Author: sueatseventy

Stuffies On Parade

One day, not too long ago, our grand daughter Agnes, almost 14, told us she was going to give up her stuffed animal collection. We were shocked.

Agnes has loved stuffies from the time she was born, or at least pretty close to then. The first stuffie I remember was a whitish bunny with a pink nose who is now grey with age. That bunny went everywhere with her. I lost track of which stuffies came next. But Agnes didn’t. She gave them all names and cared for them with a mother’s love.

Agnes’s favourite game with the stuffies was playing school. We would go down to her basement playroom, aka classroom, and she would line up all the “students” and take attendance. Then she would call on me, the classroom assistant, to organize the activity centres. We’d divide the stuffies; Racoon, Tiger, Sarah, Chicken, Chef, Seal, Parrot and the others, and let them all play together. Then a fight would break out and Sarah would get sent to the office, (thrown unceremoniously into a closet), meaning that the teacher wanted to play a different game, so school was dismissed for the day.

These stuffies grew in number and took on various roles in Agnes’s young life: passengers in her little stroller, characters in dramatic scenes that she made up, sleeping companions in her bed at night. As time went on, they moved to places on her dresser or on bookshelves, and finally in bags in a storage cupboard. The special ones went with her to New Zealand on a family trip while those left behind were shrink-wrapped for safe-keeping.

Then Agnes began to grow up and develop other interests, and the stuffies retired to the background of her life. One day, when the family was packing up for a move to a new residence, Agnes was confronted with the size of her collection. That white-grey bunny now had almost 70 companions. But the enormity of her collection was nothing compared to the enormity of the decision she had to make. What to do with all those small souls who had been part of her life for 13 years?

The answer came as welcome relief. Our local community center, Stonegate Ministry, was co-hosting a BBQ with a local church. The Summer Sizzler was to be held on a Saturday in May. There would be a lot of kids attending with their parents and, while the parents socialized together, what were the kids going to do to amuse themselves?

Agnes is familiar with this church. She donated her books when she was younger and, a few times, she joined me on a Saturday to help kids pick out a book to take home. So, when I mentioned the BBQ, she was more than happy to donate her stuffies – the whole collection.

On Summer Sizzler Saturday morning, the stuffies were set up on a table near the entrance – the best spot in the event. The kids quickly gathered around the table. Soon Parrot was flying around the grounds on somebody’s shoulder, Racoon was being hugged to death, Chicken was squawking on the head of an energetic boy, and Elephant was joining a rabbit sibling.

In the end all the stuffies found new homes. And Agnes can move on with her life, knowing that her childhood companions are well taken care of.

Sue

The Swing Rises

Readers may remember one of my first posts, back in 2019, called My Life As a Swinger. Peter and I had recently bought a new back yard swing in bright red. We invited an unsuspecting son and his family to have dinner and, by the way, help us assemble the swing. It took 4 university-educated adults an entire day to figure it out.

For years the swing was my summer happy place, where I devoured novels, figured out new blog topics, and snoozed through lazy afternoons. Grandchildren spent many hours rocking back and forth, and telling each other stories. Party guests rushed past the bar and straight to the back yard to get the prime seats – on the swing.

So it was pretty sad when, late last summer, the fabric holding the seat cushions gave way to old age, and dumped two guests on the patio. Nobody was hurt but, without the piece holding the cushions, the swing was useless. I checked on Amazon and it seemed that the part would be pretty easy to replace. So we packed away the cushions and gave up on the seat for the winter.

A couple of weeks ago, when it stopped snowing, I decided it was time to research a replacement part for the swing. Lowe’s, the hardware store where we had purchased the original, had gone out of business. So I looked for the company that made it; Garden Treasures. I was directed online to another website called Sun Swings, operating out of Nevada, USA.

Yes the part was available. It was called a “sling,” and it came in 5 models and 18 sizes, with a warning: “Be absolutely sure to order the correct size, as replacement slings must fit exactly, including cutouts for bolts and various other hardware.” There was even an installation video with a woman wearing a gas mask as she wielded a blow torch. Furthermore the cost for this apparatus was $262.00 US dollars and it had to be delivered to a US address. We almost gave up.

Maybe we could manage with just some extra chairs and footstools. But our back yard wouldn’t be the same without the beloved swing. We thought again. Lowe’s had been sold to Rona. Would Rona know anything about our swing and how to fix it? As if by magic, the mailman arrived, (these days that IS magic) and delivered a Rona sales brochure. And there, on page 7 was Our Swing – the exact one!! And it was on sale for only $400 Canadian dollars!

We tore off our pajamas and rushed to Rona. We found our swing, set up as a floor model. As we stared in amazement, a salesman offered to search through the warehouse to see if he could find a boxed one. We sat contentedly on the floor model, swinging and cheering while he looked. It seemed that Lowe’s had sold off their excess inventory to Rona and, hidden in the very back of the warehouse, there it was.

For only $400 Canadian we bought a whole new swing. The correct sling was already attached to the seat part, along with an extra frame and set of cushions for whatever next disaster we had. This seemed like a very good deal to me. Peter may not have agreed, as he spent a long couple of hours organizing the hardware, figuring out which screws and bolts we needed, finding the right tools and assembling it on his aging knees. But he did it all by himself and we didn’t have to call in the family.

Finally it was assembled. We celebrated with a few swings back and forth, thinking that summer has arrived in our back yard!

So dear readers, the swing is now available for use. Send in your reservation early.

Sue

Old Montreal

The Old Port

Being true to our “Buy Canadian” values, Peter and I chose Montreal as a short vacation destination. We were once again reminded of the ease of travel within Canada: no passports or customs hassles, no currency exchange, no health care worries, and no language problems. I even tried out my basic French occasionally and was rewarded with a smile. Or was it a smirk?

The last time either of us had visited Montreal was over 50 years ago. Peter visited expo in 1967 and I went to a conference in 1972. Would the city have changed since then? My recollections were of a hangover from too much free wine on the plane, and expensive shopping on St Catherine Street. Peter remembered sharing a room in a high-end hotel with about 4 other young guys. Several decades later, we were going with another older couple like us, and we needed a different plan.

We were told to be sure to stay in Old Montreal, near the Port and the waterfront. It sounded perfect – old and quiet. We found a perfect hotel too: L’Hotel near the port, with lots of eateries, and a subway stop. The hotel itself had large comfy beds, a convenient breakfast area, and art on all the walls in case we woke up with insomnia in the night and needed to go for a stroll.

Art in the hotel lobby

We spent the first day wandering around the waterfront and enjoying the architecture. It was a big contrast to Toronto, where old buildings have mostly been torn down and replaced with steel and glass skyscrapers. Here the buildings have been re-purposed: into restaurants, boutiques and markets. The 1864 Royal Bank, once the tallest building in the British Empire, has been transformed into office space, where the ground floor is now the Crew Collective Cafe- a place for small businesses to rent internet service and hold informal meetings.

Front doors of Royal Bank building

We limited ourselves to One church only – Mary Queen of the World 1894. We chose this one because the front piece of the altar, officially named the ciborium, was built in 1900, and is an exact copy of the ciborium in St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome where the new Catholic Pope recently held his first mass.

Pope’s altar

On our wanderings we ran across this monument to Sir John A Macdonald, missing John, who was first painted red, and then torn down by protesters in 2020 because of his support for residential schools. (He is now residing somewhere else). Then we wandered through Hudson’s Bay, another sad ending for an historic building. We couldn’t even find any souvenirs to buy.

Where is John?

One of my reasons for wanting to visit Montreal was to see some installations by landscape architect Claude Cormier, famous for Sugar Beach, Berczy Park and Love Park, in Toronto. We saw 4 in his home town of Montreal. The grounds of the Clock tower at the Old Port are enhanced with a creation similar to our Sugar Beach. Dorchester Square has been reconfigured with bridges, benches and a fountain. The Ring separates 2 office buildings in Place Ville Marie. The most unique installation stands in the lobby of the Palais des Congress, a convention centre, where live trees and bushes are replaced by The Lipstick Forest.

We wound up each day with dinner close to our hotel. Our travels, mostly on foot, had worn us out and we didn’t want to miss our bedtime! So we chose: Brew Pub, Mexican, and Asian, with a glass of wine or a beer to start. And for those of you who are wondering about where was the French food? We did have one French lunch, all cheesy and delicious, on a patio near the port.

This, and other minor adjustments, meant that travelling for older folks is not only possible – it’s FUN!.

Sue

Home Sweet Home

Our house has been falling apart. Perhaps that sounds a bit dramatic, but here’s the scene: First the dishwasher drain hose got plugged up and had to be emptied. Then the central vac system needed a new motor. And last week the microwave died and had to be replaced. All this happened within a couple of weeks. Maybe, we thought, it might be time to sell our old house and move.

Just then we got an invitation to a free lunch at a local retirement home. What a coincidence! Peter will do almost anything for free food. And we could book the lunch on a Lucy day so we could get out of the cleaning lady’s hair. This was a no-brainer. We even got a bit dressed up.

When we arrived, Peter let me off at the door and I went in to the front desk to ask about parking. I relayed the info to him – go along to the next entrance and then drive down into the underground parking lot to visitors’ parking. I waited in the front lobby. And waited. And waited. The hostess assured me that no white car had driven into the underground lot – just a red one. I was starting to panic. Where could he be? Then it hit me – we had not driven his white car today; we had taken my red one! Oops. And then Peter appeared in the lobby. The clerk looked me over, secretly saying to herself: “Well it’s definitely time for this lady to move here. She can’t even keep track of their cars!”

Then we were escorted to our table in the dining room. The table was set with a linen cloth, silverware, and a couple of drinking glasses each. The service was very formal: serve from the right, remove from the left. Or is it the other way around? The other guests were very old and spoke softly. We couldn’t even hear any gossip! But the food was very good: appetizer, main course, and dessert. Three meals a day like this and we would blow up like balloons in no time.

Next on the menu was a tour of the facilities. We saw a fitness room outfitted with chairs for sit-down exercising, and fitness machines that were not in use. There was a spa for touching up grey hair and for cutting toenails that clients could no longer reach. And there was a theatre with movies running 3 times a day. It seemed like there was a lot of sitting going on in the daily routine.

The hostess asked if we would like to see one of the suites. I said “sure” and Peter rolled his eyes. When we got to the elevator, there was a line-up. One of the 2 elevators was in use by somebody moving in. Or out. The other one wasn’t big enough to hold all the walkers and wheelchairs in the lineup. So we thanked the hostess and said we would return another time.

That time may be far away. We both felt that we had visited a hotel. It was lovely for a short vacation, but it would be hard to think of it as home.

Sue

Signs Of the Times

With the global political situation in chaos, Peter and I decided to do what we could to help keep our country safe and secure. We chose to canvas for our local election candidates.

When someone applies to canvas, the first question asked is: “Will you take a lawn sign?” This has proven to be a very effective way of advertising for votes. All of us have done it: counted numbers in our heads: 9 red signs, 12 blue, 3 orange and so on. Signs are a great way to get people’s attention and pre-determine the winner. Or maybe signs tell us a different story altogether.

At the beginning of the Provincial election, we volunteered to canvas for Liberal candidate Lee Fairclough, and to take a red lawn sign. A small one appeared immediately, but it was sitiuted near a hedge and hardly visible. We asked for a bigger sign to be placed at the other side of our property, near an intersection, which would ensure better visibility. The workers arrived with big electric drills: the ground was frozen and this sign needed large wooden stakes. It took quite an effort, but the sign was finally erected.

After about a week, we woke up one morning to find a large BLUE sign on our property, right next to the red one. What the heck? We called the Blue office only to be told that they were Not Responsible for their own signs and we would need to call the City to have the sign removed. The City said workers would come by in a week. So Peter went out and yanked the Blue sign out of the ground himself, and leaned it against the side of the house.

The next morning the Blue sign was back up again. Apparently trespassers had been by. This time, when Peter yanked out the sign, he hid it in the back yard. Two days later, Election Day, our red sign was surrounded by Blue signs. But that evening Lee Fairclough won our riding. All those blue signs had not succeeded.

Then we went on to canvas for James Maloney in the Federal election. We ordered a large red Maloney sign for the corner near the intersection. All went well… until the ice storm stuck. The sign lost its grip and began flailing around, hanging on at only one corner. Peter re-tied it but, by the evening, it had slid down and was sitting morosely on the ground.

As soon as the ice storm slowed down, a new version of the Maloney sign appeared, this one with a picture of the candidate and his dog Walnut. We have a lot of dog-owners in the neighbourhood and soon the comments started: “Oh what a cute dog! I’m going to vote for Him!”

That sign is not the only image Maloney has for his campaign. He also owns a pick-up truck and, during elections, he puts a moose in the back. I had never ridden in a pick-up truck, definitely not one with a moose in the back. But last weekend I did. James drove us to our canvassing neighbourhood, and it was a delight to hear all the kids giggling and pointing as we drove past them.

There is less than a week to go until the Federal election. Dear readers, I hope you get behind your local candidate, whether blue, green, orange or RED, and vote.

Sue

The Grand Finale

Our curling season is done. And so are we.

Peter and I debated about whether to register for the Grand Mixed Bonspiel at our curling club. It was the last big event of the season, and the 50th anniversary of this particular event. Our weekend was free of other obligations. Plus, the big prize was a pair of red Muskoka chairs that would be perfect for our back yard. Why not sign up?

Because we are old, that’s why not! Playing 3 games in less than 24 hours is hard work. First you throw these big heavy rocks down the ice. And when you’re not doing that, you’re sweeping. Not like sweeping the kitchen floor – this is really Sweeping! And your boss is yelling “Hard, Harder, HARDER!!!”

We signed up anyway. How foolish is that? We would find out.

The first time that we felt we might have made a mistake was when we learned that we had been placed on 2 different draw times. Peter’s Friday game was at 7:30 pm, but mine was at 9:30 pm. This meant that I would be going to bed well past midnight, and Peter would have to sleep in a chair at the club waiting for me. Or I would have to drive home by myself in the dark. Both options were bad.

After we got that sorted out, we played our 7:30 Friday game, followed by drinks and chips – lots of chips. This was not going to be a healthy-eating weekend. On Saturday morning breakfast was served: doughnuts, muffins and coffee cake, with lots of coffee to drink. This meant a delay in the middle of the morning game while 7 curlers stood around waiting for me to go to the bathroom. How embarrassing.

Lunch was good: wraps with veggies on the side, along with more chips and cookies and alcohol. After that, Peter and I were ready for our afternoon naps. We searched around the club for some couches, but there weren’t even any comfy chairs. We tried out the prize Muskoka chairs and they were fine to sit in but, just as we nodded off, we heard he announcement that our afternoon game was about to begin. Slowly we lurched out of the chairs and shuffled our way onto the ice.

By the end of the afternoon game we were toast. But NO! Now we had to get changed into our sparkly clothes for the 50th Anniversary Celebration! Except Peter has no sparkly clothes and mine no longer fit. We put on non-curling pants and jackets and I stole a gold flower from one of the table decorations and attached it to my top. We were all set.

Next we were encouraged to participate in the raffle so, in support of the club, we bought 50 tickets and headed to the prize table. There were no useful items like heating pads, or pill boxes, or a visit to a podiatrist, so we ended up stuffing the tickets into bottles of exotic spirits, or tickets to more curling events; kind of hoping we wouldn’t win.

After we had used up all our tickets, we were served more chips and more drinks, while we waited for the dinner to begin. The food was delicious but it took a while to serve all 120 of us. The main course was followed by speeches thanking all the volunteers, and drawing for the prizes. Peter and I won nothing. By this time we had our elbows on the table, propping up our heads.

Then the host announced that dessert would be served; celebration cake with 2-inch thick icing. And the evening would continue with – dancing! We did manage to stuff down some cake but our old bodies were not up for dancing to “I will Survive” or rounds of “YMCA!”

It had been a great curling season with plenty of exercise and socializing, and a fun bonspiel to finish off. But it definitely was time for us to put away our brooms and go home. We need time to rest up for next year.

Sue

SILVERWARE

With the global financial crisis destroying the economy, I’ve been looking around the house for things to sell. I gathered up Peter’s athletic trophies and, while they are impressive, they’re of questionable value to anybody but the family. I checked out our TV but it’s so old it’s not even Smart! I thought about selling tomatoes and kale from our garden, but it’s hardly Spring, (as you will notice from a view out your window this morning).

Then I came across our silver flatware.

I grew up during the time when Sunday Dinners were formal affairs. The husband and wife sat at either end of the table, with the children and guests on the sides. The husband had the roast beef or the turkey on a platter in front of him, with the silver carving set nearby. He would expertly carve a portion of meat and send the dinner plate down to the wife, who would add the vegetables using her massive silver serving spoons. Then the plate would be handed to one of the females at the table, who had to wait for all the others to receive their plates. By that time, the first person’s serving would be cold.

Then everyone carefully eyed their place settings of silver flatware, trying to determine the correct piece for eating: big fork, medium fork, small fork, or tiny fork? Meanwhile it was the job of the hosts to choose an appropriate topic for conversation, one which was intended to carry on until all the cutlery had been used.

Who eats like this any more? Who can even afford a roast of beef? Certainly not families with two parents working and daycare and laundry and homework and making lunches. Certainly not retirees living on a fixed income and eating meals in front of the TV. As for Peter and me, we use our silverware a few times a year, when the entire family comes to visit on special occasions like Easter. The main reason we use it is because there are enough pieces to go around.

But does anyone even notice that we are using it? Do any of the grandkids ever say “Nice salad forks, Nana.”? Nope. Nobody even mentions when the silver is tarnished. And that brings me to another issue – cleaning it. None of us got an education so we could spend hours with our Silvo or Haggerty’s polish, cleaning all those little scrolls and tines. Once I cheated and used aluminum foil and baking soda in a sink full of hot water. I could imagine my ancestors staring down from above. “The silver will never last if you treat it like that!”

My silverware had its day. Now nobody wants it. BUT, since I’ve been watching the stock market these last few days, I have noticed that the price of pure silver is quite high. Maybe there’s a different life in store for my forks, knives, and spoons. Meanwhile I’ve taken them to the bank for safekeeping. At Easter we’ll use the mismatched kitchen stuff. I’ll let you know if anybody notices.

Sue

April Fools’ Day

On April Fools’ Day we are at the forefront of a world where Artificial Intelligence is taking over. We see this every day: in supermarkets and factories, in the media and science labs, in law and politics. And at Arcadia Earth.

A few nights ago Peter and I went to a presentation that included positive messages and glaring warnings about or future world. The presentation was hosted by our alma mater, Queen’s University. Luckily for us, it was held at a venue in downtown Toronto, easily accessible by GO train. The highlight of these events for Peter is always the food. We nibbled on nachos with salsa and guacamole, followed by chicken tacos and glasses of red wine. We were almost full, until we saw plates of mouth-watering Mexican doughnuts called churros. We each ate 4.

Buoyed by the food, we moved on to the lecture hall where the panel members from Queen’s were seated in front of a large AI screen counting down the start time by the second:

The professors were from media, science and law, as well as one student who gave her perspective, and the moderator from BMO who talked about the financial implications. They all spoke briefly about their field, pointing out the benefits to society. The media prof stated the obvious: that “AI-generated media is all around us.” He gave the example of Taylor Swift having to re-record her original songs using AI and adding tweaks, because her record company would not release the rights to her own intellectual property.

The science professor talked about the value of AI in science labs, saving time collecting and narrowing down data. The law prof covered some of the ethical issues around legal documents that were AI-created. For example, there are many cases of candidates applying for jobs who submit their AI-generate applications, and receive AI-generated responses, the entire process having no human interaction!

After the presentation and a brief Q and A, we were released to explore the venue – Arcadia Earth. Despite the delicious food and the very informative talk, this place to us was the highlight of the evening. We stepped from square-shaped box-like rooms, through mirrors, and into other worlds of bright colours, soft musical notes, fragrant aromas, and breathtaking beauty: suddenly and disturbingly transformed.

First we walked through a glass tunnel leading us through ocean water filled with sharks, stingrays, sunfish and turtles who swam very close to the glass as if posing for us. We were entranced. As we were enjoying the view, suddenly a massive piece of concrete slammed into the ocean, destroying the fish and creating the foundation for a condo tower or office building.

The second space held model heads with huge noses and hair created from pages of discarded old books. Behind each head was a sample of artificially created scents. This room was warm and inviting – until we realized how many books had been trashed to create the hair.

Not knowing what to expect next, we haltingly entered the room: a sun-filled forest of brilliant green foliage with deer meandering and munching contentedly on the ground cover. But this idyllic scene was quicky transformed into a glacier in the arctic; cold and formidable.

We carefully moved into another room, this one presented as a brilliant red forest with lovely hanging trees all around us. We tiptoed in to explore, and sat on some carved seats inside the trunks. it was peaceful. But what was the catch? We looked closer. Everything in the room was ocean waste: ropes, fishnets, pieces of discarded oars, and bones. It was disgusting.

There were many other similar types of displays: both attractive and jarring. Technology has been used to create a very clear message: clean up the environment. All our grandchildren should see this display. April Fools’ Day is not a bad time to visit.

Sue

Politics and Gardening

Spring has occupied our living room.

For a couple of weeks Peter worked industriously in the basement, planting vegetable seeds and watering them. Then it was time for them to face the sun. He found some old wire shelving and set it on a large plastic sheet to catch the drip drip drip of the watering can. And then he moved the seedlings into the living room, without even signing an executive order!

Peter started with garlic, it being the hardiest seedling as well as his favourite spice. He continued with zucchini, butternut squash, swiss chard, and 3 varieties of tomatoes. He mentioned that he was going to plant extra this year because, he said, we had run out of chard and tomatoes too early. Oops, I thought, to myself as I ran downstairs to search in the chest freezer. There, buried at the bottom, were several leftover bags of garden produce. My mismanagement was discovered! Would I be fired?

As he talked about his vegetable goals for this year, Peter also mentioned that he might try growing Russian kale, but I vetoed it – not politically correct. I asked for curly kale instead but he vetoed it – too attractive for the rabbits. And so our talks have stalled. We did agree on growing corn but it is as much loved by deer as it is by us. And they can even sneak in by jumping over our fence at the border.

My field of expertise is flowers. Peter has already put in a request for zinnias which apparently help with pollinating HIS vegetables. But they require lots of sun and most of my flower territory is shady. I already have to expand my only sunny space, the rose garden, to include an adopted rose bush from a friend. I thought Peter might consider trading some zucchini space for roses but so far no trade agreement has been reached.

I have a couple of other gardening challenges this year. One side of our back yard has been invaded by garlic mustard. This is not the kind of garlic that Peter likes. It’s an offensive vine that pokes up everywhere through our lovely periwinkle ground cover, trying to take over the periwinkle’s domain. This year I am going to be ruthless and deport those vines to the compost bin.

All winter I secretly tried to resurrect a beautiful plant given to me by an American friend last summer. It was an illegal alien, but the flowers were a glorious shade of orangy-red. I brought it in from outside last fall and I have been secretly nurturing it in my sun room. Just last weekend it showed signs of life. Apparently, it has been waiting patiently in the background for a time to announce itself. Now I am wondering if it’s planning to take over the garden.

Meanwhile I have been doing some research on herbs. There are lots of useful ones like camomile flowers to boil into a pot of de-stressing tea, mint for Mojito cocktails, alum for skin cream, and white oleander flowers for poisoning political enemies. Retract! I didn’t say that! Never in the history of our country did I say that! Time for tea.

Sue