Celebrating special events during a pandemic is tough. Never mind Easter, Thanksgiving and Hallowe’en, which will all happen again next year. What about milestone birthdays, once in a lifetime?

We have had several of these in our family during the last 8 months. This means that everyone is getting older, which beats the alternative, and we have figured out small ways to celebrate. Gift drop-offs with clapping, outdoor picnics in parks, and garage gatherings; all indicate that at least the event has not gone unnoticed. Honouring a 75th birthday was our latest challenge.

Some parts of this celebration were easy to arrange. Gifts for my particular 75-year-old, aka Peter, are not hard to find. He is one of a generation of men who seem to feel that clothes don’t matter. Wear that holey shirt to the store? Who will notice? Put on worn-out suit pants to do the gardening? Why not? Old shoes that are scuffed and leaking? Perfect for cleaning out the garage! “Reduce, re-use, recycle” is their motto and it is mostly a good one.

In a perfectly timed request the other day, Peter asked me to mend his hiking pants. “Just a tiny hole” he said. It was not exactly tiny and it was not on a seam, so it couldn’t really be mended in the usual way. I got out an iron-on patch. Oops – it seems the hiking pants were made out of a material that melts and the “tiny” hole was now Huge. I hid the pants and thought about what to do. Then one of the “kids” called, asking for birthday gift ideas. Phew – saved!!

Setting up the garage for a family drop-in was easy too. I still had the plastic sheets left over from the last garage party and they transformed the space into a festive banquet hall. Well that may be a slight exaggeration, but I did add balloons to cover up the gaps between the sheets. And we got a new, heavy-duty heater. We were ready for the masked guests to arrive, one family at a time.

Nine-year-old Agnes and her parents came in the morning, wearing warm coats and bearing a birthday cake which Agnes had baked herself. It was a tasty work of art and we made a huge dent in it. They also brought new hiking pants as a gift. Yea! After an hour they were getting cold and it was time to leave. We waved good-bye from a distance and went inside to wait for the next guests.

In the afternoon Peter’s 2 other sons arrived separately, with our other grandchildren and 2 dogs. They all had jackets on (although the dogs forgot theirs). We sat across from one another and tried to stay warm as the winds howled outside and the darkness moved in. We watched Peter open more gifts: a warm sweater with a sheepskin lining, and a box with 2 merino wool hats. How useful! He quickly stashed them behind his chair.

Gradually everyone got up and started moving to keep warm. It was difficult trying to dance around one another while staying 2 meters apart. Eventually even the heater, the hot apple cider, and the jackets were not enough. Fearing for the safety of his new sweater and hats, Peter suggested it was time for the party to end. As the shivering guests headed for the warmth of their cars, we all agreed that it was a birthday we would remember for a long time.

But it’s getting harder to imagine a Christmas in the garage with the snow blowing in. We’ll have to add another feature to our party venue. If anyone sees red blankets on sale at a good price, can you let me know? I’ll need several.

Sue

When my husband Peter and I moved from the country to the city a couple of years ago, one of our reasons for moving was so that we would have more to do. We didn’t know then that we would be doing it during a pandemic.

These times are testing our ability to be creative, to find new and interesting things to keep us active and engaged. That challenge is definitely easier in the good weather. Think how wonderful the last few days have been. With the sun shining and the breezes warming our faces, those long walks and patio lunches filled our souls with joy. But can we keep doing that during the colder months? I think we can!

The busy main street in our neighbourhood has been growing outdoor patios for the last couple of months. They are sprouting up all over the road, separated from noisy cars whizzing past by only a small fence and a concrete abutment; not really conducive to conversation or fine dining. But there are some ingenious restauranteurs who have branched out. One pub owner created a patio out of a back-door parking lot by building an arbor and covering it with fake vines . Another high-end restaurant owner climbed up his stairs to the roof and voila – a “high”-end patio! These places need only add some outdoor heaters and their season can extend through November at least.

On two of our recent walks, Peter and I came across a couple of other patio gems. One day we drove to a parking area near Ontario Place, and walked around the grounds. We spent a couple of hours reminiscing about the good old days when Ontario Place was open and we visited with our young families, taking in concerts, movies in the Cinesphere, and the beach on Lake Ontario. These days the buildings are closed but the grounds are open, and some washrooms too.

After wandering around, we headed north through the deserted CNE grounds and up towards a street that would take us back to our car. There, unexpectedly, we came across a patio. It was in a large sunken courtyard with tables well-distanced, and there were heaters near each table. The aroma was enticing and suddenly we were starving. Well not Third World starving, just hungry. We spent a very enjoyable hour eating a late brunch and staying warm at the Big Rock Brewery.

On another adventure we set out to explore Corktown. This is an area in the south-east end of the city which was the original landing place of settlers from County Cork, Ireland, or so the story goes. This part of the city seems to be the original Toronto settlement: the very first parliament buildings of Upper Canada were situated here until they burned down, one after another, three times. Part of the land is on the Don River floodplain, so building there is forbidden. Instead, a wonderful new park was created in 2013. Walking trails, fountains, a children’s playground, all fit into the gently rolling hills of Corktown Commons.

There were a number of industries here too, built during the 1800’s, mostly related to the distillery business. And so we now have – The Distillery District. And guess what? Lots of patios! Peter and I wandered along the streets, inspecting them and trying to decide where to sit. We settled on El Catrin, a Mexican place. The food was excellent, and the heating was extensive. A huge fire pit in the centre of the patio radiated heat out to the nearby diners. Above each table a dual-purpose chandelier sent heat downwards. And as back-up there were several electric heaters on stand-by. We were toasty warm as we ate our tacos.

These visits have given us hope. if we could find two patio treasures like these without really trying, there must be more. Are there enough to get us through to Spring? We’ll find out!

Sue

One

What is the most blah month of the year? Well, unless somebody wants to grow a moustache, my vote goes to November.

By the end of October Hallowe’en is done. This year was a non-event. We had only 8 kids drop by for candy, compared to other years where we have had up to 90 little spidermen and witches at our door. There were fewer decorations in the neighbourhood, although a couple of nearby homeowners came up with clever, covid-inspired, lawn creations. (See below)

Because of social distancing, and because kids are back in school now with new bubbles of classmates, we decided to send our grandchildren Halloween candy by mail. The candies cost about 50 cents each, and the 4 envelopes were $1.25. The postage? $46.00!!! Next time we’ll drive to each house and throw the candies in the driveway. And now we are up against November, with NO official holidays.

By November the sun is a dim bulb in the sky. All the leaves have fallen, their brilliant colours reduced to wrinkled brown, and the only thing left to do is hope that a strong wind will blow them to the neighbours’ properties. Last year we relied on the city’s leaf pick-up plan. Just rake them to the curb, and an amazing vacuum will come along and suck them all up. Except that last year it didn’t. So Peter had to bag them after all. On top of the leaf piles growing larger, the days are growing shorter and the bedroom is growing colder. Time to put the duvet on the bed and hide underneath.

In past Novembers we have travelled to somewhere warm to escape. Last year we went to the Galapagos Islands for hiking, snorkeling, and kayaking. It was fantastic. Even the bad parts – getting up at 5:00 am, falling out of the kayak onto the dock while the crew laughed, eating unknown but still wriggling fish – were better than staying home. This year the covid numbers are rising world-wide and the only travel options are videos and albums.

And no matter the outcome, tonight’s election will change our television viewing habits. With any luck there will be no more watching all the lies and deceit that have left us gobsmacked for the past four years. With any luck, Donald J. Trump will be moving somewhere far away like Russia. But, if he wins, we’ll be turning off CNN forever. Either way, we’ll be facing a new world south of the border. And right now the prospect is dark and sombre, just like the month ahead.

Meanwhile there is One good thing about November, for our family. We have 2 family birthdays coming up. Our son Greg and my husband Peter both have birthdays, and Peter’s is a Big one! So next week I’ll be back out in the garage setting up the patio furniture, hanging up those plastic sheets, and trying to make the garage look festive.

During this cold dark month we need diversions! We have to keep going somehow. So next week I plan to write about outdoor patios that are set up for safe November dining. A walk followed by some good, hot, food is just the thing to deal with lethargy. If you have any patio suggestions, please send them along.

Sue

In preparation for my post this morning, I re-read last year’s post about Thanksgiving. Last October we invited 18 family members for dinner, I bought a huge TOM Turkey which I had trouble lifting into the car, and then I read a magazine article titled “How to Host the Perfect Thanksgiving” which I followed exactly, of course. That was only 12 months ago, but how the world has changed since then!

For this year’s Thanksgiving: instead of 18 guests, my husband Peter and I had just ourselves, and a few short back-yard family visits. Instead of striving for perfection, I was striving for survival. And in addition to TOM, we had Venus. Venus is my son’s big dog and she has trouble getting into cars too. She came to visit while my son and daughter-in-law went on a short vacation.

Venus is a little puppy in an adult dog’s body. She spent her time running from the living room, where she had a dog-height window from which to view passing pedestrians (and one racoon), to the back porch, where she could stalk the neighbour’s cat, Minou. Back and forth, back and forth she went, her routine only interrupted when I “stole” her ball. This squeaky orange orb with spikes looks amazingly like a covid germ. She carries it around, stopping only to squeak it if she is stressed. It’s like her security blanket, her worry beads.

Another thing we did was go for walks, twice a day. I had no idea there were so many dogs in our new neighbourhood. I counted 11 on one walk alone. As all dog-walkers know, it’s best to avoid one another because dogs have a different sense of which other dogs are OK to meet. Venus can spot a yappy, mouse-like creature and it’s love at first sight. Or she can come across an adorable male specimen and growl as if he’s a terrorist. Venus checked out all the other options on our walks, but not one was suitable. Instead she wanted to go home to see TOM.

TOM was the highlight of Venus’s visit. He was huge and she was impressed that we went to such expense just for her. She watched intently as I stuffed him and put him in the roasting pan. She hung around the kitchen salivating for 4 hours while he roasted up. Then Peter and I sat down to eat our quiet Thanksgiving dinner, making small talk while Venus waited nearby. Her contributions to the conversation were grunts and snorts, indicating that her patience was running thin.

After dinner, we sliced TOM up and gave some to Venus. She “gobbled” every mouthful. Then she spent the rest of the evening lying on the living room rug, doing turkey toots. Very rude, I thought.

Meanwhile Peter and I made up 5 packages of meat, stuffing, gravy; one for each of our “kids.” On Saturday Venus went home, accompanied by her parents and one of the packages tucked safely under the front seat. The other families made arrangements to drop by on Sunday or Monday, sit in the back yard, socially distanced for 1/2 an hour, and then pick up their Turkey To Go.

Today the house seems lonely. No more family visits, no holiday excitement, and no Venus running back and forth, squeaking her ball, or checking under the table for turkey bits. It’s going to be a long winter… Does anybody have a dog we can borrow?

Sue

These days, with summer giving way to autumn and the daylight hours shrinking by the minute, we are hearing other bad news too. The pandemic is in a second wave. How are we going to fill all the dark cold hours that lie ahead?

One thing everyone is doing a lot more of is…No I’m not talking about baking, or walking, or watching the latest Trump fiasco. Something more cerebral – reading! Newspapers, best-selling novels, magazines, even store ads – all are flying off the shelves during these lonely times. We crave an escape, away from our worries and into another world where we can find somebody or something else to think about.

But not everyone has access to decent print material. Children, especially in low-income families, are deprived. Store-bought books are expensive, regular schooling is not available to everyone, and libraries have limited access. So how to help? One day I was walking past a local church and I saw a long line of people waiting, some of them with kids beside them and wagons trailing behind. I soon discovered that it was a Food Bank. And it was really busy. But those kids dragging along; they seemed bored. They needed a book!

A few phone calls later an idea was born. “Get reading! Food For the Brain!” After we got the OK from the Food Bank and a place to hand out books to kids, we needed the books. I mentioned this idea to some friends, many of them YOU dear readers! Soon I had people cleaning out cupboards, searching in basements, and dropping off books, lots of them. One family actually donated 97 books, most of them nearly new.

Meanwhile I contacted the library next to the church, and the librarian said my call was timely; they were culling their shelves and would be happy to donate the children’s books. Otherwise the books would be going into recycling. What a shame! A few days later the librarian called back to say the books were ready for pick-up. Did I have a car? A Big car? Oh oh…..

I conscripted my dear husband Peter and we took his SUV to the library. There on the curb were bags and bags of books. We estimated about 250 books in total. They were in good shape too! We drove them to the church for storage. Samantha, the person who had agreed to take this project on with me, looked a little worried. It seems that the church, like many of us, has a shortage of storage space. We loaded the books into Sam’s office: on the floor, under the side table, and finally onto her desk. She said she would find somewhere else to work.

Next, Sam and I walked around the neighbourhood, putting up flyers on hydro poles, in apartment lobbies, in bus shelters; anywhere we thought the flyers would be seen by people who used food banks. The flyer announced the day the project would start – September 23. We hoped that at least a few families would take advantage. We really needed to unload all those books!

Well I am happy to say that, in the first week we gave out about 50 books. The second week was just as good. A few children showed up and were delighted to pick out their own book, but it was mostly parents choosing for their child. They had special requests too. “My son hates reading but do you have any books on basketball?” “My daughter Loves unicorns. Are there any unicorn books?” And a scary one: “I don’t have any kids, but do you have any adult books?” Oops…if we took on adult books, Sam would have to move out of her office entirely.

I went home feeling pretty upbeat about all this, despite the work involved. Then the librarian called again to say they had more books available, another 250 at least. Yikes! It seems we may have created a pandemic monster! A literate one at least.

Sue

PS No picture due to technical difficulties. Go read a book instead!

Feeling isolated? Depressed? Entertaining thoughts of cutting off your right ear? It could be pandemic fatigue. So put down that razor and get yourself to the Immersive Van Gogh exhibit. You’ll feel much better in an hour or so.

Highlights of Van Gogh’s impressive body of work – over 900 oils produced in just 9 years – are on display in a unique exhibit. Easy to get to by car along the expressway, or by GO train if you dare, the Toronto Star building, number One Yonge Street, once housed its massive printing presses on the ground floor. The presses moved north to Vaughan in 1992 and the space is now rented out to other tenants.

The current tenants are masterminds of technology. Creative director Massimo Siccardi and composer Luca Longobardi worked together to bring Van Gogh’s paintings alive on the concrete walls and floor of this cavernous space.

When you arrive, put on your mask and walk through the curtains into another world. The room has been transformed from a newspaper factory into a revolving art gallery. All shades of the colour spectrum glide by. Sunflowers and stars, trees and meadows, windows and rooms, appear in bursts of colour, travel along, and disappear into something else. In the background, music by an eclectic group of composers and singers – Handel, Bach, Edith Piaf, rock star Thom Yorke – elevates the exhibit to another creative level.

Van Gogh’s best works are represented in this show. (Vases With) Fifteen Sunflowers, perhaps best loved for their glorious yellow hues, dance across the walls. A single candle flame expands into a table with characters seated around it: The Potato Eaters. A farmer’s field seems to grow a bed, and The Bedroom appears. Stars on a background of brilliant blue float on walls and floors and become The Starry Night. Transitions from one work to another are fascinating. A hand seems to pull back one scene to reveal another. Wheat fields morph into irises which in turn become almond blossoms – a whole roomful of white almond blossoms on the most glorious blue background.

Van Gogh himself appears often, one time looking defeated, another time in a hat adorned with candles which he wore when painting late into the night, and again with a bandaged head where an ear should be. His erratic signature, written in red, foretells his future: death by his own hand at age 37; a huge loss to the art world at such a young age.

Visitors wander from one social circle to another, the circles lit from above onto the floor, as the paintings travel along the contours of the walls. Some circles are filled with benches or chairs, for those who wish to stay a while. In the centre, a staircase leads up to yet another view, looking down.

As visitors finally tear themselves away, their eyes and minds saturated with beauty, they exit – into the gift shop. Life in our consumer world is back in focus. Funky tee-shirts, biographies, socks painted with irises, umbrellas adorned with sunflowers are all on sale. A small bar/coffee shop provides a place to sit and reflect on the show. And perhaps to wonder at the genius who could not find contentment in his magnificent work.

Sue

A few days ago we woke up to a very dark house. Not only was the sun not up yet, but none of the twinkling little lights inside – on the microwave, on the smoke alarms, on the stove – were twinkling.

We looked outside and saw that several houses on the street had no lights either. A call to hydro confirmed our fears: our immediate neighbouhood would be without power until at least 1:00 pm. This was a shocker! We had experienced a few power outages when we lived in the country but honestly, we thought that city living would be immune from power loss. How naive we were!

The first order of business was COFFEE. Not having easy access to our cars that were locked in the garage with an electric garage door opener, we put our masks and sneakers on and almost jogged to the nearest Tim Horton’s. As we sat eating our breakfast bagels, we thought about how our morning would be different now. My plans had included baking muffins and making squash soup – not possible without a stove. Peter usually spends his mornings checking his email messages and watching business shows on TV. But he wasn’t going to be doing that either. It was beginning to feel like the early days of the pandemic. We were being held hostage, not only by germs but also by hydro.

We walked home from Timmy’s slowly, because what was the point of rushing? We read the morning paper cover to cover. We wandered around the garden pulling out a few weeds and finding some ripe tomatoes. Then we went inside and made tomato sandwiches for lunch, being careful not to open the fridge door too often. Next we called the hydro help line again, using our cell phone which was getting a little low on battery juice. We discovered that the restoration time had been moved to 6:00 pm. We got out the board games.

After a few rounds of Sequence, we put our sneakers back on and went searching for the cause of the outage. Two streets over we found 5 hydro trucks and a crew of workers. The scene was bustling with energy. We spoke to a homeowner who was near tears. She told us about how a huge branch from a neighbour’s tree had snapped off and landed on her new car. Both the car and the branch had been hauled away. But all the electric wires, that used to be overhead, were now lying in heaps and coils on the road and nearby lawns. This was a big job; several more hours at least.

We wandered back home again and found books and magazines to read. The weather was pleasant so we were able to sit outside on the swing – pushing ourselves – no electricity required. But no kettle either so we couldn’t make tea.

After a while we called the hydro help line again and were told the restoration time would now be 9:00 pm. We thawed some pork chops to cook on the BBQ, and made a salad. There was still enough warmth and light to eat outside. After dinner we piled the dishes in the sink, hoping the dishwasher could be used before we ran out of plates. We checked our watches – only 7:00 pm! It was getting darker now and hard to read outside. Would this day never end? We went inside and found candles.

Just as we were ready to give up and go to bed, there was a hum…the fridge? Some clicks and buzzes…the computer! Blinking lights…the microwave!! Life had returned. Not quite the life we had had last year, but good enough for now.

Sue

Two years ago, when my husband Peter and I decided to move from the country to the city, we knew we would have to give up a few things. Tomato Day was one of them.

Every September authentic Italian households celebrate Tomato Day. The family gathers together to wash, chop, and preserve tomatoes, the main ingredient of the pasta sauce for Sunday lunch. Peter and I hosted this important event every September for many years. It requires a lot of space: a large garage and driveway for preparing the tomatoes, a back yard where a bonfire is set up to cook the 100 plus jars in a barrel, and a big cantina in the basement to hold all the jars until the tomatoes are eaten.

When we decided to move to the city we knew that a small house in a subdivision would not be a suitable tomato house. And, to be honest, we aren’t getting any younger and Tomato Day is a Lot of work! We canvassed our kids, all the ones who eat these jarred tomatoes, to see if anybody would like to take over the role of host. Last year we were SOL, but this year, after some arm-twisting, we got a taker! Daniel said yes to Tomato Day. He had even done some research and found a way to preserve the tomatoes without a huge back yard bonfire, something he learned is illegal in the city.

On the morning of Tomato Day Peter and I tried not to look too gleeful as we loaded up the car with supplies. We made an easy trip across the city on a deserted expressway. Apparently all the other Tomato Day workers were still sleeping. When we arrived at Daniel’s place, he was already setting up tables, and our grandson Ben, was dying to get started. Actually what he really wanted was to eat pasta, his favourite meal, and he knew we had to make the tomato sauce first. “Hurry up, Nonno!” he cried.

The other “staff members” arrived and the morning progressed as usual: washing, chopping, grinding, stirring and finally putting the tomato sauce into the jars. We rotated through the jobs so nobody would get too bored or too stiff from doing the same thing over and over again. But there was also a lot of talking, sharing family news, discussing politics, and remarking on our current situation. Here we were, using our university education to stuff tomatoes into jars and squirt seeds at each other.

After a few hours lunch arrived, ordered from a restaurant because the cooks were all too busy processing the tomatoes. Ben recoiled in horror as he surveyed the food. “Where is my pasta?’ he demanded. He was not impressed with the way things were going. But the situation improved when a cake arrived for dessert. It was the birthday of one of the “staff” and this seemed like the perfect opportunity to celebrate. Ben was OK with that.

Next came the cleaning up. The big pots, tubs, grinder, and utensils, all covered with tomato gunk, had to be washed and rinsed in the driveway; this was too big a job for the kitchen. Soon the driveway was running bright red as the dish water rushed towards the drain in the road. The “staff” were quite a sight with our faces and clothes all splattered with tomato bits. But not a singe passer-by asked about a possible murder or threatened to call the police to search for a body.

Finally it was time to say good bye. This farewell was sad. Not only was Tomato Day over for another year, but the grandchildren would be heading back to school in a couple of days. When that happened, our family bubble would be dissolved and social distancing would once again be in effect. We gave everybody extra hugs, not knowing when we’d be able to do it again.

Sue