Last Tuesday I woke up early to post on my site so that I could get to an appointment afterwards. I typed carefully but quickly, and added the photo. Suddenly – the screen went blank! I searched high and low in cyberspace. My post was gone. My appointment was coming up. My early-morning readers were waiting!

As I was re-typing the whole thing, I started ranting to myself about the annoyances of technology. How could my laptop not know that I was in a hurry? Eventually I finished, and sat down in a comfy chair to lower my blood pressure. I picked up a magazine and there, lo and behold, was an article I didn’t need: Twenty Tech Trends for Seniors.

They’ve got to be joking. Do we really need more technology in our lives? Well apparently we do. I felt I had an obligation to read on, just in case there was something worthwhile I could pass on to you, dear readers.

As one might expect, there were lots of health-related devices. A couple of them are meant to enhance hearing aids, for noise suppression and for dampening sound distortion, both of which apparently reduce stress for the listener. The other option is to put your hearing aids in a drawer. That definitely suppresses noise and fixes sound distortion. You can live in peace and quiet with no technology whatsoever.

Then there are technology clothes. Imagine something called Siren Socks. These magic socks detect hot spots in your feet which could turn into nasty ulcers, according to the manufacturer. Another company is developing a shirt that listens to your breathing and can uncover lung problems including pneumonia and COPD. For the perfect health accessory you should consider the Apple Watch. The new version can recognize a fall and call 911. It’s much sexier than those pendants that identify you as unsafe, kind of like a prisoner with an ankle bracelet.

To keep us entertained while we are trapped in our homes, either from Covid or other illness, there is help. A new app called ZoomGoodNight hooks grandparents up with kids who want to hear a story. It doesn’t even have to be your own grandkids. You can use this app to adopt some! Or for people who find it hard to get motivated, the ElliQ Robot uses artificial intelligence to keep you engaged. It may suggest a walk if the weather is good, or a Ted Talk if the weather is rainy. It’s like having an imaginary friend. I am really hoping I don’t need this app for quite a while.

But there are a couple of devices that caught my eye. First of all there is the Tertill Robot. This little guy actually weeds your garden. It’s kind of like a Roomba vacuum cleaner, but for outside. It wander around the garden, churning up the soil or whirring a tiny trimmer that trims off anything shorter than 1 inch. When it comes across a tall plant, it figures you meant that plant to stay there and it turns away, looking for another tiny offender.

But the best one? The OrCam MyEye. I have GOT to have this. It’s a tiny camera that fits on an arm of your glasses. When you come across a familiar person, either at home, or in a store, or at a park, the camera identifies the person and sends you a tiny message in your ear with….. the name of the person! How perfect is that? No more humming and hawwing or making small talk while you try to remember the person’s name! Just blurt it out. And it’s only $5,800.

You’re welcome.

Sue

On our recent Friday adventure we went to visit a city garden. At one point we sat down on a bench beside a stranger. He began talking and told us about his career as a gardener, first in Hamilton, and then in the very place where we were sitting. On Sunday, in the Globe and Mail, there he was – in the front section – the former executive director of the Toronto Botanical Garden.

According to him, the TBG is in bad shape, because they have recently hired a new CEO who vales the bottom line more than the flowers. How could this be? How could the CEO not know all the joy that gardens and gardening bring to people?

When Peter and I moved from the country to the city a couple of years ago we left a big property, with lots of gardens, behind. Our thoughts were focused on all the work we wouldn’t have to do – weeding, watering, trimming, transplanting. We weren’t really thinking about the joy of gardening either. We didn’t pay much attention when the house seller casually mentioned: “I haven’t really had much time to look after the garden recently. It’s a little overgrown.”

Finally most of our unpacking was finished and we ventured outside to look around. We first noticed an empty plot of dirt beside the garage. What was hiding under all that dirt? Suddenly, almost overnight, it was filled with hostas – in many varieties. Another spot beside the shed revealed a little forsythia and a rose bush, both suffering from lack of sun. A place near the house exposed a tiny Japanese maple tree, missing the sun too. These all got transplanted and are thriving in their new homes.

Next, I tackled an area beside the driveway which was a mass of ground cover gone astray. I did the best I could to cut it back, and then Peter attacked it with his chain saw. Finally we arrived at some hidden gems: a tree almost bonsai in shape, with some errant tulips down below.

Another no-man’s-land was a small space near the front entrance. Well, you know what people say about making a first impression. This space needed work. I bought some perennials bursting with colour, that would make a statement. I planted them in the spring when there was plenty of sun. Then, the nearby trees began to sprout their leaves and suddenly my showplace garden was in the shade! Back to the nursery for shade plants.

Peter also spent a lot of time planning his vegetable garden. He chose a spot at the end of the yard, away from soccer or croquet games. He began digging and planting. Then he noticed that the trees above were overgrown too and his garden was getting no sun. He spent the summer climbing up very tall ladders while carrying his chain saw. I sat below with my cell phone ready to call 911 and the drop of a …body.

This winter during the pandemic Peer really missed his garden. One day in late February he bought some garlic from his girlfriend at Sunnyland and, lo and behold, it began to sprout. What could he do but plant it? Soon enough it grew. And grew. He was taking Really good care of it. Finally, during a warm spell in March, he went outside with his electric drill to bore holes in the frozen ground and plant the garlic outside. And still it grew! Soon he was in a frenzy, planting garlic everywhere: in with the raspberries, near the rose bush, beside the new hedge, everywhere he could find an empty space. Garlic began to take over. You can probably smell our back yard all across the city.

This summer, whether you have a balcony with pots, or a large plot of land, enjoy your time playing in the dirt. I hope you find some secrets.

Sue

This post marks the 2nd anniversary of Seventy In the City. I asked my agent, Peter, what adventure I could write about to mark the occasion. He suggested we buy a male mouse and put him in the cage with Missy and Sissy. Sorry readers, but I wasn’t ready for that much action!

Next Peter suggested we visit Downsview Park. This tract of land, east of Keele St between highway 401 and Sheppard Ave, is near where Peter used to live when he went to high school. Back then it was just open fields. He remembers his mom going there to pick chicory/dandelion greens for salads. Now it’s been transformed into a gem of a park. In between, a lot of aviation history was made here.

The area was originally settled by Irish immigrants beginning in 1793. One family named their farm “Downs View” because, well you guessed it, there was a good view of some downs. In 1929 the land was purchased by De Havilland and a large factory was built for manufacturing planes. These planes,, particularly the mosquitoes, nicknamed the “mossies,” were used in World War II. During the war, the Royal Canadian Air Force expropriated some property and built a landing strip. When the war ended, they bought out De Havilland and moved them across the street. The newly created air force base became home to many enlisted soldiers and their families.

In 1960 the base branched out into space. The Canadian Space Agency built part of our first scientific satellite on these very grounds. The building, which had been De Havilland’s aircraft factory, became the site where parts of the Alouette I, (the mechanical frame and the antennae), were built. Once all the pieces of the Alouette were assembled, the satellite was flown to California where it was successfully launched in 1962 – making Canada the 3rd country to enter the space race. You can probably guess the other 2 countries, but did you know that Canada was 3rd?

In 1996 the Canadian government decommissioned the Downsview base and announced that the land would be used for recreation. But it wasn’t until 2006 that all the details were worked out and Downsview Park would be officially opened.

The first thing that visitors notice is a large body of water aptly named Walkabout Lake. And you certainly can. There are paths and trails around the circumference, along with benches and stepping stones. The geese and ducks have already settled in and are showing off their babies. Elsewhere in the park one can find an off-leash dog park, a vegetable garden, and monuments and plaques with historical data. Overhead are sculptures of planes built in the De Havilland factories.

Meandering further north along wooded pathways, visitors can stop and use their cellphones to listen to the trees. The paths follow along beside a drum circle, and a playground consisting of a wooden plane, a child-sized control tower, and a landing strip; all family-friendly. And there are even washrooms nearby.

The best seats in the house are 2 red Muskoka chairs at the top of a hill, far about the lake and close to the skies. It’s a bit of a climb for us oldies. But it’s a fitting place to sit and imagine the aircraft history that happened down below and up above.

Sue

On Sunday many countries celebrated Mothers’ Day. I wondered how to write about this occasion without using the worn-out story, (no matter how delicious), of how the kids brought take-out food and we ate, wearing our jackets and sitting 2 meters apart, on the patio. Then I read an article in a local newspaper, with the intriguing title Mother Is a Verb. Being a former English teacher, I was captivated by the concept. In other words, Mother is not a state of being; it’s a state of doing.

Ask any mother, or grandmother, and you will get a resounding “yes!” Think of all that mothers do. I’ll tell you a few of my favorites:

Cooking: I went to great lengths to get the kids involved in meal preparations. One of my concerns was getting them to eat vegetables. But they had fun making a snack called Ants On a Log. I would stuff celery with cream cheese or peanut butter. Then they would add ants, aka raisins, on top. Celery – yuck. But they Loved the idea of eating ants and logs.

Cleaning: There was plenty of that, especially clothes with chocolate stains, or muddy floors from boots that had been in every puddle on the block. But the most fun were the forts made from living room furniture. After all that construction, they were hungry and needed to eat. In the fort. They raided the kitchen. And mom cleaned up the Mess Hall.

Creating: Every October we had a discussion about what creatures they wanted to be on Hallowe’en. Then I would go looking for patterns and material and sew them up. At first they asked for simple things like ghosts and witches. But then they got fussier. One year Jennifer wanted to be Miss Piggy – with blond hair, a snout, and a bustle, in purple. Another year James wanted to be a jailbird. We managed to find striped black and white material for the outfit, but he wanted a ball and chain too! Maybe he should have kept it on…

When James was about 16, he committed a misdemeanor, forgotten after all these years, and he was grounded for the weekend. He protested loudly; time spent with his peers was top of mind. On Friday night right after dinner he began complaining about how unfair this punishment was. He protested until almost midnight when he finally stomped off to bed.

The second night, Saturday, he had a different attitude. He began yawning around 9:30 and finally, about 11:00, he headed for his bedroom with almost a lilt in his step. There was no complaining. This mother’s ears perked up. Alarm bells went off. When there were no more sounds coming from his bedroom, I tiptoed upstairs. I didn’t want to wake him.

And there, in his room, were pillows simulating a body under the covers, the curtains were open, and the window a tiny bit ajar. James was nowhere in sight. Looking out his window, I realized just how handy that big tree was. James was gone for the night. I brushed my teeth, climbed into his bed, and fell asleep.

A while later, turned out it was 3:00 am, he climbed back up the tree and through the window. As he turned on the light, I rose from his bed, like a ghost, and asked: “SOOO…where were YOU?” He looked so startled that I was afraid he might need to change his underwear. It was the best Mom trick ever!

It turns out that Mother is not only a verb; it’s also an adjective…sneaky.

Sue

Last week I wrote about my chair-recovering project. I thought it went quite well, actually. But that’s Not what readers said. The comments went from kind but condescending to outright scathing! One reader suggested that my recovered chairs were not nearly as beautiful as the originals. Really? Another reader went to great lengths to suggest that the recovered chairs would not be as comfortable because the softer, more porous, gold material was more forgiving of various bodily emanations which one might wish to hide. I have to admit I hadn’t thought of that.

So where to go from here? How to hide my shame? One thing I do know is that projects are helpful in staving off the emotions we are currently feeling. A recent article mentions that most of us are not depressed, but neither are we flourishing. The author calls it “languishing” as in hanging around, accomplishing nothing, nada. Just waiting for… something, but what? On that note, I hereby present another covid project:

After we moved to the city, I decided to explore my interest in learning how to speak Italian. Peter is Italian and speaks his native language fairly well, although much too fast for a beginner like me. “Lentemente, Pietro!” I considered my options and chose a class at a nearby adult learning centre. We studied some Italian culture and at a lot of biscotti. But as for actually speaking? Nothing. Niente.

When the pandemic hit, the class, like everything else, got cancelled. I was relieved, honestly. But then the boredom wore me down and I went searching for a different kind of class; a more interactive one, with more speaking. Eventually I signed up for a U of T Italian general interest class. Online Monday evenings. Perfect, I thought.

The course platform was Zoom. I have used Zoom a few times, for book clubs and family visits. I know how to sign in, turn on my audio and visual, raise my hand (virtually). What more could there be? I soon found out. At the beginning of the first class, the instructor, Lorenzo, put a document on the screen and asked us to download it, fill in the answers, and share our screen. I didn’t know how to do Any of this. Zoom was turning out to be harder than Italian!

Fortunately, I was in luck. Several of the other students in the class were younger than me (not hard to imagine) and most of them still worked in the daytime, online, using Zoom. When we were in our breakout rooms, something else I had not experienced, they happily shared their screens with me and did the filling-in part. I did my share by contributing a lot of the answers. It seemed to work OK.

The 10 weeks went by quickly and I had a lot of experience speaking. We supplemented our class time with work in an interactive text book and taped dialogues. We covered the material in 3 chapters. I am still not good at rolling my “r’s” but I have mastered a few verb tenses and learned some new vocabulary. Feeling very proud of myself for accomplishing something – learning Italian And Zoom – I signed up for level 2.

The first class of level 2 was last night. The new instructor, Tanizio, introduced the two groups of students to each other – Lorenzo’s level one students, and Tanizio’s level one students. Then he announced that we would be starting level 2 with chapter 6 from the textbook. Mamma Mia! How had we, Lorenzo’s students, managed to skip chapters 4 and 5? I could feel my anxiety rising. Should I give up now while a refund is still available?

NO! I should not. And neither should you. Get that new project going. Whether it’s recovering furniture, or planting a new kind of shrub, or baking cookies for the neighbours, we all need a sense of purpose. Find one and share it with us. No languishing allowed!

Sue

When Peter and I decided to move to a smaller house in the city, we had to get rid of some furniture. It was a heart-wrenching task, giving away all those gorgeous couches and dressers that nobody else wanted. But, with a little arm twisting, we managed. Except for the gold chairs.

This set of 4 stackable chairs has been in the Iaboni family for decades. They may even be antiques. But boy are they ugly! They’re covered with a shag material in a mustard colour, not anywhere near gold, that was right in style during the 70’s. I would have disposed of them ages ago.

But those chairs have fans: Peter’s poker buddies Love those chairs. During their regular poker games, they can sit in them for up to 6 hours, betting and handing over quarters. I guess their butts get sore on wood chairs, so a long time ago they attached themselves to the ugly padded chairs. When it came time for us to move, the poker buddies got a say: “Take the gold chairs to the city!”

Now I wouldn’t ordinarily take advice about furniture from a bunch of guys who play cards and tell dirty jokes. But the poker buddies have been in Peter’s life for over 50 years. Their opinion carries weight. Plus, one time when they visited, one of them sat on a bench in the hall to put his boots on, and the bench crashed to the floor. The poker guy was not hurt but he was embarrassed. I have a lot of guilt over that bench. I need to provide decent seating for the poker buddies.

When our move was over and the pandemic hit, I was looking for projects to fill those long days and weeks and months with nothing much to do. The gold chairs came to mind. How about recovering them? During an opening up of stores during the summer, I visited a fabric shop and got some imitation black leather. It looked sturdy, it could be wiped off if some beer happened to spill, and it was masculine. I bought several yards. Then I went to a hardware store and purchased a staple gun. I was all set. Except…

I have to admit that I was rather nervous about starting this project. I could handle measuring and cutting the material. But the staple gun scared me. I procrastinated with lots of excuses: wait until after Thanksgiving, maybe following Christmas, how about after Easter? None of these excuses made any sense, since we weren’t having any big parties or celebrations, and certainly the poker buddies were not visiting either. But finally I had completed just about every other project I could think of. It was time to face the chairs.

I spread the fabric out on the floor, measured and cut. Then I tackled the staple gun. I carefully cut it out of its plastic packaging, and read the instructions: “Wear goggles. Use the safety catch. Watch out for flying debris.” This certainly was no comfort. Were the poker buddies really worth a life-altering injury?

I swallowed my fear, filled up the gun with staples, and began banging away. It was actually fun! And a lot speedier than sewing. I was on a roll. Bang, bang, bang went the staples. In no time at all I had one chair finished. And you can see the results below.

Peter sent this picture to his poker buddies. I waited impatiently for comments. I thought they would write back immediately and beg him to set up a game. Despite the pandemic, wouldn’t they be just desperate to try out my new black (fake) leather chairs? Apparently not. They want to wait till it’s safe. Imagine – I risked my life with that staple gun, and they are afraid of a few covid germs?

Well I guess nobody can blame them for that. So now I’m thinking of Plan B. Maybe the chairs can take on a new role – to make some money and fill in for Peter’s lack of poker winnings. If you are short of furniture, we have some black (fake) leather chairs for sale at a really good price.

Sue

PS If you have any pandemic projects to tell us about, send in a comment.

As I write this post, the weather forecast for tomorrow is Snow. The pandemic numbers are spiraling out of control. Our freedom is under lockdown once again. What can I possibly write about that will cheer us up? Well – how about funerals?

This topic is on my mind because recently a golfing friend passed away, at age 91. She had hit her last hole-in-one at age 89. That, to me, is a great life!

During the pandemic we have lost a lot of friends and relatives, mostly to the diseases of old age. We have had no chance to celebrate their lives. They have gone quietly, sometimes without even family by their sides. There have been no funerals, no memorial services, no way to bring a sense of closure to those of us who are left behind. Some families postponed because the church or reception hall would only accommodate a few people. A couple of families postponed because relatives from other places, such as Europe, were not able to travel. Other people thought, like us, that wearing masks and staying 2 meters apart is not conducive to a special event.

Even the Royal family is not immune. Think about Prince Phillip – a pretty famous guy. But did he get a royal funeral at the abbey? No – he too had to make do with a private service at Windsor Castle and only 30 guests. The poor Queen had to sit in a pew all by herself. No pomp and circumstance, no big parade, no choirs singing.

Before the pandemic, I hate to admit this, but a lot of our social life was going to funerals. We welcomed the opportunity to honour those who were gone, by being there for whatever way the family chose to recognize their lives – whether it was a solemn church mass followed by a reception, or a memorial gathering with speeches and stories of remembrance. It was a chance to pass on our condolences to those who were left behind.

It was also a time to see people we hadn’t been in touch with for years. Funeral receptions and memorial gatherings can be the perfect social event for us oldies. Somebody else does the cooking and sets up the bar. The events are usually held during the day so we are able to stay awake and don’t have to drive home in the dark. We get to wear a nice outfit instead of our jogging pants. Peter would even put on his suit for this.

I’m not going to make any crass jokes about having to wear name tags because nobody will recognize us now that we are so much older. But in many ways funerals and memorials are almost joyous – an opportunity to recognize that the deceased is no longer suffering, and to celebrate together all that he or she has accomplished. I’m sure that, if my golfing friend had had a memorial, there would have been a Lot of golfing stories going around the room. She would have been delighted.

Since turning 70 and moving to the city, I have been thinking about how I want to be “disposed of” some day. One place we have been visiting a lot during the pandemic is the local cemetery. It’s a pretty place to walk, the grounds are well-kept, and readers have see pictures of the deer who live there. I’m kind of getting attached to them. So, if the time comes and you get invited, be sure to bring along a name tag and some jokes. And don’t forget to stick an apple in the pocket of your jogging pants. The deer like Honey Crisp the best.

Sue

PS No photos today. I mean really? How morbid can you get!

When my daughter Jennifer told me that she and her husband Richard were moving to Orangeville, I did a double take. Why would they want to move from our great city to a small unknown town? Over the last couple of years, I have found out.

It began for me with a childhood memory of Orangeville. When I was about 5, my family used to drive through the town on our way to a family cottage at Wasaga Beach. My dad would yell out “Bananaville!” Or maybe “Peachville!” My brother and I would giggle in the back seat and say, “No silly Dad, It’s Orangeville!” And so on…every time we visited. My husband Peter remembers that, as a young teen, he had a summer job as flagman at his older brother’s construction site – building sewers on Orangeville’s main street. It was not a glamorous job but he felt powerful holding up that little flag and stopping traffic. (And occasionally chatting up any cute female drivers).

Since Jen and Richard moved there, we have visited several times. We took some international guests there in 2013 for the 150th anniversary of the town. The main street, named Broadway, was shut down to cars so hundreds of pedestrians, kids, and dogs could wander on the road, visiting booths, eating street food, and celebrating. We enjoyed walking on Broadway, an attractive street with lots of heritage buildings, including a lovely old theatre built in 1875.

Another time we stopped by the Saturday Farmers’ Market. People were shopping and eating lunch, as they met with neighbours and chatted. Jennifer tells us that during a non-pandemic summer there are festivals almost every weekend: Ribfest, Blues and Jazz Festival, Taste Of Orangeville, and more. In the spring there is a maple syrup festival, with an “adult version” at night. That sounds intriguing, doesn’t it? We know that kids make toffee by pouring hot syrup on cold snow. But how does that translate into adult fun? Use your imagination!

Not too long ago, Orangeville gained new fame with an artistic project, initiated in 2002 by an enterprising mayor who decided to “breathe new life into dying trees.” He commissioned local carvers to create characters from dead tree trunks. The project began with 56 sculptures along Broadway and First Street, and in parks.

Recently on a Friday, when we had to leave the house so Lucy could clean, we decided to investigate. We headed to Orangeville and meandered along Broadway. We found some trees that had died, been cut off a few meters above ground, and carved, and other trees that had died completely and a portion of the trunk saved, carved, and mounted on concrete pads. The collection, refereed to as Tree Spirits, is clever and eye-catching.

On our way home, Peter and I laughed about our childhood memories of Orangeville, and speculated on the name. We had not seen a single orange tree in the entire group. Where had the name come from? A quick search of Google gave us the answer:

Orange Lawrence, an ambitious young man, had moved to the tiny hamlet in 1843 and bought a mill. He followed that with a general store, a school, and a post office, where he became post master. Feeling his power grow, he lusted after a life in politics and ran for office in 1861. Sadly, he lost. A few months later he hanged himself from one of those trees! Such a terrible irony, one not mentioned in the Tree Spirits pamphlet.

Orangeville has a great time with Christmas: a decorated park, a parade of lights, and…. Oops sorry – we are barely into spring! This is a topic for another day. Meanwhile, when Stay-At-Home orders are lifted, head up to Broadway and feel your spirits lifted too.

Sue

We’ve all been focused on Spring since late February. But now that April is here we can really begin to see it. There are signs everywhere.

Some days are warm enough to sit outside on the patio and watch the wildlife. Our first robins appeared n early March, tweeting away and digging for worms. The snowdrops have shown their sunny white faces. The squirrels are getting frisky. The kids are roller blading. And the adults…we can hardly contain our excitement.

Take my husband Peter, for example. He’s an avid gardener and started growing garlic from sprouts inside several weeks ago. In mid March he began looking for his electric drill so he could make holes in the frozen ground to plant the tiny garlic plants. Now he has turned our living room into a nursery and has planted seeds: zucchini, beets, squash, tomatoes, lettuce and spices. Very handy if we were having any dinner parties.

Another sign of Spring is when I check out my wardrobe and do a little shopping, The thought of exchanging all those dark winter clothes for something colourful just gets my shopping genes going. So what if I have to shop online? When those items arrive on the doorstep – it’s a big surprise! I open them and discover: “Oops this top is too tight. Guess the pandemic snacking got to me.” or “How did the red sweater on the screen turn into this purple-orange sweater in the package?”

But the biggest sign of Spring in our house is: Income Tax! Despite the pandemic and the possibility of postponing the April 30 deadline, Peter starts getting organized early. He checks out the tax program installed on his computer, and begins collecting the necessary documents. Every day around 1:00 pm he looks for the mailman. What important papers does the mailman have for us today? He opens the mailbox and out come – real estate flyers. Several phone calls later, he is assured that the necessary T 4’s will be arriving soon.

But this year a couple of my T 4’s are missing. Peter gets me to hunt them down. I call the appropriate government agency and discover that I forgot to change my address when we moved to the city. The missing documents were likely delivered to our old address. I call the CRA and listen to elevator music for over 2 hours. Then the agent tells me that the website was recently hacked and I need to answer some extra security questions: What was my previous address? Check. How about the address before that? “The place where I lived in 2005?” I wrack my brain and give her the details. Check.

Then the agent asks about the address before that. “You mean 1997? That’s almost 25 years ago! How am I supposed to remember that?” I come up with the street address but the unit number fails me. I blurt out: “It was on the 4th floor, so 4-something.” Silence from the agent. “It had a tiny balcony.” More silence. Now I am grasping at straws: “The walls were painted turquoise!” I begin to snivel. Finally the agent takes pity on me and says “Enough.” She will send the new T 4’s. I am saved.

Soon it’s time for Peter to start filling out the forms. This is where I retreat to the basement, the garage, or really any place where I can’t be a distraction. It’s nice to know that I have such power! I hide somewhere quietly and wait for a sign – Peter jumping up from his desk and announcing: “Let’s have lunch!” Tax time is over for another year.

Now we can truly enjoy Spring. I hope you can too.

Sue

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Several readers have asked for an update on our resident mice, Missy and Sissy. Honest – they really have! So here you go:

After over a month of co-habitation, we can say that Missy and Sissy are pretty good tenants: they look after their unit, tidying up their little tea-box bed every night. One night, when their bed was beginning to get stinky, I replaced it with a new similar box. They spent the next several hours searching out new bedding and bits of paper to fix it up.

They are fussy eaters, however, preferring our food to theirs. They love pear, tomato, and the sunflower seeds that Peter eats each night while watching TV. When they go to sleep, they cover up their food bowls to prevent prowlers from stealing their leftovers. Maybe they have heard about Peter’s grazing habits. During the day they sleep off their meals, sometimes snoring softly.

But at night? Well that’s a different story. These girls are night hawks! They are awake partying from 8:00 pm until early morning. They keep busy sashaying around the cage, swinging on their little hammock, walking their tight rope, pole-dancing on their ladder. But mostly they head for their mouse-powered ferris wheels. They climb inside and start running. The wheels squeak and wobble and make a huge racket. Fortunately our bedroom is at the other end of the house, or else we might have to downgrade their suite to the basement.

The new tenants are really keeping me busy. Every night around 8:00 I visit them and share the news. I locate their hidden food bowls and replace the contents with fresh goodies. On Sunday mornings I do the housecleaning – half the cage per week. With one hand I dump out the old bedding and pooh, while with the other hand is free to catch the tenants if they try to escape. Then, after I wash the wheels and other toys, I re-arrange things. Because Agnes might be calling at any time…

Agnes, the mice’s real mother, stays in touch from New Zealand. At least once a week she facetimes me to have a tour of the cage and see if I am doing my job properly. She checks their food bowls. “Nana, just give them one fruit at a time. You don’t want them getting diarrhea.” (No I don’t !). She often comments on how the mice need mental stimulation. “You have to move things around, Nana, add new toys, so they don’t get bored,” (just like the rest of us during the pandemic).

Anyway, my conscience got bothering me so, a few days ago, I drove to Walmart (double-masked at 7:00 am). I went straight to the pet aisle and there, on the shelves, were little mouse toys. Well I couldn’t help myself – I bought a cute little swing in bright colours that went perfectly with the cage decor. I could hardly wait till Sunday when I got to put it in the cage. Missy and Sissy were ecstatic! They climbed on instantly and began chewing. Oops – what if the paint were toxic?

I checked the box for hazards and found that the swing is perfect for chewing. And on the side of the box was a picture of another toy – a teeter totter “for your tiny special pet!” It was adorable. But another trip to Walmart? I decided that I would make a teeter totter myself. I gathered up the glue, scissors and appropriate cardboard. And you can see the results in the photo below.

Now I am thinking of signing up as a vendor on Etsy. If you need any mouse toys, I can give you a break on the price.

Sue