During this pandemic summer people are spending more and more time in their gardens. They have abandoned their bread makers and taken up spades, diggers, and clippers instead.

In fact gardening became such a big thing that nurseries sold out of stock in early June. Geraniums became the spring equivalent of toilet paper! Line-ups at the local nurseries began as early as 7:00 am. People paced back and forth, breathing heavily through their masks, as they checked their lists and planned their attack on the store. One person would search for weed-killer, while another scoured the store for annuals that didn’t look half-dead. Often they had to make do with whatever they could find. If there were no white impatiens, then pink would have to do. No kale? Then try swiss chard.

My husband Peter and I are part of the gardening frenzy. I mostly take care of the flowers. Peter, on the other hand, inherited a farmer gene and loves growing vegetables. His girlfriend at Sunyland Produce would be devastated if she saw his bountiful harvest of zucchini, tomatoes, cucumber, and squash. This past spring our neighbour kept peering over the back fence and marvelling at his vegetable garden. She even quipped,”I can’t wait to taste all those great things you are growing.”

So, one day recently we created a menu using ingredients from the garden, and invited the neighbour and her husband for dinner on the patio. First I made gazpacho, a cold soup of tomatoes, cucumber, peppers and onions – all locally sourced, just a few steps away. Peter the Italian admitted that this dish is not part of his heritage, but he boldly took a few sips and declared it delicious. For the main course we have not yet expanded our back yard to include a chicken coop, so I had to buy some of that. But we had summer squash and zucchini as vegetables and we roasted the potatoes with home-grown rosemary. We topped off dinner with a rhubarb dessert, also from the garden. It was a successful meal. But we are not opening a restaurant any time soon.

Peter also looks after the grass: cutting, fertilizing, and weeding. This year he tackled another area of the property. It was a kind of no-man’s-land of weeds, not suitable for either flowers or vegetables. Instead of planting more grass to cut, he had a serendipitous moment – what about ground cover, like periwinkle? He had seen periwinkle growing in an abandoned field when we lived in the country, and fallen in love with its little purple flowers, its hardiness, and its low maintenance. It was the answer to his dilemma.

Peter began his search for periwinkle. His trips to the nurseries were fruitless. He noticed a neighbour’s garden with some growing, and he briefly considered dressing up in black and sneaking out in the middle of the night with his shovel. He finally decided on a better plan. He would get his hair cut! And, after he visited his old barber in the country, he would visit that abandoned field and “borrow” a few sprigs of periwinkle.

Well a few sprigs turned out to be boxes of plants. Peter spent an entire day planting them; filling the weedy no-man’s-land and just about anywhere else he saw an empty corner. He even tried to plant some in my flower beds, but I was standing guard. However, I do have to admire those little periwinkles – growing quietly, not trying to make a statement, not needing to be looked after. In short: periwinkle is perfect! I wonder if I could use it in a salad?

Sue

On a recent post I asked readers to submit their favourite walks in the summer. There were 3 great suggestions. And my husband Peter and I tried them out.

One reader suggested taking the trail to the Evergreen Brickworks. The path was a shady respite from the summer heat. Once we arrived at the Brickworks, we came across the warehouse, a reminder of what had been before Covid 19. A farmers’ market, artisan stalls, and kids’ camps used to occupy this large cavernous space. But outside, the grounds were still flourishing and as beautiful as ever. We wandered past butterfly gardens, lily ponds, and a children’s secret garden tucked underneath a large overhanging tree.

A highlight of the Brickworks is a unique map created in steel, with vegetation growing through it. The map illustrates the 3 river systems – the Humber, the Don, and the Rouge – that punctuate the Toronto landscape. These 3 rivers flow into Lake Ontario and give us the creeks, valleys, and trail systems that have been a lifesaver for us and other walkers throughout this pandemic season.

On another day we met a reader in Marie Curtis Park and walked along the Etobicoke Creek. Here we found little surprises along the way: a collection of tiny man-made bird houses and bird feeders all colourfully painted, a mural of cyclists who speed along according to the viewer’s perspective, a carved face in a tree trunk peeking out from the foliage.

We stopped for a picnic lunch near a playground with no yellow tape in sight any more, and a large splash pad filled with happy children. Lake Ontario was nearby and there were lifeguards on duty, but, oh darn, I had forgotten to take my bathing suit along so I can’t tell you how cold the water was.

Then recently, on a cloudy and boring day, Peter asked me where we were going on our walk. I said, maybe a little too hastily, “Why don’t YOU plan somewhere to go today?” And he did! He suggested we walk along the shores of the West Humber River in the northwest part of the city where he had lived with his growing family for a few years.

We easily found the entrance to the trail and headed into the valley. It was a path lined with sumach bushes – how pretty it would be in the fall when the bushes turned red! Then we saw a sign for the Humber Arboretum. The garden was nowhere in sight so we asked another walker about it. She directed us up a flight of stairs which, she said, would lead us to the most beautiful spot imaginable.

At the top of the stairs we discovered a bountiful vegetable garden, overflowing with zucchini, cucumbers, beets, radishes, eggplant and tomatoes. Peter began to salivate. This was heaven for him. Good thing there was a fence! Signage told us it was a “learning garden” for the students of the college agricultural program. But we suspect it also feeds the patrons of the restaurant hospitality program. It was lush.

But it wasn’t exactly beautiful. So we continued walking along the path, behind some Humber College buildings. Then we emerged – into a garden of delights. As we wandered around, we were astonished by the variety of flowers, waterfalls, lily ponds, rose gardens, Greek structures, trellises, arbors, in the park-like setting. We meandered through the garden, finally choosing a bench where we could sit and enjoy the views for a while longer.

So dear readers, leave your covid anxiety behind, put on your best old sneakers, grab your water bottle, and head out. In most places you don’t even need a mask. This city is full of natural delights just waiting to be explored.

Sue

My husband Peter would tell you that I’m a shopaholic. I think that might be stretching it a bit, but I do admit that the choice to move from the country to the city was partly due to the proximity of malls. Covid 19 may have changed all that.

During the cold, lonely, germ-infested months of March, April and even May, I longed to go to a mall, wander around, try on some clothes, maybe buy a few things… Finally Stage 2 arrived and the local mall was open for business!

My first stop was the book store. It’s been open for a while and I knew my way around. But, after I finished buying a couple of books, I tried to enter the mall from the book store. I discovered that the entrance was locked up. I spent at least 20 minutes searching until I found another entrance, tucked into an alleyway. Not very welcoming.

Once inside, I saw a totally different world from my last visit in February. There were signs, arrows, paper footprints everywhere – on the floors, on walls, on counters. They were hard to miss. But when I did go the wrong way, there were guards wearing masks and standing, feet spread, hands clasped behind their backs – police style. A wrong turn and I was quickly re-routed. This was further complicated by the fact that the interactive maps were out of service and I had to figure out store locations on my own.

As I made my way towards my favourite stores, I noticed a lot of other changes. A few places were not open, especially ones selling finger food like chocolate, popcorn, sushi, ice cream. Other stores, such as Lego and The Body Shop that usually encourage touching and testing merchandise, had removed those opportunities and most of their products were hidden behind bars and counters. Clothing stores did allow access to dressing rooms, but anything that wasn’t purchased after a try-on had to be steam-cleaned before it was put back on the rack. The guilt of rejecting something I had tried on would be tremendous – so I didn’t.

The mall itself was deserted. There were a few older ladies like me wandering around in disbelief, a few power walkers getting their steps in an air-conditioned venue, a few groups of bored teenagers likely plotting their next secret house party for 200. But mostly I had an overwhelming sense of “What am I doing here?” Surely I could manage to live without a new white belt or new black flats.

Covid 19 has presented us with some different moral dilemmas. A recent Globe and Mail article discussed whether shopping for shoes (or belts) is essential to saving our economy. Shouldn’t we be giving the money to a food bank instead? In “Sole-searching In the Pandemic Summer” the author says that the best way to help the economy is to buy a new car, Canadian-assembled, preferably electric. For clothes – visit a consignment store and re-use. Oh oh…

So are people actually buying Any new clothes these days? Sales clerks say that shirts and blouses are flying off the shelves, meeting the needs of business meetings on Zoom, where the viewer can only see you from the waist up. For below the waist you can consider buying the new “buffet pants” – jogging pants with elastic waist bands to accommodate extra snacking.

After a quick trip around the mall, I found myself feeling disappointed and sad. My favourite hobby was in a shambles. I might as well go home and bake some bread instead. Then at least I’d have a reason to go back to the mall and buy those buffet pants.

Sue

PS No picture of me wearing the new shoes that I didn’t buy.

Have you ever noticed how, as we age, we tend to think more about our past? This is especially true as we cope with a life-altering disease such as Covid 19. When the world looks so different, we are drawn to something familiar – our personal histories.

My husband, Peter, has been doing a lot of reminiscing lately. He often steers our walks in a north-west direction, where he lived when his kids were growing up. And he’s been studying his family tree which one of his nephews recently created. It’s gigantic. Peter figured out that he has 49 first cousins! And when he is not going on walks or looking over this huge family tree, he sits in his favourite chair and plays music by Italian singers Claudio Villa and Rita Pavone, from his childhood.

Watching Peter so involved in his past, I decided to get into the act too. I remembered something about my dad’s history – that he had moved to Canada as a 2-year-old and had settled with his family in Hamilton. What about that house? Was it still standing? Peter and I drove to Hamilton and found a house in an industrial area. The owners were sitting on the front porch. How serendipitous! They confirmed that the house was about 120 years old and had been built, along with several others on the street, as accommodation for Stelco workers. I knew my grandfather had been a Stelco worker. Bingo! It was the right house. Next stop – England – where both my parents had been born.

BUT… England is not easy to visit during a pandemic, so we planned a short trip to Kingston instead. Peter and I had both gone to Queen’s University, although we didn’t know each other back then. We had spent a lot of time on the campus but we were both so busy studying (well maybe socializing too), that we didn’t really know the city. Kingston has one big travel advantage right now: it’s safe! There is no Covid 19 there.

We spent our first day strolling around the campus, checking out our residences and reminiscing about our classes and friends. Most of the old buildings, constructed with local limestone, are still standing and in great shape. There are new buildings too, a mix of limestone and the trendy new building materials: glass and steel. We laughed when we saw our new library which is now the OLD library, across the street from the new NEW library. Can Our Library have actually worn out since we studied there only 50 years ago?

On the second day we explored Kingston’s scenic waterfront. There is now a beautiful pathway with reminders of the War Of 1812: Martello Towers dot the landscape, along with information plaques, benches and picnic tables. Downtown we also found great restaurants with open patios, some of them on the waterfront too. We took the free ferry to Wolfe Island and strolled between the bakery serving coffee and cinnamon buns to a waterfront patio offering up beer and nachos. But we didn’t find any appealing beaches for swimming there, so we went back to our hotel rooftop pool overlooking Lake Ontario. We had the pool all to ourselves and it was perfect. Not quite swimming IN the lake, but very close!

On the last day of our mini-vacation we were lucky to get tickets to tour the Kingston Penitentiary, a maximum security facility which had closed in 2015. We toured the gyms, the office areas, the shops and…the cells. Some of them were open. Suddenly I noticed an evil look in Peter’s eye as he suggested I go into one and try it out. Well dear readers, I knew I had to write this blog post so I resisted.

If yo are looking for a safe place in Ontario to have a little break, you could try a visit to Kingston. Just be sure to watch yourself at the jail.

Sue

After spending an entire vacation week staying cool in a lake, my husband Peter and I wondered how we would survive the rest of this hot summer with no swimming.

Then we heard the best news – outdoor pools in the city were going to be open, with restrictions of course. We live less than 2 blocks from an Olympic-sized public pool with a very pleasant water temperature. The schedule indicated lane swimming, 6 people for half an hour at a time, from 11 to 12 noon. This was followed by family leisure swim, 25 people per hour, from 12 to 8 pm. We chose lane swimming over being splashed and jumped on by little kids. We changed into our bathing suits and headed up the street.

When we arrived, there were some people in line ahead of us. It seemed to be 4, which meant that we would be 5 and 6 – yea! We sat down on a curb in the shade and waited. When the whistle blew and everyone jumped up, we discovered that one babysitter was actually a swimmer which meant that we were numbers 6 and 7. Peter and I looked at each other with longing. But I tend to be a martyr, so I gave him the spot and left for home.

When I got home, I started feeling sorry for myself and desperate to get into that pool, so I walked back again. When Peter’s half hour ended, he passed me as I was waiting. He looked very appreciative. I got into the pool: ah cool water! ah exercise! ah martyrdom!

The pool swim was lovely but I started thinking about the lake – Lake Ontario – the lake where I spent all my childhood summers. Readers may remember that last September I decided to try swimming in the lake again, at age 70 plus. I dragged Peter with me but he has Mediterranean blood and only got in up to his knees. I made it all the way to my waist before I chickened out too. But this summer…surely this summer has been so hot that the water would be hot too, right?

On Friday, with temperatures in the 30’s, we decided to try our luck at Sunnyside Beach. Well in truth, I wore my bathing suit and Peter said he would be in charge of the camera. We got a parking spot, overcoming our first hurdle, and then walked to the beach. There were a lot of people sun bathing but nobody was actually swimming. The lifeguard told us why – unsafe levels of e-coli. Well readers, I was not ready to poison myself for you, so we left.

Now what? Somebody told us that, further west on another beach, the e-coli levels were low. We went searching and found the beach. Once again we saw sun-bathers and even paddlers, but no swimmers. Plus the lake was rough! And the bottom was rocky! Really, how much sacrifice am I supposed to make for this blog anyway? So we went home, and sat inside with the air-conditioner going full blast.

Through a window I spotted the garden hose in the back yard. Would a run through the sprinkler count as swimming? I’d have to invite some grand children over so I wouldn’t look silly. Or maybe I could go with them to a splash pad…..

Then I decided that maybe it was just easiest to go back to the outdoor pool. So, after I finish writing this, I’m going to sneak out the back door and race up the street, ready to capture spot number 6. Don’t anybody tell Peter!

Sue

Ever since the provincial government allowed cleaning services to resume, my husband Peter and I have been avoiding Lucy. She comes in the front door to clean the house, and we go out the back to…basically keep ourselves occupied for 5 hours.

This is not easy during a pandemic. There are no seating areas in shopping centres where you can have a coffee and read. Few museums or art galleries are open and only then with advanced bookings. Movie theatres are shuttered. We are reduced to walking but, since March 13, we figure we have walked at least twice the distance around Lake Ontario. We are running out of walking enthusiasm, and ideas.

But last week I had one. I have been taking an architecture course online where the focus is on Toronto neighbourhoods. One day we were discussing Lawrence Park, and the Alexander Muir Gardens came up. Muir was that patriotic Canadian poet, teacher and musician who wrote The Maple Leaf Forever back in 1867 to celebrate Canadian confederation. I knew of several schools that are named after him, but I didn’t know about his garden.

Peter and I covered ourselves in sun screen and packed a lunch with lots of water so we could handle the 33-degree temperature that was forecast. We drove across town and easily found the entrance. We followed a shady trail leading to stairs into the garden. At the bottom of the stairs we turned around and saw that the stairs were supporting a monument to Muir, etched with a description of his life’s work.

The garden itself was an oasis. Although the grass was a little brown in spots, the flowers were in full bloom. Begonias, marigolds, astilbe, and petunias adorned the sunny areas, while hostas and various hues of pink and white coleus filled the shady borders. Then we noticed the wooded path ahead. It called out to us. We followed it as it wound through the trees beside a stream – Burke Brook.

We were not alone. There were several families with little kids, who had escaped from the confinement of their homes. And there were dogs, plenty of dogs, heading to an off-leash dog park. One dog walker had even trained her 2-year-old to hold a leash. And there were plaques; to Willy and other prized family pets.

Further along the path we came to Sherwood Park and a splash pad full of kids. It was so hot that we wanted to jump in too. In the background stood a building housing the public washrooms. The outside wall was decorated with a painting, The West Wind, by (Group of Seven) artist A.J. Casson. I don’t know if Casson gave his permission to have his iconic work adorning washrooms or not.

We found an empty picnic table near the splash pad, and set out our lunch. We were not too far away from a group of little campers and a counsellor, taking a break while the park maintenance crew gave the splash pad its hourly cleaning. The kids were getting a little restless and they began climbing onto the picnic tables and giving each other “massages” aka play fighting. The counsellor was clearly losing his patience as he waited for the splash pad to re-open.

It was time for us to go home. After a lifetime of sorting out kids’ squabbles, as parents and as teachers, we were ready to leave the counsellor to his job, and saunter back down the leafy trail of tranquility. Besides, Lucy would be finished cleaning by now.

Sue

PS In future summer posts I will be writing about other outdoor pathways that provide a respite from the heat and the stress of living with Covid 19. If you have suggestions, pass them on!

Dear readers, did you miss me last Tuesday? Well I missed you! But, after over 100 days of covid confinement, my husband Peter and I were able to escape.

We had been looking forward to our annual family summer holiday for several months but, with the arrival of the pandemic, the opportunity to enjoy the outdoors with our children and grandchildren seemed doomed. We were beyond delighted when the owners of the resort decided to open to returning guests only, and we learned that we would be the only ones there for the week.

At first, this new freedom was hard to grasp. We had been well-trained over the past 3 months. We were armed with our masks, a large container of hand sanitizer, and several tubs of disinfecting wipes. But we still felt a bit like criminals and kept checking the rear-view mirror for signs of Dr. Da Villa chasing us as we drove north.

We finally arrived at the resort and unpacked the other necessary ingredients for the week: junk food, drinks, bathing suits – only the essentials! Then, because the weather was already hot, we were lured into the lake. The kids swam out to the raft, climbed on, and tried out the water slide. Our grand daughter Agnes immediately started counting: 1..2…3… She announced her goal for the week: 100 times down the slide. Meanwhile the adults, not quite so ambitious, swam leisurely or floated around on noodles. Slowly all of us felt our Covid 19 concerns sinking to the bottom of the lake.

Our daily routine evolved: breakfast, swimming, lunch, swimming, snacks, more swimming, drinks, dinner, maybe another swim, bed. This leisurely schedule was punctuated by a few exciting moments, such as when both family dogs, who were thought to be non-swimmers, jumped into the lake too. Or when Nana and Nonno decided to take 2 grand children on a tour in the 4-seat paddle boat. Then a third grand child jumped on and swamped the boat, tossing Nonno into the water. Meanwhile, all week, Agnes continued to announce her slide score: 78…79…80…

Occasionally we emerged from the lake for an outing. One day we drove to a nearby park with hiking trails. There were very few other people on the trails but there were lots and lots of mosquitoes. They seemed not to know about Covid 19 and they got WAY too close and personal. That night we did a lot of scratching as we sat around a campfire retelling our adventures.

On another day the kids felt the need for the all-time summer treat – ice cream. We debated about this. Should we take a chance and go back to civilization, even briefly? Hesitantly we piled into cars and headed for the ice cream store in the local town. And there we found people wearing masks and lining up 2 meters apart; stark evidence that yes, Covid 19 was still around. We located a table away from other families, and nervously licked at our strawberry, hazelnut and butterscotch ripple. Then we sanitized our hands and headed back to the safety of our germ-free retreat.

In the middle of the week we put up a big flag and dug our red shirts out of our suitcases. It was Canada Day. The kids decorated each other with temporary tattoos: beavers, flags, male leaves, and “I Heart Canada” emblems. The adults shared news of Covid 19 spreading out of control in the US and so many other places. We couldn’t think of a better year to celebrate this great country we live in.

All too soon Agnes announced her final slide tally -259, (an over-achiever for sure!) and we knew it was time to go home. We reluctantly gathered up our worn-out bathing suits, and scarfed the few leftover snacks. After some final hugs, we piled into our separate cars and drove back to our lives of isolation in the city.

Sue

The other night, while watching TV and eating a snack, I tasted something strange in my mouth. I spit it out and there was an entire front tooth sitting in my hand. Now dear readers, I will go to almost any length to get an interesting story for you, but this, this tooth story, it definitely was not planned.

The next day I took a chance and called my dentist. Yes the office was open! But only for emergencies. I was not in any pain, but one look in the mirror and I knew this was definitely an emergency. The receptionist thought so too and she began the screening process. She ran down a list of possible covid symptoms: headache, fever, coughing, and a few I hadn’t heard of before, like loss of taste and difficulty swallowing. Well, without my tooth, food tasted strange for sure, and every time I tried to swallow, my tongue got caught in the empty space. The receptionist didn’t seem to think that these were covid symptoms and she booked an appointment.

The dental office was empty and eerily quiet; all the doors were closed and people were speaking in hushed voices behind their masks. Nobody laughed at my plight – it was all business. The dentist looked around in my mouth and, while she stuck the broken tooth back in with some crazy glue, she gave me the long-term treatment options: cheap but basic, or the high-end special. Since the high-end choice required several appointments, I went for cheap with only 2 appointments needed. I hoped it wouldn’t be too basic.

The next appointment came all too soon, and I endured an hour and a half of freezing, probing, drilling, more probing, fitting and gluing. Then the dentist brought up another issue: since this was a front tooth, the colour of the new one needed to match the other front tooth. A trip to a denturist was in order. Well I know colour is important when my hairdresser is covering up my unfashionable grey hair. And my decorator friend has often pointed out the different shades of white paint for woodwork. But a tooth? Wasn’t this going overboard?

Besides, the very word “denturist’ conjured up visions of a serial-killing denturist in Nova Scotia. Then, when I called to make an appointment, this one told me that his lab was in his private home, in the basement, on a street I had never heard of. Maybe I would need to take my husband with me as protection. I didn’t want to go from having a broken tooth to being a murder victim. The night before the appointment I had a few bad dreams.

The next day, when Peter was too busy to be a body-guard, I used my GPS to find the denturist’s house. It was Not on a dead-end street in the middle of nowhere. The house had No ghostly creaking porches, no secret turret windows. Instead it appeared to be a family home in a pleasant subdivision. Still cautious, I went around to the side door where there was a dental lab sign. But there was no answer when I knocked. This was my last chance to back out….Finally, I gathered up my courage and opened the door.

The denturist welcomed me with a smile peeking out from behind his mask and some questions about covid symptoms. He didn’t look menacing at all! His lab was sun-filled and the walls were painted a soft grey, maybe antique silver or misty fog. Then the wall behind his work table caught my eye – children’s drawings of cartoons, hearts, unicorns, rainbows, all in shades of pink; created by Mia, Anna and Una. This denturist was a family man!

It only took about ten minutes for the denturist/family man to touch up the paint on my new tooth. And today, after I finish my post to you, I will go and get it cemented in. No headlines, no drama, no dead body, no covid germs; just a new-tooth story with a boring ending. Sorry! I tried my best.

Sue

During these covid 19 days parents are struggling to keep their kids busy and involved. After three months inside, just about all the entertainment ideas have dried up. Board games, lego-building, painting, playdough; all of them are losing their allure. The situation seemed desperate; until recently.

Summer is here and everyone with a back yard has moved outside. When my husband Peter and I lived in the country, all our neighbours were miles away, well almost. We didn’t see people out in their back yards unless we had our binoculars handy. But here in the city, our back yard abuts two houses with young children, so we can watch them as they spend time playing outdoors.

The two families have little boys, Hudson and Thomas, both about 4 years old. Because of the pandemic germs, neither family is comfortable having the boys play together. Instead, they play side by side, watching and often copying each other’s games. At first little athletes emerged. Hudson fancied himself another José Bautista as he swung his small bat at a rubber ball, trying to hit it “out of the park.” He also showed some Tiger Woods promise with his little set of golf clubs. Thomas, on the other hand, ran around tossing balls into his short basketball hoop and yelling “I am Kyle Lowry!”

After a couple of weeks of sports heroism, the little athletes grew tired of summer training camp and began to whine. It was time for something new. Hudson got a bright green climbing gym, backyard size. After a few jealous tears, Thomas found a large box in his back yard. The anticipation was high as Daddy slowly opened the box and pulled out the pieces. He assembled a round platform, then sat down for a rest. The next day some poles were erected, followed by a roof and netting sides. Gradually the form emerged – a trampoline! Thomas jumped for joy. When he noticed me watching, he explained that there was a lock on the netting doorway – to keep out any stray squirrels that might be tempted to sneak in for a quick somersault.

When the weather warmed up, both families felt the need for water features. They bought small plastic pools and filled them from their hoses. The kids splashed around, playing with tiny boats and squealing with delight. Then they noticed small puddles forming around the pools. Out came the dump trucks, and backyard construction sites emerged. A few riding toys were added to the fleets.

Then the parents got into the act. Thomas’s parents bought new outdoor furniture – comfy chairs and a coffee table. Hudson’s parents went for the natural look and ordered cedar trees, and a couple of decorative hydrangea bushes. They added a wooden bench for seating and some small pots of impatiens for a splash of colour.

By now both back yards were getting pretty full! There was barely space to move. Maybe the buying spree would be over. I started listening in on some of the conversations. (Yes, during the pandemic I have sunk to a new low – eavesdropping on little kids). “Tickle me some more Daddy!” “I’m hiding now. When are you coming to find me?” “Mommy can you help me make some mud pies?”

I realized that, no matter how many toys parents buy, the best entertainment for kids is still time spent with mom and dad. It’s a valuable pandemic lesson.

Sue

PS Happy Fathers’ Day to all those dedicated dads.

For the entire month of April, folks were salivating about getting out on the GOLF course. We women especially were anxious to escape from our expanded Covid kitchen duties. A day off from kneading bread dough. Yea!

Chasing a little ball along some fairways, over a few hills, through a couple of sand traps, and around a few water hazards seems like FUN! We can easily get in our 10,000 steps as we enjoy the outdoors. Even physical distancing still allows us to chat, exchange family news and gossip, share a few jokes, as we walk. We can admire the landscaping too and get some planting ideas for our gardens.

We also have lunch together in the new Covid style. Since there’s no restaurant service in the clubhouse, we bring along food; bananas and granola bars are the best because they don’t require plates or forks. As for the “dining room,” it’s standing room only while we wait for our turn to hit the ball on the 10th tee. It’s only half-way through the game, but we are starving because at home we would have eaten several entire meals by now as we puttered around in the kitchen.

The actual game of golf is a little easier these days with the new Covid rules. There are no rakes in the sand traps for people to touch and inadvertently share germs. No raking required. And the hole on the green is filled with a pool noodle so that it’s not necessary to remove the flag, another way to prevent the spread of germs. All a player has to do is hit the noodle with the ball and Pretend it went into the hole!

One thing players are definitely Not supposed to do is go searching in the bushes for lost balls; first of all because our stalling will allow other players to catch up and breathe on us. But more important, there might be Covid germs on the lost ball from its original owner. But just tell that to a man. Really, did you ever see a man walk by a patch of rough grass without looking in there for lost balls? Never. Except Alan Shepard. When he went to the moon to play golf in 1971, he took two balls with him so he didn’t have to hunt for his lost one.

You don’t need to know too much terminology to play golf. “Fore” is a handy word you can yell if your ball decides to take a short-cut to another fairway with people on it. Golf balls seem to have minds of their own. Just try yelling “Stop!” or “Slow down!” or “Don’t Go Into That sand Trap!” and see if your ball pays any attention.

You do need to know your avian creatures to keep score in golf. You might be lucky to score a birdie or an eagle, but you will hardly ever get an albatross. Golf books also talk about ostriches and condors but they are rare birds indeed. Sometimes, even on a city course, you might get a goose. You just load it onto your cart and take it home to cook for dinner. After a short break in the outdoors, it’s back to the kitchen again.

Sue