This year’s holiday brought regret along with the usual joy of sharing a meal with family and friends. There was our disappointment in the weather which had turned cold and rainy after several beautiful summer-like days. There was the price of turkey which forecd many families to switch to chicken or even plants. Then there was, and continues to be, ongoing tragedy in the world: including Ukraine, Afghanistan, and most recently Israel.

To distract myself, I picked up a copy of Food and Drink magazine at the LCBO. This is one of the few perks of paying such high prices for wine grown just down the highway, and having to bring your own bag to the store now too. The magazine photos are colourful and the recipes are sometimes quite delicious.

This latest issue has a theme. The magazine is celebrating 30 years of publication and the holiday theme is Then and Now. I could hardly believe how our tastes have changed from the 1990’s. For example, a good old-fashioned hamburger with tomato, relish and mustard is no longer worth eating. Snce then, we have moved through the era of the “slider,” a couple of tiny burgers with some gourmet garnish on a fancy plate. But now even a slider won’t do. Now we must have a “smashburger.” This concoction of 3 beef patties, 2 different exotic cheeses and a few strips of bacon, all drenched in fat, sounds like a killer burger to me.

Other classics have been updated too. “Macaroni and cheese” has become “Shells WIth Vodka-Squsash Sauce”. (Well it IS a liquor store magazine, after all). Anther favourite drink from the 90’s, the perfectly delicious margarita, has been modernized into an avocado margarita, still with lime juice and tequila, but substituting the other juices with pureed avocado, and rimming the glass with chili powder. I guess it could be healthy.

Who is responsible for making these decisions to update our food choices? Well, like just about every trend these days, we rely on food “influencers.” In my mother’s day it was Betty Crocker, with her frilly white apron over her house dress. Then Julia Child took over and French cuisine was all the rage. Recently Stanley Tucci has been promoting Italian dishes. But now? How do we deal with dishes such as “Roasted Goldenheart potatoes with Iberico pork, sheep’s milk cheddar, and sherry-butter sauce”? Who has the time or the money to even buy all these ingredients?

This year I went with some traditional dishes. The turkey was not air-fried or perched on the BBQ with a beer can stuck up its butt; it was right-side up in the oven and the dressing was an old family favourite. But I got a little edgy with the vegetables and tried a version of an indigenous recipe called “Three Sisters” to which I added a couple of cousins and a neighbour. At least the adults liked it. And one of our daughters brought sweet potatoes roasted in a maple sauce that was deilcious.

But old or new, does it really matter? Basically I am saying that, whatever you ate for Thanksgiving dinner, a family traditonal recipe or something nouvelle cuisine, you had food on your plate and a safe place to eat it. Many people in the world would gladly give thanks to be in our place.

Sue

“What?” you ask. “Writing about swimming in October?” Yes I am. With the unexpected gift of a few sunny warm days, I have swimming on my mind.

Peter and I only went swimming in a lake a few times this past summer. We swam at our son’s cottage in Muskoka. Actually I didn’t swim much. Instead I tried to join Ben and Gavin, the grandkids, on their lily pad while they used me as target practice with their water pistols. Peter swam across the lake one day and was pleased with his accomplishment. Another day he went swimming accidentally when his kayak almost submerged with him in it.

Peter chasing the kayak; vacated lily pad in front

Swimming in the city is usually convenient. There are several public pools – indoor and outdoor. A few times we walked up the street to our local outdoor pool, heated and not too crowded in the deep end. One day in August we took grandchildren Sophie and Gavin there for an afternoon of diving for octopus. Gavin was not armed and we all had fun. We threw the plastic toys and they dove for them. After they were tired out, we walked home for ice cream. The pool is a delight but it is now closed until next summer.

One of our daughters lives in a condo with an indoor pool, and we sometimes get invited for a Sunday swim. The water is warm and there are noodles for floating; both requirements for an aging Nana. Mostly we watch our grand daughter, Agnes, practise her swimming skills for the competitive swim team she has joined. A couple of weeks ago she taunted Peter with an offer of a race. He couldn’t resist the challenge. On the first try, she beat him 4 laps to 1. But on the next race, Peter got out his best swim stroke and turned up the heat – she still beat him, but only 2 to 1. Pretty good when you consider that she is 12 and he is 77!

Last Friday, when Lucy arrived and we hadn’t discussed where to go for a walk, we decided to investigate an indoor pool only a few kilometers away. This pool, Gus Ryder Community Pool, has a reputation with seniors for having warm water And warm dressing rooms. This is our kind of pool! We weren’t too sure how things worked, so we took bathing suits, towels, a few small bills and not much else.

The small bills covered the entrance fee – $5.00 for both of us. The pool was divided into 4 sections for lane swimming: fast, medium, slow and FAT aka Float And Talk! Peter chose Medium and I chose FAT. There were a number of older women in that section and they were definitely talking a lot, as they wandered from one end of the pool to the other, sometimes splashing their arms around from side to side.

I found a spot on one side of the FAT lane, where I could do some lengths at my own pace. There was classical music playing and it was heavenly. After about an hour, Peter and I got out of the pool and went to our separate change rooms. I had a lovely shower and was able to dry my hair under a hand dryer that had been installed at head height. Everything worked well for me.

Peter, on the other hand, had forgotten shampoo and soap. He tried to “borrow” mine, but one of the lifeguards came to my rescue and told him there was soap in his change room. Well there was, but it was with the sinks, not the showers. So Peter spent a lot of time running from the shower to the sinks and filling his cupped hands with soap, running back to the shower as the soap dripped onto the floor, washing one body part, running back to the sinks while trying to avoid the slippery floor spots, getting more soap, running to the shower, washing another body part, and so on. It took a while.

Meanwhile I sat in the lobby waiting for him and planning his Christmas gift – soap on a rope.

Sue

Our local pool, closed for the season

September is the month for 2 important Italian traditions: Tomato Day and wine-making. Ever since I have known him, Peter has celebrated both. Recetly tomatoes have given way to Rau tomato sauce, available at specialty stores and a whole lot easier than home-canning. But wine-making is in a special category – one connected to social gatherings. ” Vieni alla mia casa, e beviamo un bottiglia di vino!”

When we lived in the country, Peter visited a local vineyard to buy his grapes, and made the wine in our 2-car garage. But how would we manage this important tradition in the middle of a big city? There certainly weren’t any vineyards at Bloor and Jane, and only a few of the homes for sale had garages, (tiny ones only big enough for a tiny car). As we packed up our country house, Peter tearfully sold his heritage grape press.

Then we moved – to a house with a 2-car garage and extra space in the front. Peter began dreaming of buying back his press. Then he started looking for grapes. He explored the neighbourhood where Italians settled when they immigrated to Canada in the 1950’s: St Clair and Caledonia. And there he discovered Macedo Winery. He came home beaming, and loaded with grape juice. No need for a press now! He washed out some demijohns and set up his wine business in the garage. Soon the juice was bubbling away.

This year Peter’s day for grape shopping was a Lucy cleaning day. So I decided to go shopping with him. Granted it was not as exciting as Winners or Home Sense, but I was curious. The Macedo parking lot was overflowing with cars. I was astonished by the number of cases of grapes and the variety of choices. Whites were available in: Chardonnay, Reisling, Sauvignon Blanc, and Muscato. The reds came in: Merlot, Pinot Noir, and my favourite; Cabernet Sauvignon.

At this stage of the process, “wine tasting” amounted to customers wandering around, sneaking hands into the cases, and sampling the grapes. I happily joined in. We selected our grapes – 5 cases this year instead of 10 – the new alcohol guidelines had us being a little more careful. The cases were delivered by forklift to a huge crusher where the stems were removed. Then the juice and skins were transferred to buckets with very tight lids, so we could drive them home in our car withouth drowning.

When the clerk took our money I asked her if ours was an average-sized order. She said yes, But in the 1950’s and 60’s the average order was 50 cases, not 5. Those early immigrants sure did a lot of partying! She also told me that, during those 70 years, the business had grown and changed names several times. There were now 2 grape distribution centers and one fancy wine bar which hosted wine tastings, food pairings, and weddings. The entire family was involved.

We drove home carefully with our juice and Peter dumped it into the large barrel where it would bubble away, fermenting. During this time, it was dangerous to go into the garage without a mask – you could get a little muddled from inhaling the fumes, and we were already muddled enough from age.

One more trip to the winery with the juice was in order – so the juice could be pressed and the skins removed. Now we are waiting a little longer for the juice to finish fermenting. In a few weeks, I mean months, the wine will be drinkable. And finally – bottling time!

Meanwhile, every once in a while, Peter disappears. I find him in the garage, stirring, sniffing, and secretly tasting. “Quality Control” he calls it.

Sue

Some people wll do almost anything to come up with a topic for a blog post.

A few weeks ago I was on the subway going downtown to meet a friend for lunch – when I lost my wedding ring. I stared down at my bare ring finger and let out a shriek. The ring must have slipped off my finger somehow. I got on my hands and knees, not a pretty sight thses days, and began looking under the seats. I won’t tell you what I found down there but it was not gold or diamonds. Others joined me in my search but we found nothing. So I got off at the next subway stop, which happened to be Bay, and rushed to the Lost and Found Office, where I met my new best friend Nancy.

Nancy was about the age of someone who might be hoping for a wedding ring herself, and she gave me a big hug. Then she carefully took down my contact information. She mentioned that rings sometimes did get turned in. After all, this is Toronto the Good, right? In fact there was a ring in their collection right now, but it had pearls instead of diamonds. Maybe there was hope.

Then I met my original friend for lunch. Before I even said hello, I blurted out my news. Her jaw dropped. She asked her burning question: was I going to tell Peter? I hadn’t actually gotten that far in my thinking. Of course I would tell him. Wouldn’t I? Then I remembered that Peter doesn’t wear any rings and doesn’t notice if others do either. Could I just pretend that mine was in my jewellery box – for the next 20 years or so?

I thought about my ring all through lunch. I have no idea what else we talked about. Mostly my friend talked and I nodded. On the subway home, I got on the floor again, thinking maybe luck was with me and I was on the same train. Of course I wasn’t. Or it wasn’t. Or whatever. I was so distracted I don’t remember.

At home I blurted out the news again. Peter reached me for a hug and said: I will love you forever, ring or no ring.” That hurdle overcome, I began to think about whether our home insurance policy would cover the ring, and whether I even wanted to replace it. But, after a few days without it, I began to miss my ring. My finger looked so bare. Was I even really married without it?

So the research began. I hounded Nancy at the TTC, without success. Then I found the insurance certificate from the jewellery store where Peter had originally bought the ring in 2008. Peter called the insurance company and found out that, yes, they would cover most of the loss, except for the deductible amount. Then, somewhat daunted, I began the search for a new ring. Where to start?

First I went back to the original jewellery store which was, miraculously, still in business. The clerk looked over the certificate and said he would check the SKU – a lot number for that particular style of ring, And there it was – in another store – one ring, the same as mine, 15 years later. Neither of us could believe it. I almost gave him a hug too – I was getting a lot of new best friends over this piece of jewellery.

A couple of weeks later, after the ring had been tried on and re-sized, Peter and I made plans to celebrate. We would go to the jewellery store together to pick up the ring, and then go out for lunch.

At the store, I gave the clerk my phone to take a picture. No, Peter did Not get down on one knee. Come on – we are OLD! But he did ask:”Will you marry me again?” After a short pause for dramatic effect, I said yes.

Sue

Today marks the fifth anniversary of the day we moved from the country to our house in Toronto. It was a big decision for the 2 of us in our 70’s to leave our quiet rural neighbourhood and take on another house in a big city. Was it the right one?

September 5th, 2018 was a day very much like this one – HOT. The movers sweated buckets and went through cases of bottled water. (They refused to drink tap). They also brought a truck that was too small and Peter had to rent an extra truck and drive it himself. A few things broke in transit including a mirror – which is supposed to bring bad luck. The “day” ended at 10 pm when we fell into our partly-made bed, exhausted. We barely had time to hope that things would be better in the morning.

Soon, though, we discovered that we had moved into another quiet neighbourhood, with several advantages: close to a bakery, podaitrist, medical support, drugs, and wine. What more does a Senior need? We have access to public transit: the TTC and GO are both a short distance away. When we choose to walk, there are wonderful places to explore: trails north along the Humber River where the deer nibble on new branches in the spring and the salmon jump in the fall; trails south to Lake Ontario where beaches and picnic tables wait for us in the summer and our kayak feels right at home. And on Labour Day weekend we can hear the Air Show right above our heads! Well maybe that isn’t such a big advantage…

As for the house, it is exactly what we wanted: smaller but roomy enough for the 2 of us. We each have our own bathroom and one relaxing area with our favourite sofa or chair, a TV, and a side table for our pens and paper to write down lists of all the things we might forget. The dining room is in between, and we meet there for meals, board games, and discussions abot how our grand childiren are doing and why aren’t they eating their vegetables like we did when we were their age? The house is perfect, really.

But it is a lot of work. There is the general maintenance of cleaning, which Lucy takes care of, gardening, which Peter the Farmer is happy to look after, and cooking and laundry which are my chores. But other jobs do pop up, or fall down, like the time, as many readers remember, when the kitchen sink fell through the counter onto the floor. Then there was the winter, the coldest on record, when the furnace broke. Three times. And there are the many escapades of Peter trying to tame the backyard trees using a wobbly ladder and a rusty hand saw. Or a time during the pandemic when we ordered a new coffee table, mostly for diversion, and then spent hours, mabe even days, trying to assemble it because 2 of the legs were shorter than the other 2.

Mostly we have tried to stay away from renovations or even major decorating. Our plan seems to be that we’ll stay here until enough things break or need work, inculdng our bodies, and then we’ll move. Meanwhile we’ll put up with the little things: the stained carpet in the den, the tiny crackcs in the bathroom sink, the ugly light fixture in the dining room. And we’ll continue to enjoy all the experiences our new life in the city has to offer.

Sue

Some of the adventures Peter and I have are not as successful as others.

Since June I have been wanting to write about the Toronto waterfront. Despite the fact that city planners allowed the construction of the Gardner Expressway and multi-storey condos on prime waterfront land, there are still gems near the Lake Ontario shoreline for the public to explore. On a recent Friday we decided to check them out.

One delightful spot in the east is Sugar Beach, which I wrote to you about in October, 2022. There isn’t much else to see on the waterfront until you continue west past Yonge St. along Queen’s Quay. The next place to explore is at York St – Love Park. I wrote about this too, last Valentine’s Day, when the park was still under construction. But it is finished now, and what a sweet little park it is! Beside the heart-shaped pond, there are animal sculptures everywhere. Kids often make a game of tag, running around and touching each one. There’s a lot of seating too – benches or tables and chairs – where you can relax or have a quick nap.

Farther west on Queen’s Quay are creative wooden decks resembling waves, popular with skate-boarders or toddlers learning to navigate on 2 feet. There’s a park reserved for cultural festivals, with something happening every weekend. And then there is the Amsterdam Brew House, our favourite waterfront restaurant. On our recent visit we were led to a new spot – a rooftop patio witih a view of kayaks paddling past, yachts docking at the wharf, and float planes taking off.

Then we visited the Salmon Run fountain at the Rogers Centre. This was one of my favourite outdoor fountains in days past, but it had fallen into disrepair, the empty fountain floor filling with debris. Then I read in a local newspaper that repairs were being made, so we went to see. I’m sorry to report that nothing has been done so far and the poor salmon languish, waiting for the water to rush by once again and propel them on their way to higher spawning ground.

Next on our list was The Well. I had heard about this unique condo community, recently built in the west part of the city, near the waterfront, or so I thought. I had envisioned water cascading from a well, along a water-lillied stream, towards the lake, in a park designed by landscape architect Claude Cormier. Instead we found a tall non-descript condo building, bordering on the GO train tracks, with no green space in sight. The only reference to a well was the slogan: “LIving Well.”

But there was one more waterfront gem on our trip – the Music Garden. Meandering towards Bathurst along the waterfront, this lovely oasis was created in the 1990’s. Famed cellist, Yo-Yo Ma interpreted the music of Bach’s Suite #1 For Solo Cellists, designing the garden as an accompaniment. He created 6 sections in the garden, representing the movements in the music. Even though we didn’t fully understand the musical-botanical relationship, we still enjoyed wandering through this garden paradise.

You could say that our trip along the waterfront ended on a high note.

Sue

Peter may have left out the “oh baby” part of the song, but he definitely wanted to go to the EX. We had only been to the CNE once in recent memory, when we took our grandson, Ben, age 4, to meet his hero Chase, of Paw Patrol fame. This iconic fair has been around for 144 years, with only short breaks during the 2 World Wars and Covid. It was time for us to explore it again, from a Senior perspective.

We planned our route; from the Princes’ Gates in the east to the Dufferin Gate at the west, with many stops in between. The first place we passed was the Horse Palace. In the “olden days” a visit here was a highlight; walking through the stalls, reading names and patting noses. Then we would watch the show, and cheer for maginficent animals jumping over rails, and baby horses pulling carts. But this year the Art Deco buliding of 1932 is closed to the public, diminished by midway rides and food booths.

Next we entered the modern Enercare Building. The Automotive Building, another beautiful Art Deco building from the past, is now hidden behind it, out of view. There are no sexy sports cars for us to sit in or huge house trailers to explore. Instead, this building is used as a ballroom for corporate events, while the Enercare building is pretty much a big shopping mall, with a few eye-catching floral fish designs near the entrance.

Then we walked through the Midway. It was just as we had remembered, with favourite games like Whack-A-Mole, Go Fishing, and RIng Toss. Many rides – the spinning teacups, the merry-go-round and the log flume – were the rides from our childhood. One new ride caught my attetion. It was a large Ferris Wheel roughly the same size as the one in Niagara Falls. I hopped on. The view from the top was OK, but it looked out over Ontario Place – a sad story for another day.

We made quick visits to other buildings we had remembered: the Queen Elizabeth Building which is now another shopping mall, and the Better Living Centre which did have some interesting displays about living off the land, conserving energy, eating naturally-grown products; lessons hard to ignore during these days of climate change visible across the country.

Then it was time to hit the Food Building. But, on our way, Peter spied a corn dog and decided that was adventurous enough for him. I picked up a slice of (cold) pizza and we ate at a picnic table – not exactly gourmet.

The Pure Foods Building, designed in 1922, is considered an Italianate architectural gem. it began as a place to promote agriculture and innovative food products. In the 1950’s, when we were kids, it was the place to go for free samples. Now it has become a giant Food Court, with offerings from around the world. We saw our Toronto population represented: ramen noodle bowls, shawarma, butter chicken, souvlaki, even K-Pop burgers, cooked alongside Kentucky Fried Chicken and pickle hot dogs.

We missed several activities featured at this year’s EX: a drone show starting after our bedtime, a gaming palace for which we have no skills, a Pink Floyd Exhibit we ignored because we could only remember one of their hit songs. We finished our tour with Goose On the Loose, artistic painting on several goose sculptures, all surrounding the Princess Margaret Fountain. This landmark meeting place was built in 1958 to commemorate the visit of Princess Margaret herself. From existing records, it seems that Margaret was the only Royal to officially visit the CNE. Many other dignitaries have chosen the Royal Agricultural Fair or the Queen’s/King’s Plate instead.

Finally we reached the Dufferin Gate, the west-most entrance/exit for the fair. Our day had been one of nostalgia, of remembering things the way they used to be. But there were lots of kids there – riding the roller coasters, clutching hard-won stuffies, eating cotton candy, and having the time of their lives.

Sue

Last Friday was not a Lucy cleaning day; Peter and I didn’t have to vacate the property. We could have stayed home to clean out the shed, empty our email inboxes, or kill ants on the patio. There were lots of exciting opportunities. But we weren’t interested – because the kayak was calling to us from the garage.

We hadn’t been out in our kayak since the early spring. Friday’s weather forecast was perfect – sunny but cool with a little breeze, and calm waters. We knew the routine almost by heart. We gathered up our water bottles, sun screen, a little cash for lunch, and a couple of apples to sustain us.

We wiped the spider webs out of the boat and found the paddles and life jackets. After a couple of tries, we figured out where to place the rolling wheels under the kayak, and we set off down the sidewalk. As usual, there were stares and comments. “That’s a pretty unusual bundle buggy!” Or “Do you need directions to the river?” Or, from a little boy: “Mommy can I have a ride in that?”

Setting out on our adventure

Paddling down the Humber River towards Lake Ontario, we came across spots where it was hard to believe we were in the middle of the largest city in Canada. Birds graced the shoreline. Traffic jams were easy to pass. We floated along peacefully, listening to the sounds of nature.

Traffic jam on the Humber

Soon Palace Pier came into view, and then the Humber Bridge. We turned left into the inner channel of the lake, where the water was calm and swans joined us on our trip. We paddled towards Sunnyside Beach where we could safely land our kayak and get out without looking too ah… old. We could use the clean public washrooms and then walk to Pizza Pizza for lunch.

I know Pizza Pizza is not what you were imagining. It should be a little beach cafe with tropical drinks and fish tacos. But hey life is not perfect. And we were not perfect either in our damp kayak clothes and our rubber water shoes. Pizza Pizza would have to do. Except – when we got to the order desk, there was a big sign: No Cash! Only debit or credit. Oops – a small wrinkle in our plans.

The waitress would not budge on payment options. But she said our cash would be accepted at the restaurant in the Sunnyside Pavilion. Now, Sunnyside is a beautiful 1922 heritage building with a long history as an event venue and entertainment facility. The hospitality is know to be impeccable. We approached the front desk feeling a little out of place in our life jackets and water shoes.

Then we asked to see a menu. As you can imagine, the pizza is gourmet and costs $25-$30. Even the cheapest burger is $19. Add in the tax and tip and we would be washing dishes berfore we got out of there. We left the menu on the desk and turned away, heads up, pretending we had been slighted.

Near the kayak we found a picnic table where we ate our apples and drank some water. Then we paddled back towards Etobicoke where there were leftovers in the fridge for lunch. It had ben an almost-perfect day.

Sue

Heading home for lunch

Peter’s life changed dramatically a week ago. No, he didn’t win a pickleball trophy, although the season isn’t over yet. And No, he didn’t grow record-breaking zucchini, although that season isn’t over yet either. His change came in a little box and cost a lot of money…his new hearing aides.

When Peter and I first met about 20 years ago, I noticed that I got better responses from him when I was on his right side. One day he confessed that he didn’t hear so well out of his left ear. So, in theatres, at ball parks, on the subway, I always made sure I was right. And it seemed to work.

But gradually, over the course of the last few years, as we grew older together, his hearing grew worse. It became an issue. For example; in a restaurant, the conversation would go like this:

Waitress: What sides do you want with your order?

Peter: I definitely Don’t want fries.

Waitress: So what sides do you want?

Peter: I said I Don’t Want Fries. Can’t you hear?

Then we moved to our house in the city and Peter’s La-Z-Boy was put in the corner near the TV. But his left ear was next to me. This was not a good situation for sharing thoughts about the Jays game or the National. And, if I wanted to ask him about when he was going to load the dishwasher or put out the garbage, I got nothing back. I know you are thinking that maybe he was happy not to hear some of these requests. We seemed to be at a hearing standstill. Until…

Last spring, as the curling season came to a close, Peter and his team were having their farewell beer together and discussing summer plans. Somebody quietly suggested that maybe Peter would get hearing aides so that he could hear them yelling “Sweep!” and other instructions. There were a few giffaws from the others at the table. Well Peter certainly heard that. He came home, looking a little sheepish, and announced:
“I guess the guys want me to get hearing aides.” It was a done deal.

Peter made the appointments with the necessary doctors and the audiologist. We entered the world of hearing aide technology and exited quickly after we read about computer chips, and amplifiers, and converting sounds into codes and back again. Too much information! Our other choices seemed infinite: fit styles, receivers, extra noise reduction, wireless connectivity, and, most importabt, price. Did we want to mortgage the house or not?

After all the decision-making was over and the product had arrived, we drove to the clinic discussing some celebratory options. Should we have champagne? Or should we go out for dinner and try out our new little family members at a restaruant? The audiologist greeted us with a smile at the door. “There’s a big change coming in your life, Peter!” I started to worry. This was maybe a little too optimistic.

With the help of a hand mirror, Peter put on the new aides, fumbling around as he adjusted them. Then they disappeared. Truly, they were not visible at all! The first hurdle, showing his “disability” to the world, had been overcone. After a lengthy lecture on the various extras – case, charger, drying cup – we gathered everything together and went outside.

Peter turned to me in shock. “Why are those cars making so much noise? Do people have to yell at each other?? I can hear myself breathing!!!” We worked together to turn down the volume and he was somewhat placated. But, soon after we got home, I asked him a question which he did not answer right away. He had a wide grin.

“I put them away in their case,” he confessed. I need a break from all that noise!”

Sue

Our new family members in their charger.