We older adults seem to be watching a lot of TV in January. There’s really not much else to do. It’s been too chilly, damp and windy to make walking fun. The malls are not an attraction because we filled our need to binge shop with Christmas gifts. We have been in touch with every single friend and family member to wish them a happy holiday season. We have baked and cooked and eaten at least a dozen extra pounds. The only place that’s calling to us right now is a couch in front of a roaring fire, with a cappuccino, or maybe a scotch, in our hands.

And there’s the TV right in front of us. But what a sad choice of entertainment it is these days. The news gives us updates on the ongoing horrors in Ukraine as Putin turns winter into a weapon against those poor, but resilient, people. Or we can watch the latest news about Harry and Meghan as they turn against the British Monarchy, wrapping us all in their dirty linen. Or we check on the chaos in the US House as those self-important Representatives vote 15 times before selecting a Speaker.

Turn to a different channel and find that another would-be Canadian hero has been defeated at Jeopardy! Watch a young athlete in his prime fall down from cardiac arrest on the football field. Go to our favourite nature show and learn that David Suzuki has announced his retirement. One dreary afternoon recently Peter and I settled on Elvis Presley in Frankie and Johnny, a 1966 film that won absolutely No awards. Elvis sings a love song about Petunia the Gardner’s Daughter as he woos several look-alike blondes with big boobs. Obviously we were pretty desperate for screen entertainment.

But there is worse – the ads. We stay tuned and see ourselves in promotions for hair replacement, weight loss, and wrinkle cream. Please NO – we already know all of this! We see it every day in the mirror. America’s channels are bad because the big pharma companies try to sell drugs to citizens who have no health care. What Canadian has ever heard of Mesothelioma, never mind pronouncing it? Or how about Ozempic – what IS Ozempic anyway and what does it cure?

Last but definitely not least are the ads for controlling bodily functions -ads that really don’t belong on TV. OK so that little teddy bear marching to the bathroom with his roll of toilet paper is kinda cute. But what about the girl swirling some Listerine in her mouth and then leaning forward to spit loudly into the sink.? Or the women dressed in silk gowns, shaving armpits and bikini lines? We do Not need to see this! Or the guys in the Pepto Bismal commercials who rub their tummies as they sing out the word “Di..a…rrh…ea!! ending on a high note. This is Not a Hight Note! And there are worse ones – too crude to even write about here.

Have our lives come to this – watching sights and smells that are inconsequential and downright Gross? Is there any worthwhile material on TV to keep us company as we while away the days waiting for Spring? How about streaming, for example?

So dear readers, in the interests of giving you a job, a purpose for January, I am asking you to share your best TV experiences with us. Please, Please send us some suggestions for quality television viewing.

Sue

PS Surely you didn’t want pictures of those ads?

So you are thinking, did Peter and I eat robots and was the taste metallic? Or did we take robots out for lunch because we wanted a change from all that talking with family over the holidays? Well neither, actually….

Peter and I have seen how many toys our grandkids get for Christmas and it is a LOT. So we try to do something different if we can, by providing an experience instead. We got the idea from our son Daniel who took us all to Ripley’s Aquarium the year it opened. And it was a big success. A year later we took the kids to see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and last year we took everybody to see Little Canada.

This year we chose a restaurant that serves all-you-can-eat sushi, a delicacy that our “internationally-trained” grandkids love. Their grandparents on the other side of the family come from around the world and the families love tasting international cuisine. Sushi is no stranger to them. But the main reason we chose this place is because robots serve the food! A cut little robotic figure with sweet little cat ears, blinking eyes, and a squeaky voice, rolls up beside your table and says “Please take your order from the tray below. ” And then, as it rolls back towards the kitchen, it politely adds “Thank you!”

At our table for 12, each group of 6 had a tablet for ordering food. The portions are small and patrons can order as much as they want. Just click on your choices and then submit. Usually it is most efficient for one person from each group to take charge of the tablet while others shout out their preferences. But sometimes it’s hard to keep track, especially with 2 groups. While you wait for the robots to begin serving the food, there is a soup-salad bar to keep you from starving- starvation being a state where all the grandchildren seem to perpetually reside.

Table For 12

After we had filled up on wonton soup and seaweed salad, the food began to arrive at the table: servings of salmon rolls, chicken teriyaki, shrimp tempura, vegetable fried rice, beef BBQ ribs. But NO robots! Instead, human waiters were scurrying from the kitchen with trays and trays of food. Peter rushed over to one of them and queried: “No offence, but we wanted Robot waiters!”

Meanwhile the food kept coming and coming. It was like an I Love Lucy episode where Lucy and Ethel are working in a candy factory sorting chocolates into boxes, when the conveyor belt accidentally speeds up and they are forced to stuff extra chocolates into the boxes, and then into their pockets, their bras and their mouths. As we frantically stuffed sushi into every available space, we could see that, over on the side, the robots were being programmed to bring us even more food! Then one of the adults read a message on the tablet: Order as much as you want, but be prepared to pay $1 for each piece of sushi that you leave behind uneaten. Oops…

Distraught with worry over a bill for thousands, Peter rushed over to the waiter again, this time yelling “STOP! No More Food!” The waiter calmly explained that, for some reason, the robots were misbehaving – refusing to take orders – going on strike, technically speaking. The room became quiet as the food stopped coming. Everybody heaved a sigh of relief. We all sat quietly, digesting our food and this new information.

Then one of the grandkids noticed something. “Look over there,” he whooped. “a dessert bar!”

Sue

Robot and waiter in employment negotiations

Our usual Friday adventure met with a challenge last week – A Generational Storm, to be exact. But we were not sidelined because…we live in the city!

We had bought very expensive tickets to a Christmas concert at Roy Thomson Hall, featuring a well-known Canadian musical group – The Tenors. We figured we would go downtown to enjoy the Christmas lights, have dinner, and then go to the concert. Then I would write to you with the beautiful Christmassy details. I worked hard beforehand to finish wrapping gifts, cooking the squash, and tidying the house in preparation for our family Christmas dinner. By Friday morning we were ready.

Then Peter and I started watching the weather forecasts. A storm for the ages: rain morphing into ice and then becoming snow up to 20 centimeters, wind gusts of 100 kms per hour, blizzard conditions. Even Mayor Tory was cautioning us: “Don’t go outside unless you have to!” We began worrying about surviving extreme cold and frostbite, about driving down snowy roads, about slipping on the ice. But mostly dear readers, I was worried about you. “What will I write about in my blog post if we don’t go?”

Well we are troupers in our 70’s and we now live in the city. There had to be a way. We found a solution with the shortest drive, the least amount of outside walking, and the fewest hills.

Next we focused on getting dressed. Forget the fancy clothes – go for warmth. We donned thermal underwear, heavy socks, warm boots, scarves and gloves. Oops – where were Peter’s gloves? We searched everywhere for any kind of gloves, even work gloves, but came up empty, all except for a sad pair of Dollarama expandable gloves, one-size-fits-all, that barely came up to Peter’s wrists. He said they would be OK as long as I promised not to take any photos.

Then we made the very short drive in our car with snow tires, a full gas tank, and a long snow brush, to the closest subway stop. There was a brief moment when we stressed over the Green P parking meter that would not take our credit card. But we got over that hurdle fast. Then we walked about 50 meters on salted sidewalks to the subway station, and rode to the St. Andrews stop with an underground passageway directly to Roy Thomson Hall.

After a quick dinner at a nearby restaurant, we sat down to enjoy an evening of The Tenors singing their hearts out. They did classic Christmas carols, cute Santa songs, a couple of Italian pieces so Peter could dance around in his seat, powerful numbers that tugged at our heartstrings, and one song where audience members were invited to join in by turning on their phone lights. The effect was magic. It was so wonderful that we hardly noticed we were sweating buckets in our thermal undies.

As we made our way home again on the subway, we marveled at how we could do so much, even during a generational storm, because we live in the city – a city that has made accommodations for bad weather, and doesn’t even give out parking tickets during a blizzard.

Sue

The Tenors

Phones light up Roy Thomson hall

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Tomorrow is the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year, marking the beginning of winter. And already I am Done. Finished. Terminated.

This year I thought I would beat winter at its own game so, back in October, I booked an appointment to get my snow tires changed on November 20th. Do you remember what happened on the evening of November 19th? SNOW – a big dump of it. In the morning I was torn: should I take a chance on driving unprotected to the dealership on snowy streets, or should I give up my appointment and take another one, much later? I downed a couple of cups of strong coffee before I was brave enough to head out.

Next, with my snow tires safely installed, I started getting out the winter clothes. Peter’s sweaters had all shrunk in the closet, and my pants had grown 2 sizes bigger. How could this have happened? Then I checked the outdoor stuff and found missing mittens, gloves with holes, scarves frayed around the edges, and coats dirty. My favourite winter boots were worn out, with no grip left on the soles. How could I have left things in such a mess back in the Spring? Then I remembered a very busy April that somehow morphed into Summer without me even noticing.

Finally it was time to deal with the duvet on the bed. During the warmer months we have a colourful lightweight bedspread covering a thin blanket, and together they make a perfect pair for spring and summer temperatures. But in the winter we get out the heavy artillery: a goose-down duvet that fits inside a recently-washed cover, HOW the duvet gets inside the cover is another matter.

For the last few years I have wrestled with this duvet by myself, trying to shove and tug it up from the opening at the bottom of the cover all the way to the top. I would sometimes foolishly climb inside the cover, only to discover that I was now lying on top of the duvet and there was no way it was moving. Then I would climb back outside and try to pull the cover down in the opposite direction, But my arms weren’t long enough to push and pull at the same time. Next I would try coaxing: “Come on you duvet, get up here!” Now dear readers, don’t laugh – I know you have talked to your linens too.

So this year I called for help. Peter looked at me with amusement. How can a silly duvet cause so much aggravation? Well he was going to find out.

I had already given him a head start. I had spread the cover across the top of the bed, neatly folded accordion-style, and placed the duvet at the bottom of the bed, also folded. All we had to do was get on either side of the bed so we could pull and shove together. Easy Peasy. It started out well – until we got about half-way. Then neither part would go any farther. They were at a standoff. Peter looked puzzled for a moment. Then he barked: “STEP ASIDE!”

With his arms spread wide, he somehow grabbed both the duvet and the cover with his large hands and began waving them and down, up and down, up and down. Slowly, centimeter, by centimeter, the two pieces came together, one over the other. Hallelujah! We did a high five in celebration. I surveyed the final look. Perfect. Almost…

Then I noticed that I had forgotten to put on the bed-skirt. There, below the nicely covered duvet, the bare legs of the bed were sticking out. Aggghhh!!! And Peter? He was running for his favourite living room chair.

Sue

PS dear readers: there is One really good thing about winter – it begins with the holiday season. Whether you are celebrating Kwanza, Hannukah, or Christmas, I wish you all the best.

The duvet, nicely covered,

and Daisy the teddy bear waiting for Spring.

While this is a Christian term for the season leading up to Christmas and the birth of Christ, for kids there’s excitement too – of a different kind. As early as November, children of all ages start behaving better in the interests of getting goodies from Santa. It’s a tough slog towing the line for that many days. No wonder some smart advertising company, back in the 70’s, began taking advantage of the calendar idea to sell things.

The first time I remember buying an Advent calendar was when my own kids were little. It was a cardboard box, about the size of a fat colouring book. There were 24 little compartments, which could be poked into, and inside there would be a piece of chocolate, stamped with a Santa face, or a star, or an ornament. Early on the morning of December 1st the kids would grab their calendars, gulp down the chocolate in one bite, and exclaim: “Only 23 more days to behave!”

A few years ago a new kind of calendar emerged; online. My niece Amy, living in BC, sent me one. It was 24 days of little online surprises: a special Christmas scene drawn before my eyes, a recipe for a holiday treat, a story read with background Christmas music. What a Great idea! I watched, thinking of Amy and her new life out west, for 24 days.

Then Amy’s dad got into the game. In Port Dover my brother and his partner joined a group of 24 neighbours who get together yearly to create what is known as a living advent calendar. Every evening one of the 24 families reveals their decorated front window, to a chorus of “ooh’s” and “ahh’s” from the visitors waiting outside. Then the hosts serve a holiday treat: like hot chocolate. This year the stakes are higher – whiskey shooters – and the crowds are merrier too.

In November a friend gave Peter and me an eating kind of calendar: 24 days of cheese! Every evening before dinner we pour ourselves a glass of wine and try to remember what day it is. Then we frantically search for the correctly numbered little door and open it to cheddar, smoked, Mexicana, or Leichester. Yummy.

Our Cheese Calendar on Day 13

Recently I did a little research to see what else is available. For kids, the tiny chocolate bits have been replaced by Lego figures, or fake gemstones from National geographic. For women there are little samples of beauty products, or herbal teas or, for that really special woman in your life; a Swarovski calendar with miniature crystal figures, for only $1,000!

Men are not off the hook. For them you can purchase an advent sock calendar, But note that there are only 12 pairs of socks in this calendar. Does that mean that they can only change one sock per day? Or that they change both socks every 2 days, which is just about average for some men I know, not mentioning any names?

This advent calendar shopping is not without its challenges. And so I offer you some words of caution:

The Proseco calendar: too big for your fridge!

The Love Calendar with the warning: “Not safe for work.” well duh….

The Lidi Chocolate calendar: “May contain salmonella,” Buy this for your nasty neighbour.

And finally, I am not making this up, the COSTCO Dog Delights Advent calendar – sold out!

Happy Advent

Sue

Photo taken from COSTCO website

Yesterday our mailman did not deliver anything. On Friday he brought 2 Christmas cards and 7 advertising flyers. It was a far cry from the olden days.

When I was a child, admittedly a long time ago, mail was delivered twice a day during December. Twice a Day! Plus Saturdays. My mother spent a couple of weeks writing and addressing some 200 cards every year, and we got a similar number in return. The cards were displayed on every flat surface – on mantels, ledges, plate rails and coffee tables. It was a feast of greeting cards.

Peter has a different Christmas card memory. One year, when he was a teenager looking for money, he was hired as a mailman’s assistant for the month of December. He enjoyed being active and outside. But he was especially happy when he started getting gifts in some of the mailboxes: chocolates, home-made cookies, even money. Sadly his windfall was short-lived – soon the regular mail man noticed what was happening and confiscated the gifts, explaining that they were Not intended for the lowly part-time assistant!

In honour of this year’s Christmas mailing season, Peter and I recently visited Toronto’s very first Post Office, opened in 1837. In those days the centre of the city of 9,000 people was in the east end, 10 blocks square: Queen St to the north, Front Street and Lake Ontario to the south, Parliament on the east, and Yonge St on the west side. The Post Office was, and still is, situated on Adelaide St, the heart of the financial district in the 1800’s.

Entrance

The original Post Office is still open to the public, as a working post office and as a museum. When we walked in, we were greeted by the clerk who was busy selling stamps and weighing packages, just like at any other Toronto postal station. Behind her, arranged in neat rows, were the mailboxes of local residents. And on the opposite wall were postal items for sale – unusual stamps and coins, writing paper, sealing wax, and replica quill pens.

Mailboxes

In another room visitors are drawn to a topographical scale model of Toronto as it was in 1837. The Post Office can be seen in the centre and, if you look closely, you can pick out the north building of the St. Lawrence Market. But the south building is not there; that land was still beneath the waters of Lake Ontario. On the western boundary of the small city, the flatiron building is standing alone in a field of grass.

Scale Model of Toronto in 1837

The Reading Room is at the back of the Post Office/ Museum. This cozy place had chairs and tables, and a fireplace to keep the room warm while locals sat to read their mail or write return letters. They needed the Postmaster’s help with this, as many of them were illiterate. The cost of mailing a letter was steep too. For a piece of mail to go by stage coach to Niagara Falls, the postage would be 4 pence or more. But people were more than willing to pay in order to stay connected with friends and family living far away.

These days there is a different attitude towards mail in general, and Christmas cards in particular. People have other options, like email messages, or online card companies such as Jacqui Lawson or America Greetings. If you choose to be more creative, you can use the services of COSTCO for example and have cards designed with family photos and a printed message. Then all you have to do is shove the card into an envelope, add an address label printed at Staples, and a “family letter” highlighting all the achievements of your exceptional grandchildren. Voila! your card is ready to go.

Then take the subway downtown, walk over to 260 Adelaide St E, and mail your Christmas greetings!

My signature, using a quill pen

Last week I told you about visiting Varsity Stadium when Peter and I sauntered along Bloor St. on a Friday afternoon. But that’s not all we saw on that well-known cross-town street in mid-Toronto.

Bloor is famous for many tourist places and activities: the ROM with its infamous crystal jutting out like an ugly growth and its unique gift shop inside, or the Bata Shoe Museum which houses Elvis Presley’s blue patent loafers, or the old Park Hyatt 18th floor Bar from where we used to be able to see the CN tower.

The ROM

Bloor St. holds personal memories for me too. Many decades ago I studied at OCE, the Ontario College of Education. I lived in a one-bedroom apartment with 2 other young women. We had all our clothes in one tiny closet, and we put on all our make-up in one tiny bathroom. And we are still friends! I have also visited the Royal Conservatory of Music on a couple of important occasions. Once I took our grand daughter Sophie for her piano exam. I was almost as nervous as she was; I wanted so badly for her to do well. And she did! Recently my niece’s husband Ryan, a violin maker, was part of an exhibition in the same building, where he and a couple of other exhibitors were chosen “best in show.”

OCE where I studied. Twenty years later, when it was changed to UTS, Peter’s daughter Andrea went to high school there.

Ryan’s violin

Some of my best Bloor memories are about…shopping! After I graduated from OCE, I found a teaching job and got my first real paycheck. What did I do with it? I bought a pair of brown shoes at a very expensive store called Brown’s Shoes! It was located in the newly constructed Colonade, one of the early shopping malls in Toronto.

During the holiday season many shoppers take advantage of Bloor St, soaking up the festive atmosphere and doing a lot of window shopping. On that particular Friday, Peter followed me along reluctantly as I checked out the windows with their finest window dressing. I went to Holt Renfrew first because that is the company that began this trend several years ago, Then I caught sight of a couple of window dressers doing up Harry Rosen in style. Farther along I noticed that Dior and Vutton had “gone rogue” with some nouveau art designs. And then, I am sorry to say, Peter had run out of patience for shopping. We went home to relax and watch TV.

Hold Renfrew’s 2022 Christmas window.

Harrry Rosen being gussied up for the holiday season.

Sadly for Peter, shopping has been in the news a lot lately. We watched a story about “vanity sizing” where factories mark jean sizes smaller than they actually are, so that customers can indulge in a fantasy that they have lost weight. Another story making the news was about “convershopping” – the idea the people shop only to keep up with the current small talk. “Have you heard about the latest xxx? Well I managed to get one of the first ones on sale at yyy!”

By this time, Peter was falling asleep in his chair.

Good luck with your holiday shopping,

Sue

Vutton and Dior go rogue for the holidays

This past weekend, many of us took part in a Canadian tradition – the Grey Cup. This annual football match began in 1909 when Governor General Earl Grey commissioned a trophy in his name and the Toronto Varsity Blues met their opponents, the Parkdale Club – at Rosedale Field. The Blues threw, kicked, passed and tackled their way to a victory before an audience of 4,000 spectators. Since then, the Blues, re-invented as the Argos, have collected the prized trophy 18 times, more than any other team in the CFL.

The Grey Cup match has never again been played at Rosedale Field, moving instead around southern Ontario to places like Kingston and Sarnia, and then expanding to Montreal, Ottawa, and western Canada. During this time the trophy has been broken, stolen, burned and kidnapped. Even in its battered state, it is much coveted by Canadian teams. Rivalries are strong; a Saskatchewan fan announced on TV recently that she would rather get Covid than watch the Winnipeg team play the Argos at HER Rough Rider stadium.

In Toronto the game has moved around from Rosedale Field, to Varsity Stadium, Exhibition Place, the Rogers Centre, and the last time, BMO Field in 2016. Coincidentally, on our recent Friday excursion, Peter and I decided to walk along Bloor St, from Yonge to Spadina. Dear readers, I could write several posts about all that we saw along the way. But one venue stood out for us on that day – Varsity Stadium.

Peter stopped, as if hypnotized. And then memories came flooding back. His older brother, Victor, had taken him to Varsity to watch soccer when he was a little kid, new to Canada. One time he recalls that the international star, Pele, came to paly there and Peter watched in fear as the crowds outside the stands, so eager to get in, charged over the wall and outnumbered the police. Later, Peter played high school football here in the 1960’s when he was a Downsview Mustang. He went on to play university football here too as a member of the Queen’s Golden Gaels. Then in the 1980’s he returned as a Dad when he refereed his own kids in little league soccer.

Peter finally tore himself away from the past, and we continued to wander along Bloor St until we found the plaque describing the history of the Cup and the stadium:

This year the Grey Cup’s 109th game was viewed by over 4 million people; some at a stadium, some at a bar, and some in private homes. Our own particular tradition is to gather with friends at a private home, share chips, wine, beer, wings and chili. The men sit in front of the TV, eyes glued to the screen, and the women sit discreetly to the side so we can ah…gossip.

Another much-loved part of the evening is making bets on each quarter of the game. We started at 25 cents per bet, but last year somebody suggested a loonie instead, and this year, due to inflation of course, the bets cost a toonie. It certainly makes the game more interesting; even interrupting the gossip at times. Also this year, as you already know, the betting became a moral issue. Should we bet on the team that was winning, or on the team that represented our home town, even though they were losing through most of the game??

Fortunately, everything went well, and we’ll see you at the Grey Cup celebration on Thursday.

Sue

Varsity Stadium

When we returned from Italy to Toronto Pearson Airport last week, we were greeted by the customs agent with a friendly “welcome back.” It was heart-warming. While our trip to Italy had been wonderful, it was nice to be home.

We six travelers had a few tearful good-byes at the baggage carousel – and Not because we had lost our luggage! We all felt a certain sadness that our holiday was over and it was back to our usual routines. As well, both of the other families were facing doggie trauma. James and Glenda’s dog, Venus, had been homesick in her boarding place, had eaten very little, and had lost a lot of weight. So they were on a mission to fatten her up. Even worse, Jen and Richard’s dog, Teidi, who was only 2, had collapsed and died suddenly while we were in the middle of our trip. His parents had held up pretty well around Italy, but now they would be facing the cold dog bed, the empty food dishes, and the dormant toys they would find at home.

Peter and I hugged them good bye, knowing there was no such trauma waiting for us at home. We knew that CUPE was on strike and the battle with Doug Ford was raging. We also knew that our neighbours in the USA were facing a potential threat to their democracy with the mid-term elections. And we knew that mountains of leaves would be covering our driveway and lawn, waiting to be raked. But otherwise, things would be fine. Wouldn’t they?

Leaves waiting for us on the driveway

As the taxi drive navigated down the street towards our house, we began to see a lot of orange signs, Construction signs. How could this be? The road crew had been working industriously when we left, covering up new water pipes, and preparing to lay the asphalt. Surely we would be driving on a new street by now. Wouldn’t we?

Well basically NO. Our street was in even worse shape than when we had left. Instead of buried pipes, we had wide gaping holes, with only orange plastic cones to keep drivers from tumbling in. Instead of new tar, we had deep ruts and dangerous ridges in our path. At least it was a Sunday and there was no work going on. Somehow the taxi driver managed to weave his way around the hazards and into our driveway, where we gave him a big tip. We hauled our suitcases through the mounds of leaves and into the house. Phew.

Gaping holes with only cones and yellow tape to protect drivers.

Monday morning, after a restless night on Italian time, we were awakened at 7:00 am by the sounds of bull dozers, gravel trucks, and steam rollers. The work went on, non-stop, all day. The steam rollers were the worst, pounding down the gravel and shaking the house so hard I figured our wine glasses were all done-for. During all this, of course Peter and I had to go out. We had drug prescriptions to fill, appointments to keep, and groceries to buy! We spoke to a road worker who managed to stop the truck traffic and get us out of the driveway,

Driving back home again was another matter. We live at a 3-way intersection, not a busy one but one that had to be navigated. When it was time to return with our groceries, we had no way to contact the road workers so we played a kind of game that you may have seen on TV: which of the 3 doors/streets has the prize/driveway behind it? After 3 tries and some melting ice cream, we finally hit the jackpot.- an opening to our driveway! We were so stressed that we sat down in the kitchen and ate the ice cream. All of it.

Ah… home sweet home. Come and visit if you dare.

Sue

Dearest loyal readers, you may have noticed that I’ve been absent, doing research, for the past couple of weeks, I am now home from a trip to Italy con mio marito – oh excuse me – with my husband, my 2 adult children, and their spouses We were a happy little group of 6 and we had a great time. But no, I will not be including any family gossip in this post; like the day we visited Peter’s family in Veroli and met ALL of his cousins. Or the time Jennifer was left behind in the washroom at Pompeii. Or the number of fridge magnets that James bought in a single day. Nope – whatever happened in Italy stays in Italy. For the most part.

We had planned and postponed this trip for about 2 years, strategizing around career changes, doggie boarding arrangements, and Covid. We canvassed the group to find out their most desired sights and any concerns about travelling together; night owls vs early birds, shoppers vs sightseers, hikers vs riders. We also worried about the weather in late October/early November. Should we take bathing suits or fleeces? Finally, on Saturday October 22, we met at Pearson airport and flew away together.

Our family group begins our adventure in Peter’s home province

We chose a number of different places to visit, including Rome, Florence, Venice, Sicily Naples, and a couple of outsiders; Croatia and Corfu. To get around efficiently, we travelled on bullet train, subway, tour bus, vaporetto, cruise ship and on foot. Especially on foot. Most days we covered over 15,000 steps. Several times, especially in big cities, we almost got run over by speeding motorcycles, or tourist horses and carriages. But we marvelled at the highlights along the way: the Trevi Fountain where we made wishes, Vatican City with its incredible art collection, the impressive Duomo in Florence, the canals of Venice lit up at night, the dormant volcano at Mount Etna where Peter kept watching for signs of smoke, the stunning Amalfi Coast where Nobody was brave enough to sit on the coastal side of the bus.

Trevi Fountain, Rome

We stayed at hotels, B and B’s, and cruise ship cabins. In the evenings over dinner we shared stories of our accommodations. We compared the size of our showers; some so small that we could only wash half a body at a time. Or the noise: how many circus performers were actually staying in the rooms overhead? On the ship we designed elaborate plans for keeping our morning coffee hot as we travelled from the coffee station to our cabins. We sent out a search party to locate the mini-golf course. We nominated scouts to test the food in the 2 main restaurants before deciding where to eat.

We rode on the smallest elevator in the country

We did a lot of shopping as we flew past souvenir stores on our way to a monument or church. And the food… ah the food! We can tell you where to get the best pizza, the most delicate pasta al dente, and for sure, the best creamy and inexpensive gelato in the neighbourhood. We also became experts on local cheap red wines. As for the country’s 2 current popular drinks – we had them both; the aberol spritz while we sat, and even danced, on the Piazza San Marco, and the limoncello as we toasted our wonderful trip on our last night.

Enjoying the aberol spritz in Venice

And yes it Was a wonderful trip. We had a few hiccups, like hauling our suitcases over the cobbled streets as we searched for our hotel in Rome, trying to locate the tour bus for Amalfi which was changed to Sorrento at the last minute, stumbling through a rainstorm on the slick walkways of Pompeii. But during our trip we created a lot of memorable moments which will be with us all for a very long time.

So might I suggest that, besides leaving your kids an urn with your ashes inside, take them on a trip and leave them with lifelong memories as well.

Sue

Venice Grand Canal at night- voted the best place on our trip