

The current tenants are masterminds of technology. Creative director Massimo Siccardi and composer Luca Longobardi worked together to bring Van Gogh’s paintings alive on the concrete walls and floor of this cavernous space.

When you arrive, put on your mask and walk through the curtains into another world. The room has been transformed from a newspaper factory into a revolving art gallery. All shades of the colour spectrum glide by. Sunflowers and stars, trees and meadows, windows and rooms, appear in bursts of colour, travel along, and disappear into something else. In the background, music by an eclectic group of composers and singers – Handel, Bach, Edith Piaf, rock star Thom Yorke – elevates the exhibit to another creative level.

Van Gogh’s best works are represented in this show. (Vases With) Fifteen Sunflowers, perhaps best loved for their glorious yellow hues, dance across the walls. A single candle flame expands into a table with characters seated around it: The Potato Eaters. A farmer’s field seems to grow a bed, and The Bedroom appears. Stars on a background of brilliant blue float on walls and floors and become The Starry Night. Transitions from one work to another are fascinating. A hand seems to pull back one scene to reveal another. Wheat fields morph into irises which in turn become almond blossoms – a whole roomful of white almond blossoms on the most glorious blue background.

Van Gogh himself appears often, one time looking defeated, another time in a hat adorned with candles which he wore when painting late into the night, and again with a bandaged head where an ear should be. His erratic signature, written in red, foretells his future: death by his own hand at age 37; a huge loss to the art world at such a young age.

Visitors wander from one social circle to another, the circles lit from above onto the floor, as the paintings travel along the contours of the walls. Some circles are filled with benches or chairs, for those who wish to stay a while. In the centre, a staircase leads up to yet another view, looking down.

As visitors finally tear themselves away, their eyes and minds saturated with beauty, they exit – into the gift shop. Life in our consumer world is back in focus. Funky tee-shirts, biographies, socks painted with irises, umbrellas adorned with sunflowers are all on sale. A small bar/coffee shop provides a place to sit and reflect on the show. And perhaps to wonder at the genius who could not find contentment in his magnificent work.

Sue

A few days ago we woke up to a very dark house. Not only was the sun not up yet, but none of the twinkling little lights inside – on the microwave, on the smoke alarms, on the stove – were twinkling.

We looked outside and saw that several houses on the street had no lights either. A call to hydro confirmed our fears: our immediate neighbouhood would be without power until at least 1:00 pm. This was a shocker! We had experienced a few power outages when we lived in the country but honestly, we thought that city living would be immune from power loss. How naive we were!

The first order of business was COFFEE. Not having easy access to our cars that were locked in the garage with an electric garage door opener, we put our masks and sneakers on and almost jogged to the nearest Tim Horton’s. As we sat eating our breakfast bagels, we thought about how our morning would be different now. My plans had included baking muffins and making squash soup – not possible without a stove. Peter usually spends his mornings checking his email messages and watching business shows on TV. But he wasn’t going to be doing that either. It was beginning to feel like the early days of the pandemic. We were being held hostage, not only by germs but also by hydro.

We walked home from Timmy’s slowly, because what was the point of rushing? We read the morning paper cover to cover. We wandered around the garden pulling out a few weeds and finding some ripe tomatoes. Then we went inside and made tomato sandwiches for lunch, being careful not to open the fridge door too often. Next we called the hydro help line again, using our cell phone which was getting a little low on battery juice. We discovered that the restoration time had been moved to 6:00 pm. We got out the board games.

After a few rounds of Sequence, we put our sneakers back on and went searching for the cause of the outage. Two streets over we found 5 hydro trucks and a crew of workers. The scene was bustling with energy. We spoke to a homeowner who was near tears. She told us about how a huge branch from a neighbour’s tree had snapped off and landed on her new car. Both the car and the branch had been hauled away. But all the electric wires, that used to be overhead, were now lying in heaps and coils on the road and nearby lawns. This was a big job; several more hours at least.

We wandered back home again and found books and magazines to read. The weather was pleasant so we were able to sit outside on the swing – pushing ourselves – no electricity required. But no kettle either so we couldn’t make tea.

After a while we called the hydro help line again and were told the restoration time would now be 9:00 pm. We thawed some pork chops to cook on the BBQ, and made a salad. There was still enough warmth and light to eat outside. After dinner we piled the dishes in the sink, hoping the dishwasher could be used before we ran out of plates. We checked our watches – only 7:00 pm! It was getting darker now and hard to read outside. Would this day never end? We went inside and found candles.

Just as we were ready to give up and go to bed, there was a hum…the fridge? Some clicks and buzzes…the computer! Blinking lights…the microwave!! Life had returned. Not quite the life we had had last year, but good enough for now.

Sue

Two years ago, when my husband Peter and I decided to move from the country to the city, we knew we would have to give up a few things. Tomato Day was one of them.

Every September authentic Italian households celebrate Tomato Day. The family gathers together to wash, chop, and preserve tomatoes, the main ingredient of the pasta sauce for Sunday lunch. Peter and I hosted this important event every September for many years. It requires a lot of space: a large garage and driveway for preparing the tomatoes, a back yard where a bonfire is set up to cook the 100 plus jars in a barrel, and a big cantina in the basement to hold all the jars until the tomatoes are eaten.

When we decided to move to the city we knew that a small house in a subdivision would not be a suitable tomato house. And, to be honest, we aren’t getting any younger and Tomato Day is a Lot of work! We canvassed our kids, all the ones who eat these jarred tomatoes, to see if anybody would like to take over the role of host. Last year we were SOL, but this year, after some arm-twisting, we got a taker! Daniel said yes to Tomato Day. He had even done some research and found a way to preserve the tomatoes without a huge back yard bonfire, something he learned is illegal in the city.

On the morning of Tomato Day Peter and I tried not to look too gleeful as we loaded up the car with supplies. We made an easy trip across the city on a deserted expressway. Apparently all the other Tomato Day workers were still sleeping. When we arrived at Daniel’s place, he was already setting up tables, and our grandson Ben, was dying to get started. Actually what he really wanted was to eat pasta, his favourite meal, and he knew we had to make the tomato sauce first. “Hurry up, Nonno!” he cried.

The other “staff members” arrived and the morning progressed as usual: washing, chopping, grinding, stirring and finally putting the tomato sauce into the jars. We rotated through the jobs so nobody would get too bored or too stiff from doing the same thing over and over again. But there was also a lot of talking, sharing family news, discussing politics, and remarking on our current situation. Here we were, using our university education to stuff tomatoes into jars and squirt seeds at each other.

After a few hours lunch arrived, ordered from a restaurant because the cooks were all too busy processing the tomatoes. Ben recoiled in horror as he surveyed the food. “Where is my pasta?’ he demanded. He was not impressed with the way things were going. But the situation improved when a cake arrived for dessert. It was the birthday of one of the “staff” and this seemed like the perfect opportunity to celebrate. Ben was OK with that.

Next came the cleaning up. The big pots, tubs, grinder, and utensils, all covered with tomato gunk, had to be washed and rinsed in the driveway; this was too big a job for the kitchen. Soon the driveway was running bright red as the dish water rushed towards the drain in the road. The “staff” were quite a sight with our faces and clothes all splattered with tomato bits. But not a singe passer-by asked about a possible murder or threatened to call the police to search for a body.

Finally it was time to say good bye. This farewell was sad. Not only was Tomato Day over for another year, but the grandchildren would be heading back to school in a couple of days. When that happened, our family bubble would be dissolved and social distancing would once again be in effect. We gave everybody extra hugs, not knowing when we’d be able to do it again.

Sue

Labour Day weekend 2020 is history. This iconic end-of-summer holiday is usually filled with back-to-school preparations, family BBQ’s, and the EX. But not this year.

Preparations for the upcoming school year have been difficult because of so many last-minute changes and unclear directions. Parents have been left adrift, not sure how to proceed. Should the kids stay at home and learn online, or go back to their schools and learn in person? The back-to-school shopping has been trickier too. In addition to a first-day outfit, there has to be a suitable mask. “I want Spiderman on mine!” “I want unicorns on mine!” And everyone must bring their own pencils, erasers, and other classroom supplies that can’t be shared. Parents, who have spent 5 years or more encouraging their children to give to others, are now saying “Don’t Share!”

Those family gatherings for a last summer BBQ looked very different this year. No more than the 10 people in your bubble. But if your family is 11 or 12, did you leave somebody out? What if your favourite grocery store was sold out of the burgers that your family loves? How many other stores could you safely visit? What if it rained and you couldn’t eat outside? How fast could you clean out the garage and set up some folding tables and chairs?

And the EX: For 141 years families have been putting on their sunglasses and heading to the CNE to mark the end of summer. Most of us remember visits when we were kids. My family lived in St. Catharines back then and we had to wake up really early to make the drive along the QEW in order to get a parking spot close to the fairgrounds. I remember being wide awake most of the night before, thinking of all the fun waiting for us at the EX.

My favourite building was the Food Building, where lots of free samples were available. Often we’d choose a line not knowing what was being offered. One time I waited almost 20 minutes for a paper cup filled with some cold peas. I almost cried! Another favourite activity was trying to get Dad to win us a big, I mean BIG, stuffed animal. He worked very hard at getting the ring on the post, or the ball in the cup, but often we ended up with a tiny plastic car or a small box of crayons. Then we unappreciative kids would berate him for failing us, even though that was the Only Dad thing he ever failed.

The CNE has changed a lot since then. The original purpose of the EX – to showcase new innovative products – has been taken over by other fairs like the Home Show or the Boat Show. But some things are the same. The midway is still really the centre of the fair, with lots of big stuffed animals and Dads trying to show off. Last year we took our grandson Ben, and he spent over half an hour waiting in the hot sun for a chance to have his picture taken with Chase from Paw Patrol. Then we visited the Food Building where, instead of free cold peas, we found expensive bacon-wrapped chocolate bars, Bloomin’ Onions, and other heart-stopping treats. This year none of that: no midway challenges, no garbage delights, not even any air show.

Despite all the restrictions, closures, and difficult choices, one thing we have discovered during this pandemic is that we are resilient and flexible. We make do. And we did!

Now we look forward to fall, with its exciting Argos football games – oops, not. And big family Thanksgiving dinners – oh maybe not that either. Bu we Do have the gorgeous fall colours, and accessible walking trails all across the city. We have new learning opportunities online with universities, theatres, and museums. And we have each other – even at a distance. Stay safe, and Happy Fall!

Sue

Once upon a time…oh no wait…this is a true story.

My husband Peter and I spent the past week in Southampton, babysitting our grand daughter Agnes, who is almost 9, at her cottage. We have spent a lot of time with Agnes ever since she was born and we know her pretty well. But the Agnes we were with last week has grown up a lot in the last few months. Her world is getting bigger and her mothering instincts are kicking in.

The first hint we had of her new maturity was a message form her mom telling us that Agnes has a new friend and they are allowed to wander into town by themselves, all the way to the ice cream store. Agghh… how were we to handle this new freedom? Could we dress up in camouflage and follow her from a safe distance behind? We trembled with fear as she set out the first time, and we waited near the door until she came home again.

On the third day of this new life Agnes returned home with a surprise…a tiny mouse. She and her friend had found it lying on the sidewalk looking sickly. Their nurturing instincts took over and they spent the afternoon nursing the mouse back to health. They found a temporary plastic container for it while they outfitted a cardboard box with an upstairs bedroom and a ramp. Then they upgraded to a bucket which they filled with dirt, a small drinking station/bathtub, a bedroom, and a food court. Pretty fancy digs for a tiny mouse. Worth several thousand on the Toronto Real Estate market.

Next they googled what to feed the mouse. They discovered that lettuce is not healthy for mice, but cheese and peanut butter would be perfect. They also fed they little guy some crumbs of banana muffins that we had baked the previous day. Then the mouse was shivering so they needed a blanket for his little bed. Seeing no material handy, Agnes took off her socks and cut them into little blanket squares. Ooops…mothering gone too far!

The girls wanted Mousie to join us inside the cottage for the night but, since Peter has spent hours setting traps to keep mice Out of houses, we suggested that the garden shed might be a better idea. We tucked him in and said good night. Then Agnes face-timed her parents to see about bringing Mousie home to the city. For sure he would love city life as much as we do. The parents were not thrilled. They were probably considering firing the babysitters, (us). Finally Agnes went to sleep, exhausted. Mothering is a lot of stress.

The next morning we went to wake up the mouse. He was not under his little sock blanket. He was not in the food court eating breakfast. He was not having a bath in the drinking station. It seemed that Mousie had escaped! We searched high and low in the garden shed and then discovered a pretty big gap under the door to the outside. Mousie had likely made a quick exit into the woods.

Agnes called her dad in tears. This was a tragedy! What could be done? Dad consoled her in the best way possible. “The mouse was happy to have found such caring nurses, but now that he was healthy he wanted to go back to nature. He was not a big city kind of guy.” Agnes would not be consoled. Finally, in desperation, Dad muttered quietly “Maybe we could get you a mouse when you get back to the city.”

Agnes’s face lit up. “A store-bought mouse? For Me? With a cage and a water bottle? And little toys?” She set to work figuring out a name and planning the decorating scheme for the new cage. Poor Country Mousie was instantly forgotten – doomed to a future in the forest. No city living for him!

As for Peter and me, having made the choice to move from the country a couple of years ago – we are rooting for the city mouse.

Sue

Evry morning when I make the bed, I think of Miss Burrill.

Miss Burrill was my home ec teacher back in grade 7 and 8. She taught a whole roomful of naive girls how to be successful homemakers. One of the important skills was how to make the bed quickly: make one entire side of the bed first, then go around to the other side and make it. No back and forth, pulling up one sheet or cover at a time. NO! You had to be efficient! When Miss Burrill wasn’t looking, we girls hid in a corner and laughed ourselves silly.

I have lots of other memories of my elementary school days and my teachers, back in the 1950’s. The girls all had a crush on Mr, Vasko, phys ed teacher who also coached basketball and was really cute. And Mr. Glass; we knew to avoid him because, when he gave a girl a detention at recess, he would hover around her desk much too close. We had great respect for Miss Dobson, our grade 3 teacher, who let us vote on whether she should give a boy the strap for a misdemeanor. We adored Miss Stoutenberg who had the most beautiful clothes – and matching shoes!

And friends: every day I walked part-way to school by myself. Then I met my friend Jolaine at the corner of her street and we walked the rest of the way together. But one morning she wasn’t there – she had found another friend, Penny, to walk with. I cried buckets about losing my best friend. But then I found another best friend, Linda, and started walking to school with her.

Linda and I gossiped a lot about Jolaine and Penny; their clothes, their lunches, anything we could think of to criticize. Except sometimes we all got together to talk about somebody else – Sammy Backus. Sammy was the class rebel. He wore his hair slicked down in waves and often had a cigarette tucked behind his ear. On the weekends he would get into trouble robbing a store or gas station, and sometimes he even spent a night in jail. We were thrilled and terrified at the same time. Once Penny took her Brownie camera to school and snuck a photo of him, which we passed around when the teacher wasn’t looking.

In grade 8, I was chosen by the teacher to be the editor of the class yearbook. I loved my role of collecting stories and poems from the kids, writing the cover letter, running the finished pages off on the ditto machine, and getting a little high on the smell of the ink. I beamed with pride as I distributed the copies of the finished book on the last day of school, and everybody began collecting autographs on the back page. It was the beginning of my writing career.

As I look back at my years in elementary school, I guess somewhere along the way I learned math, science, English and history. But that’s not what I remember. The things I recall and cherish are the connections, the friendships, the learning together. And I understand why kids these days are so anxious to get back to school.

Right now parents all across Canada, whether they live in the city or the country, are trying to decide whether to send their child back to school in September. Will it be safe in the classroom? Are there covid germs lurking around? But that’s not what the kids are thinking about at all. They want to hang out with their friends, laugh at their teachers’ quirks, and sneak some pictures of the class rebel on their phones.

Sue