The Maple Leafs Forever!

I must be one of the few Canadians who has rarely been to a Maple Leaf hockey game. Shocking but true.

As I was growing up in our family home, Saturday nights were reserved for the hockey game. Our family, and at least one other, would gather around our tiny black and white tv screen. Everybody knew the players on the six teams. The adults gripped their rye and coke or their Molson’s and puffed on their cigarettes. The moms shared the latest gossip while the dads followed the game, – until everyone heard Foster Hewitt yell “He Scored!” There was cheering all around.

We kids had pop, chips and enough toys to keep us occupied and quiet for the 2-3 hours coming up. I remember us skittering under coffee tables and around the outskirts of the living room, not daring to get between the fans and the tv screen. When we tired of our toys, we made plans to have a sleepover. During an intermission we would approach the parents who, being pre-occupied, usually said yes. Freed from the game, we would head upstairs to make tents in the beds.

As I grew into an adult, I began to see the foolishness of this game: a whole lot of back and forth on the ice, interrupted by an occasional fight, the bloodier the better. Nobody wore helmets in those days and concussions were rampant. I saw little sense in this. Oh, the skating was good, but I preferred to watch figure skating. Then I married Peter and he turned out to be a hockey fan too. How was I to know that an Italian kid would like a Canadian sport as much as soccer?

Last week on BLOG TO I read that the actual Toronto Maple Leafs were going to have a practice session at an outdoor rink on 3rd Ave by the lake – almost in our very neighbourhood. I decided that I couldn’t, in good conscience, hide this news from Peter. He sat up in his chair with a smile. The practice was to be held yesterday morning beginning at 11:00 am. With only a short 10-minute drive for us, we decided to leave the house at 10:30 giving us plenty of time to find a parking spot.

We began to notice the traffic not far from our house. There was a long line of cars snaking their way along Lakeshore Road, everyone driving very slowly as they searched for a spot to park. Alleys were full, strip malls were full, even the LCBO parking lot was full – at 10:40 on Monday morning! We drove on past 3rd Ave, past 4th Ave, finally turning up 5th Ave in desperation. Several blocks north we managed to secure a spot and began our hike back to the outdoor arena.

We could hear the crowds roaring as we hurried along. We passed highway coaches unloading hockey addicts from all over Ontario. We saw families, aunts, cousins, babies, grandparents, wandering along arm in arm. We noticed businessmen sporting their Leafs “merch” instead of overcoats and briefcases. It seemed a lot of people were playing hooky for hockey.

When we got to the arena the crowd was enormous. There were line-ups everywhere; not just to get a seat in the bleachers, but also for free Tim’s coffee, free snack packs, and a chance to grab a selfie with a player after the practice. The outdoor arena was filled with spectators. How was I ever going to show my readers all the amazing players doing their amazing thing on the ice when I couldn’t even get near them?

Finally I spied a metal staircase leading up to the bleachers, that had nobody waiting on it. I told Peter to wait while I tried my luck. At the top of the stairs was a security agent. And this is where old age is such a benefit. I admit that I begged. “All I want is just one tiny picture for my grandchildren. Please!”

Here is the photo I got:

Dear readers, you deserve a better photo than this. On the way back to the car, Peter noticed a man with a sleeping bag. Next year we’ll have to camp out the night before.

Sue

Tim’s

Yesterday I took part in a weekly ritual: fitness with friends followed by coffee at Tim Horton’s. As I looked around the restaurant, I wondered how many other people make a visit to Tim’s as part of a routine in their lives. Do you?

I don’t remember when Tim Horton’s first opened in 1964 as a donut shop in Hamilton:

But I do remember when Tim Horton himself died in 1974, the result of a fiery crash on the QEW near St. Catharines. He was a young hockey star with a wife and family, and the accident was truly tragic. And what was going to happen to those 40 Tim’s locations? Apparently his widow Lori sold them to a business person for $1million plus a Cadillac. Not a great deal in retrospect. Today there are almost 6,000 locations in 13 countries around the world.

Tim’s restaurants have a language all their own. Who doesn’t know what a “double double” is? And “timbits” are a menu staple. As a summer treat, nothing beats an “iced cap.” The line-ups for the pumpkin spiced lattes and muffins in October are long. Everyone grabs a ‘smile cookie” in November to support various charities. Oher holidays such as Valentine’s Day and St. Patrick’s Day have their specially-named treats also.

Every Monday afternoon my 3 friends and I rush out of fitness class, grab our warm coats and drive to our favourite Tim’s location. We try to beat the crowds so we can have the table and chairs in front of the fireplace. It’s an electric fireplace which doesn’t emit any heat. But sitting there on Blue Monday feels warm and cozy when the outside temperature is minus 20. We take on world issues – climate change, politics, and of course gossip – while relaxing in the padded chairs. Not too much gets resolved but we have a great time pretending we are world leaders.

Occasionally I have a chance to look around. The clientele is varied: a university student glued to his laptop as he does his research, a mother and 2 squabbling kids escaping from their home on a PD Day, a wannabe applicant trying to score points with her prospective boss, 2 couples following the rules of social engagement for older people.

Tim’s performs a lot of services for a lot of us. Think of all the folks who hurry to a location to buy cards for stocking stuffers, a last-minute gift for the mail carrier, an extra prize for a raffle at work. In fact this past Christmas Peter, mindful of my Monday addiction, bought me a Tim’s card for $100, all his shopping problems solved with one quick stop.

But Tim’s failed us in Portugal recently. We arrived in Porto late one evening for a couple of days’ stay. The next morning we were hungry and needed a quick bite before our first activity. Where was a Tim’s when we needed it? Well, apparently Portugal is one of the few places in the world where Tim’s has not gone. So we were directed to the local – dare I say it – McDonald’s!

This was a McDonald’s like no other. The entrance is embellished with a large spread-winged eagle. The furniture is modern and sleek. The ordering is all online. The inside was decorated with a Christmas tree and packaged gifts. And overhead? Crystal chandeliers. How could Tim Horton’s ever compete with that?

Sue

The Week In Politics

It is tempting to devote a post entirely to politics. There is SO much news these days that one can hardly step away to visit the bathroom without missing another headline.

In just one week Chrystia Freeland started the trend with her bombshell announcement about leaving her position as finance minister. That was followed by Trump taking advantage of our “weakened country” with no finance minister, to harp on tariffs: “I Love that word. T a r i f f s. Doesn’t that have a lovely sound?” Next we had Trudeau choking up on the steps of Rideau Cottage as he announced his decision to step down as Prime Minister. Which brought Trump back again with an even greater threat: to make Canada the 51st state. OMG I am exhausted just writing about it all.

But the week was not over. Not by a long shot. Then we had Jimmy Carter enter the picture, or well actually leave the picture, and tributes from far and wide pouring in about all his accomplishments during his one-term presidency: his kindness, his courage to take on civil rights, his success with the guinea worm disease, his peace-brokering with Egypt and the middle east, and lots more. Carter was a shining star compared to the Other one-term president sitting at the funeral and looking smug, even when other former presidents refused to shake his hand. Reporters were so distracted that nobody even mentioned Melania’s outfit!

Then, flip channel and find all the wannabe Prime Ministers making their case for the vacant position in Canada. And there was Poilievre promoting his strength as a leader. He only stumbled once – when the interviewer asked point blank what he would do about tariffs and Trump’s threats to annex our country. His reply: “Well I am Not Prime Minister yet. Give me a chance and I’ll try to figure it out.”(slightly paraphrased by me).

Meanwhile Rob Ford is making headlines with his plans to co-ordinate the tariff response by the provincial premiers, and trying to look like the leader he never was during the covid healthcare crisis, or the land developers taking over the greenbelt, or the potential loss of the Science Centre and Ontario Place, or the bike-lane fiasco. To name a few examples. Ford is expected to announce a provincial election for mid-February, spending more tax payers’ money before he makes another big goof up.

Then yesterday – the start of another week – did things calm down? Oh no. Now we have Danielle Smith, Premier of Alberta Oil Company, and Kevin O’Leary of Dragon’s Den fame and another headline news story that is too tragic to even mention, linking arms and heading to Mara Lago as our what? Ambassadors? Who hired Them to represent our Canadian values?

But none of this is really important. In my mind, the biggest stories right now are the tragic wildfires destroying Los Angeles. No matter what threat a president proposes, or what plans our wannabe leaders have for retaliating, the most important news is how Canada is sending firefighters and “super scoopers” specially-designed to fill up and transport sea water, to help our neighbours fight these devastating fires. Nothing else matters if we don’t have a continent we can live on together.

Sue

Home For the Holidays

One belief I’ve held for a long time, as a friend, a parent and a grandparent, is that the gift of time is far more worthwhile than Barbie dolls, or videogames, or even trendy socks! Peter and I were able to put that belief into practice this past Christmas when we took our (Iaboni) family to Portugal.

We launched this idea in the fall of 2023 during an after-dinner conversation. Could we all go somewhere together, and where would everyone like to go? The response was pretty quick – they chose Portugal for Christmas. “As long as the place has a swimming pool,” the kids said. After some weather-related research, we decided on the Lisbon area. In a charming seaside town called Cascais, we found a villa with 8 bedrooms, 5 bathrooms, and 2 above-ground swimming pools. It looked pretty good in the pictures.

Each family made their own travel arrangements, agreeing to meet at the villa a couple of days before Christmas. Peter and I arrived first. As we explored, we had first choice of the bedrooms. We chose one on the lower level, away from any noisy celebrations that might go on past our bedtime. It had only a tiny window and twin beds, but it had a small bathroom which we didn’t have to share. Perfect for seniors.

As the other families arrived, they set out on their own tour and chose their bedrooms. One family arrived with a sick husband and he was quickly diverted to a small bedroom near the front door close to a bathroom, although it seriously needed a make-over. It had a sink next to the shower stall, which was also the passageway to the toilet. The toilet could be flushed by pulling a chain hanging from the ceiling. Thee kids were highly amused but the sick person was not checking the decor.

The other bedrooms were quite nice with large king beds and modern bathrooms, and a couple of them had small balconies too. All the rooms had heaters to take the chill off. The kids chose their rooms far away from the parents so they could stay up at night and watch videos. None of them suggested being near the outdoor pools.

Next up was a visit to the kitchen; it was outdated like the first bathroom. The sink was shallow and made of rough granite. The stove was on a platform under a low ceiling. And the fridge – where was the fridge? We discovered it in a tiny closet. The dishwasher was in a different “area” on the other side of the kitchen. The dishes were in a cupboard in a third tiny room. Any person preparing a meal in here would get 10,000 steps before dessert.

On our tour we discovered another kitchen down a long winding hallway which seemed a little remote and creepy. What secret stew would chefs plan to concoct here? The main dining room, however, had a big table and 12 chairs. It was ideal for our group to play cards and eat take-out food. In the living room we found 3 large comfy sofas and a large-screen TV; lots of space for drinking port and eating chips. Peter and I produced an inflatable Christmas tree from a suitcase, and blew it up. It was the finishing touch we needed for our family Christmas vacation.

During the following days we left our villa and explored the area. We walked to the beach on the first evening and were surprised to find lights decorating every building and the Ferris Wheel. We ordered our traditional Portuguese Christmas Eve dinner of cod, accompanied by beef, rice and grilled vegetables, and a brave son took the local train a couple of stops to pick it up, all packaged in boxes tied with ribbons and Christmas tags. He made this trip even though he hates cod. It was a noble Christmas sacrifice.

On Christmas Day we rode the train to another town and enjoyed a Christmas brunch of egg dishes, salads, more cod, and of course custard tarts. On Boxing Day we went to Sintra, a UESCO heritage village surrounded by castles on very high hills. Everyone, including us, made it to the top.

Sintra from below.

After some lovely days together, everyone packed up and went separately on to another adventure somewhere else. But we can’t help thinking that the kids will not quickly forget our week at the villa in Cascais. The idea of swimming was forgotten as they got into the spirit of the occasion. Whether it’s the chain in the ceiling for flushing the toilet, the winding spooky hallway to the secret kitchen, the dinner that came on a train in boxes, the card games where they beat their grandparents, or the blow-up Christmas tree; we hope their memories of our vacation together in Portugal will live on.

Sue

Festive Trees

Trees have been a symbol of eternal life long before Christianity offered this hope through Christ. Then, in the 16th century, the German began bringing trees into their homes during the winter and adorning them with candles; a warm but dangerous decoration.

This tradition of indoor Christmas trees spread all across Europe. The trees were decorated with edibles like popcorn and cranberries, or homemade decorations such as chains or baubles. To this day the lighting of the Christmas tree is a ceremony celebrated indoors and out. In Toronto the tree lighting at Nathan Phillips Square, the Eaton Centre, the Distillery District are all special occasions welcoming the beginning of the holiday season.

This year I visited another kind of display – the 4th annual Mississauga Festival of Trees. The trees are designed by local crafts persons and artists, and each represents a particular theme or a belief; something with a deeper meaning than Santa and presents.

The first tree that caught my eye was called Crafting Change. It depictesthe quilting legacy of Victorian women who created beauty from scraps of fabric and patchwork quilting techniques. It demonstrates the resilience of those 19th century women who used whatever resources were available to them to build lives for their families.

There were several tress devoted to appreciation of nature: a wildlife tree with photos of local animals set on a snow-covered tree trunk, other trunks wrapped in culturally significant threads, ropes and twine, and a hedge titled False Cedars, made of 10,000 paper bundles, showing the disparity between the healing nature of cedar and the world of false materials. The Debris Tree, decorated with bits of garbage was a sobering addition to the display.

Another eye-catching display was called Roots and Branches: Dinner Legacies. Created entirely from perfectly-balanced chairs, this installation symbolized the generations of families who gathered around tables to share stories and celebrations and to support one another. The creation is topped with an olive tree representing peace, prosperity and friendship.

My favourite tree shape was created from vintage bird cages surrounded by evergreen boughs with red cardinals peeking into the scene. The inside of each cage depicts part of the Festival Narrative: holiday preparations in miniature: baking, wrapping gifts, decorating the house, and celebrating with friends.

After the tour was over, I headed back home to take another look at our own tree. This year, for the very practical reasons of saving time and space, Peter and a visiting son hauled our oleander bush in from outside, and we decorated it. Tiny white lights, sparkling silver balls and red cardinals all create a festive look. And the oleander seems very happy in its new role. I think I’ll call it:

Real Tree Enjoying the Holiday Season Indoors With Family.

Sue

PS Like the oleander, I will be celebrating the holidays with family. I’ll be with you again on January 7th, 2025

Christmas At the Castle

Did you know that Toronto’s Casa Loma is one of only 5 authentic castles in North America? I couldn’t think of a better place to share a Christmas outing with my 2 grand daughters than this grand old lady. But the visit was not without its challenges.

Casa Loma was built by Sir Henry Pellatt in 1914 for his wife, and it cost him 3.4 Million dollars – over 100 years ago. This is one expensive house. Its amenities include 98 rooms, many with attached bathrooms, also towers, stables and secret passageways. You may wonder where Pellatt got all that money. Well he figured out that his contemporary, Thomas Edison, was onto something with his study of electricity, and Pellatt quickly developed the idea for a hydro-electric generating station in Niagara Falls. The rest, as they say, is history.

Both Agnes and Sophie seemed intrigued by the idea of visiting the castle, poking around, and having lunch there. So we chose a Saturday. I studied the subway maps and arranged for us to meet at the Bloor Yonge station and take line 1 on the west side to Dupont Station. Then we would climb 110 steps up to the castle. Easy-Peasy. But, as the date got closer, I began to have nightmares about those steps. It would be sooo embarrassing when the girls bounded up those steps, leaving me behind struggling to breathe.

On the day of our trip, Sophie texted to say that she was sick with a bad cold and couldn’t join us. So Agnes and I carried on without her. Except we couldn’t carry on because the subway service had been cancelled on the line that we needed. We had to re-route to the Yonge subway and then take a streetcar across St. Clair Ave to Spadina. This change was fine with me – it had NO steps!

First we ate lunch in the castle cafeteria which was not quite up to castle standards. We had both worn our better clothes, that is to say, no jeans, and we were a little overdressed. The waiters wore sweat pants and elf hats. There was no linen, no silverware, and definitely no candelabra. The food was good enough but the service was slow and we had plenty of time to study the castle map. Agnes wanted to see the great hall and the library first.

The library was closed to the public and the great hall was dwarfed by the great tree. So we made our way up the grand staircase to check out the bedrooms. We saw that they all had fireplaces, not very efficient for heating the second floor of an old stone building. We also noticed that the Pellatts and their families must have been very short to have slept in the beds. Agnes grimaced as she imagined her legs dangling from the knees down, over the footboard.

We visited Sir Henry’s bedroom and admired his shower stall – an early version of a shower one might find at a wellness spa today. But we wondered why Sir Henry’s suite was not adjoining Lady Mary’s suite? In fact, it was in an entirely different hallway. Her bathroom was quite different from his and had an early version of a French bidet. Both bedrooms had huge separate dressing rooms: Sir Henry’s for his army uniforms of the Queen’s Own Rifle Brigade. Lady Mary’s dressing room held uniforms from her time volunteering for the Girl Guides. Maybe they were too busy with their volunteer work to have any time for each other.

In the upstairs hallway was the 2nd floor phone. Agnes stared in disbelief and tried to imagine hanging onto the receiver apparatus while speaking into the microphone attached to the table. “How do you facetime on that thing?” she asked. On the third floor we bypassed a lot of history of the 2nd World War as Agnes made a bee-line for the tiny steel staircase leading up to the top of one of the towers. I waited for her at the bottom.

Then we decided we had had enough of castle-ing. I think Agnes wanted to get back to the 21st century because we ignored the stables and she didn’t even mention the gift shop. We climbed back on the streetcar and then said goodbye as we transferred to different subways. Agnes got home quickly and safely. I think we both felt that, while the castle might be a little outdated, our time together had been totally worthwhile.

But my adventure was not quite over. At my 3rd subway stop the conductor told us that service was interrupted for the next 5 stops, due to a security incident. Then came the words no subway rider ever wants to hear: “Shuttle busses will be running.”

As I walked along Bloor St. I couldn’t help thinking that I’d happily hitch a ride in the Pellatt’s horse and buggy if they happened to come along.

Sue

Buffalo

Did you know that Buffalo may be Canada’s best revenge against Donald Trump and his tariffs?

I grew up in St. Catharines, not too far from the US border. When our car needed gas or my dad needed beer, we would often drive “over the river” (the Nagara River that is) and fill up, at very cheap prices. When the family wanted a Saturday night outing, we would travel to Buffalo and gorge on wings and fries. During school vacations we would go to the Niagara Outlet Mall and stock up on school clothes. We saved a lot of money that way. Not only were the prices cheaper to start with, but back then the Canadian dollar was at par with the US dollar.

Many Canadians living in cities and towns near the US border shopped this way. Holidays were built around a trip to a US mall. The mall garbage cans were filled with price tags and shopping bags and shoe boxes discarded by buyers, along with the old clothes and shoes they had been wearing in the morning. Families would stay overnight at a nearby motel that had an indoor swimming pool. Everyone was happy.

Crossing the border to return home, the family would meet the customs office who would ask: “What are you bringing across the border today?” The driver would smile and say “Oh sir, nothing to declare. We just went over for lunch.” Then he would sneak a peak at his gas gauge which read FULL. Meanwhile the kids in the back seat would stare down at their shiny shoes, scuffed up enough to betray their newness. And the wife would be wearing two new dresses under a jacket, as she wiped perspiration from her brow.

Even after I moved to Toronto I would sometimes join friends on a weekend shopping trip. We’d drive across the borer to the outlet mall, split up and raid the stores. Then we’d meet for lunch and share our finds. And then we’d go back at it again. After loading up the car with clothes, bedding and cosmetics, we’d drive farther along the highway to a boutique hotel, just past Buffalo. We’d settle in, enjoy a fabulous meal, and drink wine.

The next morning after a bountiful brunch, we’d head home, stopping here and there at antique stores and fruit stands. When we got to the border, we’d smile politely at the customs officer who usually asked the total price of our purchases. The customs allowance back then was $100 for a weekend away. Coincidentally each one of us had spent just under that limit – $96, $91, $94, and $97. Hard to believe that we were so good at doing math in our heads. In fact, when we added gas, hotel, food, and wine, we’d probably each spent well over $500 in the Buffalo area.

Nowadays these fun Canadian shopping habits are beginning to disappear. With the Canadian dollar trending downwards and gas prices going up, fewer people are making their way south to Buffalo, or Michigan, or Seattle. We stay put and make do with our local Winners and COSTCO. And with the Trump tariffs on the way, this downward trend is going to continue. We’ll be spending our holiday shopping sprees in our own country. And we’ll have fun too.

So Donald, take that! Who says that average Canadians can’t protest over the shameful results of the recent US election?

Sue

Technology Is Driving Us Crazy

A couple of months ago our insurance provider, Johnson, sold off their vehicle insurance branch to another company, Belair Direct. We had been very happy with Johnson and had no say in this sale.

Peter and I have been driving for over 60 years and both of us have pretty clean driving records: no accidents caused by either of us, and only a few parking tickets. Since moving to the city, we have switched our mode of travel to public transit and walking. Our cars sit in the garage getting dusty and waiting for for COSTCO visits, trips to family cottages, and the curling rink which is not on a subway line.

We were OK with this arrangement until Belair Direct sent Peter an email message telling him he could get 10% off the cost of our policy. Peter is highly motivated by a deal and immediately began filling out the attached form. Then he came to the spot where he had to fill in his cell phone number. You will be shocked to hear this – but Peter has no cell phone. So I was called in to help.

After studying the form, I realized that the company wanted to install a device on my car that would monitor my driving habits. I am not quite ready to let AI take over my life yet, so I said no. By this time, however, Belair had my cell phone number and the phone calls have been non-stop. I have hung up on them, I have answered with rude words, I have threatened, I have pleaded. As a matter of fact, excuse me while I answer my phone again RIGHT NOW! Aggghhh…

Meanwhile Peter got another message from Belair asking him to complete a “survey” for another 10% off the bill. When we read the message more closely, the request was hidden in the text. It was a chance to sign up for “autocoverage” which didn’t mean CAR coverage; it meant coverage by technology. In other words, all our coverage would be done online. Forms, photos, documents, everything. No nice person would be at the end of a phone to ask “May I Help you?” If we had an accident, we would have to download everything by ourselves; while we waited at an intersection, bleeding to death, our car in pieces. And I’d have to use MY phone to do it because Peter still wouldn’t have one!

Driving for older folks is hard enough these days as our bodies and minds age. I have to admit that some new technology features are a big help. My car cameras, (blind spot and back-up), can be helpful if my neck is stiff from arthritis. My front-end braking assist is useful if I happen to approach a car from behind while I’m searching in my purse for my grocery list. The GPS is handy if I get lost in a new neighbourhood.

However, technology could do a much better job of one thing – construction! Surely some tech person could figure out a way around all those orange cones and signs, without long detours. Or maybe find a way to install sewer pipes that didn’t involve big diggers and dump trucks. Or how about a way to solve the bike lane issue?

Sadly, I have run out of space in this post. My answer to bike lanes will have to wait till next week. If you have any ideas, send them along. But you’ll have to use technology to reply because the post office is on strike and the drive to our house is hampered by construction.

Sue

TAYLOR AND ME

With Taylor Swift in town, readers would expect me to write something about her. Wouldn’t you? After all she has pretty much taken over the city.

But I don’t really follow Taylor’s music, and this site has a limited budget which doesn’t allow for $1,000 per-person tickets to go to a concert. I was tempted to write about some other newsworthy item, like my teen-age rise to fame, but frankly I don’t remember it. My mind kept wandering back to this superstar. What is it about her that attracts so many millions of fans?

Even though she is only 35 years old, Taylor Swift (named after singer James Taylor), has a long performing history. As a child she sang at Montessori concerts and in school musicals. Then she started going to New York City for voice and acting lessons. By age 13 Swift won a deal with RCA records and began travelling to Nashville with her mother. Clearly her parents were well-off and could afford to support their daughter’s musical career, just like her namesake.

As a young teen, Swift learned the guitar and did commercials for Maybelline. She followed the music of Patsy Cline and Shania Twain. Most of my teen age friends and I followed Elvis, with never a thought of actually singing like him or even being in his back-up group. But Swift was determined to build a career in country music. So her parents did what she needed – they moved the family to Nashville. Wen I was 13, my family moved to a small town called Greece New York where there was definitely no music scene.

Along the way Swift began writing her own material: tunes and lyrics. For example she would write about what happened in school on a certain day, what boy winked at her, what girl called her names. Then she would design costumes and add dance moves too. She was, and still is, the whole package. Many of us wrote stuff like that in our diaries, and we made costumes out of old castoffs in the attic. But that’s as far as it went for our stardom.

Swift’s debut album, Taylor Swift, was released when she was just 17. Accolades poured in for this emerging star. For most of us, age 17 meant our first part-time job at a greasy spoon. and maybe singing along with the jukebox. I even had a tiny radio that ran on batteries!

At the American Music awards in 2019, Swift was named Artist of the DECADE. In 2020 she was the highest paid solo musician worldwide. Concerned about theft of her content, she began to re-release her albums in her own style. Fearless: Taylor’s Version was released in 2021. In 2023 Swift was the most streamed artist on Spotify, Apple Music and Amazon.

Her fan base has grown to many millions, all across the globe, across age groups, and across genders. Her fans include musicians, as she has often advocated for them on issues of intellectual property rights and streaming policies. She has become a cult figure with her own logo – friendship bracelets. She supports women’s rights. Folks like you and I continue to watch in wonder.

Not surprising to learn that Swift is rich; in 2023 she became a billionaire. And she gives it away too. She had already donated millions to charitable causes: cities ravaged by storms and floods, schools for needy kids, food banks at every concert venue. So what else to do but create another tour? Meanwhile our thirties were spent raising kids and paying the mortgage. Sometimes we went to a bar and sang along with the band to “Sweet Caroline.”

Toronto has come alive in pink. The subway system has posters on every wall and pillar. Stores and malls have pop-up tables and kiosks full of Swift “merch.” Radio stations blast her hits. Downtown is filled with loving fans, cheering and trading bracelets, (except for one couple that has gone to court, fighting over a divorce and who gets the Swift concert tickets). Mostly it is all about adoration and happiness.

But I am wondering about one thing. Our generation all worked hard, gradually moving up the career ladder, and maybe striving for an upper rung before we retired. We left lots of goals unattained. For Taylor Swift, having reached the top of her game at age 35, what is she going to DO for the next 60 years?

Sue

Affordable Housing

Thanks to all you wonderful readers who contributed comments on my Election Day post. Your ideas were insightful and heartfelt. So very sorry they were in vain. It’s sadly ironic that yesterday we honoured millions of war heroes who paid with their lives to save democracy, when only last week millions of voters had given it away with a check mark on a ballot.

However, our life of relative stability goes on, for 2 more months at least. Our family has been focused on the real estate market. My son and his wife sold their townhouse and bought a condo, all in a couple of weeks. We went along for the ride, metaphorically, with lots of conversations. Did they need 3 bedrooms or could they manage with 2? Was the washing machine big enough? How would Venus (the dog) cope with the elevator? These are first-world problems, for sure.

Then the owners of the oddly-shaped house next door to us finally held an Open House. I marched in shamelessly. The home is beautiful: bright and airy and unique. There are big entertaining rooms, small private spots, and natural outdoor spaces. There are also: 6 bathrooms, 4 fireplaces, heated floors, a workout studio, 2 elevators, and an entire room devoted to the technology needed to run the building.

Does anybody really Need that much house?

Last year around this time the issue of affordable housing began to surface in Toronto. Our parks became tent cities. Our alleyways grew into drug dealers’ business outlets. Our refugees slept on subway grates. Our new mayor, Olivia Chow, wrang her hands in despair.

Government officials should have looked into the past for inspiration. They could have seen how architects dealt with the shortage of housing for soldiers returning from WW II in 1945. One enterprising architectural firm, Wartime Housing Corporation, came up with a home design, referred to as Simplified Cape Cod. It has a living room, kitchen, bathroom and bedroom on the main floor, with 2 more bedrooms upstairs under a pitched roof. Over 46,000 of these houses were built across Canada in the next 2 years.

One such neighbourhood still exists in Toronto. So we went to have a look. Called Queensway Park, it contains 200 homes built in 1945-46. Most of them have Not been renovated. They were built with quality materials and are well-cared-for by their owners. The neighbourhood has quiet cul-de-sacs, curving streets and plenty of green space; perfect for a family.

In recognition of the original military owners, many residents decorated their small homes for November 11th, with poppies and other memorabilia. In this neighbourhood, residents have Not forgotten.

Sue