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

Labour Day weekend 2020 is history. This iconic end-of-summer holiday is usually filled with back-to-school preparations, family BBQ’s, and the EX. But not this year.

Preparations for the upcoming school year have been difficult because of so many last-minute changes and unclear directions. Parents have been left adrift, not sure how to proceed. Should the kids stay at home and learn online, or go back to their schools and learn in person? The back-to-school shopping has been trickier too. In addition to a first-day outfit, there has to be a suitable mask. “I want Spiderman on mine!” “I want unicorns on mine!” And everyone must bring their own pencils, erasers, and other classroom supplies that can’t be shared. Parents, who have spent 5 years or more encouraging their children to give to others, are now saying “Don’t Share!”

Those family gatherings for a last summer BBQ looked very different this year. No more than the 10 people in your bubble. But if your family is 11 or 12, did you leave somebody out? What if your favourite grocery store was sold out of the burgers that your family loves? How many other stores could you safely visit? What if it rained and you couldn’t eat outside? How fast could you clean out the garage and set up some folding tables and chairs?

And the EX: For 141 years families have been putting on their sunglasses and heading to the CNE to mark the end of summer. Most of us remember visits when we were kids. My family lived in St. Catharines back then and we had to wake up really early to make the drive along the QEW in order to get a parking spot close to the fairgrounds. I remember being wide awake most of the night before, thinking of all the fun waiting for us at the EX.

My favourite building was the Food Building, where lots of free samples were available. Often we’d choose a line not knowing what was being offered. One time I waited almost 20 minutes for a paper cup filled with some cold peas. I almost cried! Another favourite activity was trying to get Dad to win us a big, I mean BIG, stuffed animal. He worked very hard at getting the ring on the post, or the ball in the cup, but often we ended up with a tiny plastic car or a small box of crayons. Then we unappreciative kids would berate him for failing us, even though that was the Only Dad thing he ever failed.

The CNE has changed a lot since then. The original purpose of the EX – to showcase new innovative products – has been taken over by other fairs like the Home Show or the Boat Show. But some things are the same. The midway is still really the centre of the fair, with lots of big stuffed animals and Dads trying to show off. Last year we took our grandson Ben, and he spent over half an hour waiting in the hot sun for a chance to have his picture taken with Chase from Paw Patrol. Then we visited the Food Building where, instead of free cold peas, we found expensive bacon-wrapped chocolate bars, Bloomin’ Onions, and other heart-stopping treats. This year none of that: no midway challenges, no garbage delights, not even any air show.

Despite all the restrictions, closures, and difficult choices, one thing we have discovered during this pandemic is that we are resilient and flexible. We make do. And we did!

Now we look forward to fall, with its exciting Argos football games – oops, not. And big family Thanksgiving dinners – oh maybe not that either. Bu we Do have the gorgeous fall colours, and accessible walking trails all across the city. We have new learning opportunities online with universities, theatres, and museums. And we have each other – even at a distance. Stay safe, and Happy Fall!

Sue

Once upon a time…oh no wait…this is a true story.

My husband Peter and I spent the past week in Southampton, babysitting our grand daughter Agnes, who is almost 9, at her cottage. We have spent a lot of time with Agnes ever since she was born and we know her pretty well. But the Agnes we were with last week has grown up a lot in the last few months. Her world is getting bigger and her mothering instincts are kicking in.

The first hint we had of her new maturity was a message form her mom telling us that Agnes has a new friend and they are allowed to wander into town by themselves, all the way to the ice cream store. Agghh… how were we to handle this new freedom? Could we dress up in camouflage and follow her from a safe distance behind? We trembled with fear as she set out the first time, and we waited near the door until she came home again.

On the third day of this new life Agnes returned home with a surprise…a tiny mouse. She and her friend had found it lying on the sidewalk looking sickly. Their nurturing instincts took over and they spent the afternoon nursing the mouse back to health. They found a temporary plastic container for it while they outfitted a cardboard box with an upstairs bedroom and a ramp. Then they upgraded to a bucket which they filled with dirt, a small drinking station/bathtub, a bedroom, and a food court. Pretty fancy digs for a tiny mouse. Worth several thousand on the Toronto Real Estate market.

Next they googled what to feed the mouse. They discovered that lettuce is not healthy for mice, but cheese and peanut butter would be perfect. They also fed they little guy some crumbs of banana muffins that we had baked the previous day. Then the mouse was shivering so they needed a blanket for his little bed. Seeing no material handy, Agnes took off her socks and cut them into little blanket squares. Ooops…mothering gone too far!

The girls wanted Mousie to join us inside the cottage for the night but, since Peter has spent hours setting traps to keep mice Out of houses, we suggested that the garden shed might be a better idea. We tucked him in and said good night. Then Agnes face-timed her parents to see about bringing Mousie home to the city. For sure he would love city life as much as we do. The parents were not thrilled. They were probably considering firing the babysitters, (us). Finally Agnes went to sleep, exhausted. Mothering is a lot of stress.

The next morning we went to wake up the mouse. He was not under his little sock blanket. He was not in the food court eating breakfast. He was not having a bath in the drinking station. It seemed that Mousie had escaped! We searched high and low in the garden shed and then discovered a pretty big gap under the door to the outside. Mousie had likely made a quick exit into the woods.

Agnes called her dad in tears. This was a tragedy! What could be done? Dad consoled her in the best way possible. “The mouse was happy to have found such caring nurses, but now that he was healthy he wanted to go back to nature. He was not a big city kind of guy.” Agnes would not be consoled. Finally, in desperation, Dad muttered quietly “Maybe we could get you a mouse when you get back to the city.”

Agnes’s face lit up. “A store-bought mouse? For Me? With a cage and a water bottle? And little toys?” She set to work figuring out a name and planning the decorating scheme for the new cage. Poor Country Mousie was instantly forgotten – doomed to a future in the forest. No city living for him!

As for Peter and me, having made the choice to move from the country a couple of years ago – we are rooting for the city mouse.

Sue

Evry morning when I make the bed, I think of Miss Burrill.

Miss Burrill was my home ec teacher back in grade 7 and 8. She taught a whole roomful of naive girls how to be successful homemakers. One of the important skills was how to make the bed quickly: make one entire side of the bed first, then go around to the other side and make it. No back and forth, pulling up one sheet or cover at a time. NO! You had to be efficient! When Miss Burrill wasn’t looking, we girls hid in a corner and laughed ourselves silly.

I have lots of other memories of my elementary school days and my teachers, back in the 1950’s. The girls all had a crush on Mr, Vasko, phys ed teacher who also coached basketball and was really cute. And Mr. Glass; we knew to avoid him because, when he gave a girl a detention at recess, he would hover around her desk much too close. We had great respect for Miss Dobson, our grade 3 teacher, who let us vote on whether she should give a boy the strap for a misdemeanor. We adored Miss Stoutenberg who had the most beautiful clothes – and matching shoes!

And friends: every day I walked part-way to school by myself. Then I met my friend Jolaine at the corner of her street and we walked the rest of the way together. But one morning she wasn’t there – she had found another friend, Penny, to walk with. I cried buckets about losing my best friend. But then I found another best friend, Linda, and started walking to school with her.

Linda and I gossiped a lot about Jolaine and Penny; their clothes, their lunches, anything we could think of to criticize. Except sometimes we all got together to talk about somebody else – Sammy Backus. Sammy was the class rebel. He wore his hair slicked down in waves and often had a cigarette tucked behind his ear. On the weekends he would get into trouble robbing a store or gas station, and sometimes he even spent a night in jail. We were thrilled and terrified at the same time. Once Penny took her Brownie camera to school and snuck a photo of him, which we passed around when the teacher wasn’t looking.

In grade 8, I was chosen by the teacher to be the editor of the class yearbook. I loved my role of collecting stories and poems from the kids, writing the cover letter, running the finished pages off on the ditto machine, and getting a little high on the smell of the ink. I beamed with pride as I distributed the copies of the finished book on the last day of school, and everybody began collecting autographs on the back page. It was the beginning of my writing career.

As I look back at my years in elementary school, I guess somewhere along the way I learned math, science, English and history. But that’s not what I remember. The things I recall and cherish are the connections, the friendships, the learning together. And I understand why kids these days are so anxious to get back to school.

Right now parents all across Canada, whether they live in the city or the country, are trying to decide whether to send their child back to school in September. Will it be safe in the classroom? Are there covid germs lurking around? But that’s not what the kids are thinking about at all. They want to hang out with their friends, laugh at their teachers’ quirks, and sneak some pictures of the class rebel on their phones.

Sue

During this pandemic summer people are spending more and more time in their gardens. They have abandoned their bread makers and taken up spades, diggers, and clippers instead.

In fact gardening became such a big thing that nurseries sold out of stock in early June. Geraniums became the spring equivalent of toilet paper! Line-ups at the local nurseries began as early as 7:00 am. People paced back and forth, breathing heavily through their masks, as they checked their lists and planned their attack on the store. One person would search for weed-killer, while another scoured the store for annuals that didn’t look half-dead. Often they had to make do with whatever they could find. If there were no white impatiens, then pink would have to do. No kale? Then try swiss chard.

My husband Peter and I are part of the gardening frenzy. I mostly take care of the flowers. Peter, on the other hand, inherited a farmer gene and loves growing vegetables. His girlfriend at Sunyland Produce would be devastated if she saw his bountiful harvest of zucchini, tomatoes, cucumber, and squash. This past spring our neighbour kept peering over the back fence and marvelling at his vegetable garden. She even quipped,”I can’t wait to taste all those great things you are growing.”

So, one day recently we created a menu using ingredients from the garden, and invited the neighbour and her husband for dinner on the patio. First I made gazpacho, a cold soup of tomatoes, cucumber, peppers and onions – all locally sourced, just a few steps away. Peter the Italian admitted that this dish is not part of his heritage, but he boldly took a few sips and declared it delicious. For the main course we have not yet expanded our back yard to include a chicken coop, so I had to buy some of that. But we had summer squash and zucchini as vegetables and we roasted the potatoes with home-grown rosemary. We topped off dinner with a rhubarb dessert, also from the garden. It was a successful meal. But we are not opening a restaurant any time soon.

Peter also looks after the grass: cutting, fertilizing, and weeding. This year he tackled another area of the property. It was a kind of no-man’s-land of weeds, not suitable for either flowers or vegetables. Instead of planting more grass to cut, he had a serendipitous moment – what about ground cover, like periwinkle? He had seen periwinkle growing in an abandoned field when we lived in the country, and fallen in love with its little purple flowers, its hardiness, and its low maintenance. It was the answer to his dilemma.

Peter began his search for periwinkle. His trips to the nurseries were fruitless. He noticed a neighbour’s garden with some growing, and he briefly considered dressing up in black and sneaking out in the middle of the night with his shovel. He finally decided on a better plan. He would get his hair cut! And, after he visited his old barber in the country, he would visit that abandoned field and “borrow” a few sprigs of periwinkle.

Well a few sprigs turned out to be boxes of plants. Peter spent an entire day planting them; filling the weedy no-man’s-land and just about anywhere else he saw an empty corner. He even tried to plant some in my flower beds, but I was standing guard. However, I do have to admire those little periwinkles – growing quietly, not trying to make a statement, not needing to be looked after. In short: periwinkle is perfect! I wonder if I could use it in a salad?

Sue

On a recent post I asked readers to submit their favourite walks in the summer. There were 3 great suggestions. And my husband Peter and I tried them out.

One reader suggested taking the trail to the Evergreen Brickworks. The path was a shady respite from the summer heat. Once we arrived at the Brickworks, we came across the warehouse, a reminder of what had been before Covid 19. A farmers’ market, artisan stalls, and kids’ camps used to occupy this large cavernous space. But outside, the grounds were still flourishing and as beautiful as ever. We wandered past butterfly gardens, lily ponds, and a children’s secret garden tucked underneath a large overhanging tree.

A highlight of the Brickworks is a unique map created in steel, with vegetation growing through it. The map illustrates the 3 river systems – the Humber, the Don, and the Rouge – that punctuate the Toronto landscape. These 3 rivers flow into Lake Ontario and give us the creeks, valleys, and trail systems that have been a lifesaver for us and other walkers throughout this pandemic season.

On another day we met a reader in Marie Curtis Park and walked along the Etobicoke Creek. Here we found little surprises along the way: a collection of tiny man-made bird houses and bird feeders all colourfully painted, a mural of cyclists who speed along according to the viewer’s perspective, a carved face in a tree trunk peeking out from the foliage.

We stopped for a picnic lunch near a playground with no yellow tape in sight any more, and a large splash pad filled with happy children. Lake Ontario was nearby and there were lifeguards on duty, but, oh darn, I had forgotten to take my bathing suit along so I can’t tell you how cold the water was.

Then recently, on a cloudy and boring day, Peter asked me where we were going on our walk. I said, maybe a little too hastily, “Why don’t YOU plan somewhere to go today?” And he did! He suggested we walk along the shores of the West Humber River in the northwest part of the city where he had lived with his growing family for a few years.

We easily found the entrance to the trail and headed into the valley. It was a path lined with sumach bushes – how pretty it would be in the fall when the bushes turned red! Then we saw a sign for the Humber Arboretum. The garden was nowhere in sight so we asked another walker about it. She directed us up a flight of stairs which, she said, would lead us to the most beautiful spot imaginable.

At the top of the stairs we discovered a bountiful vegetable garden, overflowing with zucchini, cucumbers, beets, radishes, eggplant and tomatoes. Peter began to salivate. This was heaven for him. Good thing there was a fence! Signage told us it was a “learning garden” for the students of the college agricultural program. But we suspect it also feeds the patrons of the restaurant hospitality program. It was lush.

But it wasn’t exactly beautiful. So we continued walking along the path, behind some Humber College buildings. Then we emerged – into a garden of delights. As we wandered around, we were astonished by the variety of flowers, waterfalls, lily ponds, rose gardens, Greek structures, trellises, arbors, in the park-like setting. We meandered through the garden, finally choosing a bench where we could sit and enjoy the views for a while longer.

So dear readers, leave your covid anxiety behind, put on your best old sneakers, grab your water bottle, and head out. In most places you don’t even need a mask. This city is full of natural delights just waiting to be explored.

Sue

My husband Peter would tell you that I’m a shopaholic. I think that might be stretching it a bit, but I do admit that the choice to move from the country to the city was partly due to the proximity of malls. Covid 19 may have changed all that.

During the cold, lonely, germ-infested months of March, April and even May, I longed to go to a mall, wander around, try on some clothes, maybe buy a few things… Finally Stage 2 arrived and the local mall was open for business!

My first stop was the book store. It’s been open for a while and I knew my way around. But, after I finished buying a couple of books, I tried to enter the mall from the book store. I discovered that the entrance was locked up. I spent at least 20 minutes searching until I found another entrance, tucked into an alleyway. Not very welcoming.

Once inside, I saw a totally different world from my last visit in February. There were signs, arrows, paper footprints everywhere – on the floors, on walls, on counters. They were hard to miss. But when I did go the wrong way, there were guards wearing masks and standing, feet spread, hands clasped behind their backs – police style. A wrong turn and I was quickly re-routed. This was further complicated by the fact that the interactive maps were out of service and I had to figure out store locations on my own.

As I made my way towards my favourite stores, I noticed a lot of other changes. A few places were not open, especially ones selling finger food like chocolate, popcorn, sushi, ice cream. Other stores, such as Lego and The Body Shop that usually encourage touching and testing merchandise, had removed those opportunities and most of their products were hidden behind bars and counters. Clothing stores did allow access to dressing rooms, but anything that wasn’t purchased after a try-on had to be steam-cleaned before it was put back on the rack. The guilt of rejecting something I had tried on would be tremendous – so I didn’t.

The mall itself was deserted. There were a few older ladies like me wandering around in disbelief, a few power walkers getting their steps in an air-conditioned venue, a few groups of bored teenagers likely plotting their next secret house party for 200. But mostly I had an overwhelming sense of “What am I doing here?” Surely I could manage to live without a new white belt or new black flats.

Covid 19 has presented us with some different moral dilemmas. A recent Globe and Mail article discussed whether shopping for shoes (or belts) is essential to saving our economy. Shouldn’t we be giving the money to a food bank instead? In “Sole-searching In the Pandemic Summer” the author says that the best way to help the economy is to buy a new car, Canadian-assembled, preferably electric. For clothes – visit a consignment store and re-use. Oh oh…

So are people actually buying Any new clothes these days? Sales clerks say that shirts and blouses are flying off the shelves, meeting the needs of business meetings on Zoom, where the viewer can only see you from the waist up. For below the waist you can consider buying the new “buffet pants” – jogging pants with elastic waist bands to accommodate extra snacking.

After a quick trip around the mall, I found myself feeling disappointed and sad. My favourite hobby was in a shambles. I might as well go home and bake some bread instead. Then at least I’d have a reason to go back to the mall and buy those buffet pants.

Sue

PS No picture of me wearing the new shoes that I didn’t buy.

Have you ever noticed how, as we age, we tend to think more about our past? This is especially true as we cope with a life-altering disease such as Covid 19. When the world looks so different, we are drawn to something familiar – our personal histories.

My husband, Peter, has been doing a lot of reminiscing lately. He often steers our walks in a north-west direction, where he lived when his kids were growing up. And he’s been studying his family tree which one of his nephews recently created. It’s gigantic. Peter figured out that he has 49 first cousins! And when he is not going on walks or looking over this huge family tree, he sits in his favourite chair and plays music by Italian singers Claudio Villa and Rita Pavone, from his childhood.

Watching Peter so involved in his past, I decided to get into the act too. I remembered something about my dad’s history – that he had moved to Canada as a 2-year-old and had settled with his family in Hamilton. What about that house? Was it still standing? Peter and I drove to Hamilton and found a house in an industrial area. The owners were sitting on the front porch. How serendipitous! They confirmed that the house was about 120 years old and had been built, along with several others on the street, as accommodation for Stelco workers. I knew my grandfather had been a Stelco worker. Bingo! It was the right house. Next stop – England – where both my parents had been born.

BUT… England is not easy to visit during a pandemic, so we planned a short trip to Kingston instead. Peter and I had both gone to Queen’s University, although we didn’t know each other back then. We had spent a lot of time on the campus but we were both so busy studying (well maybe socializing too), that we didn’t really know the city. Kingston has one big travel advantage right now: it’s safe! There is no Covid 19 there.

We spent our first day strolling around the campus, checking out our residences and reminiscing about our classes and friends. Most of the old buildings, constructed with local limestone, are still standing and in great shape. There are new buildings too, a mix of limestone and the trendy new building materials: glass and steel. We laughed when we saw our new library which is now the OLD library, across the street from the new NEW library. Can Our Library have actually worn out since we studied there only 50 years ago?

On the second day we explored Kingston’s scenic waterfront. There is now a beautiful pathway with reminders of the War Of 1812: Martello Towers dot the landscape, along with information plaques, benches and picnic tables. Downtown we also found great restaurants with open patios, some of them on the waterfront too. We took the free ferry to Wolfe Island and strolled between the bakery serving coffee and cinnamon buns to a waterfront patio offering up beer and nachos. But we didn’t find any appealing beaches for swimming there, so we went back to our hotel rooftop pool overlooking Lake Ontario. We had the pool all to ourselves and it was perfect. Not quite swimming IN the lake, but very close!

On the last day of our mini-vacation we were lucky to get tickets to tour the Kingston Penitentiary, a maximum security facility which had closed in 2015. We toured the gyms, the office areas, the shops and…the cells. Some of them were open. Suddenly I noticed an evil look in Peter’s eye as he suggested I go into one and try it out. Well dear readers, I knew I had to write this blog post so I resisted.

If yo are looking for a safe place in Ontario to have a little break, you could try a visit to Kingston. Just be sure to watch yourself at the jail.

Sue

After spending an entire vacation week staying cool in a lake, my husband Peter and I wondered how we would survive the rest of this hot summer with no swimming.

Then we heard the best news – outdoor pools in the city were going to be open, with restrictions of course. We live less than 2 blocks from an Olympic-sized public pool with a very pleasant water temperature. The schedule indicated lane swimming, 6 people for half an hour at a time, from 11 to 12 noon. This was followed by family leisure swim, 25 people per hour, from 12 to 8 pm. We chose lane swimming over being splashed and jumped on by little kids. We changed into our bathing suits and headed up the street.

When we arrived, there were some people in line ahead of us. It seemed to be 4, which meant that we would be 5 and 6 – yea! We sat down on a curb in the shade and waited. When the whistle blew and everyone jumped up, we discovered that one babysitter was actually a swimmer which meant that we were numbers 6 and 7. Peter and I looked at each other with longing. But I tend to be a martyr, so I gave him the spot and left for home.

When I got home, I started feeling sorry for myself and desperate to get into that pool, so I walked back again. When Peter’s half hour ended, he passed me as I was waiting. He looked very appreciative. I got into the pool: ah cool water! ah exercise! ah martyrdom!

The pool swim was lovely but I started thinking about the lake – Lake Ontario – the lake where I spent all my childhood summers. Readers may remember that last September I decided to try swimming in the lake again, at age 70 plus. I dragged Peter with me but he has Mediterranean blood and only got in up to his knees. I made it all the way to my waist before I chickened out too. But this summer…surely this summer has been so hot that the water would be hot too, right?

On Friday, with temperatures in the 30’s, we decided to try our luck at Sunnyside Beach. Well in truth, I wore my bathing suit and Peter said he would be in charge of the camera. We got a parking spot, overcoming our first hurdle, and then walked to the beach. There were a lot of people sun bathing but nobody was actually swimming. The lifeguard told us why – unsafe levels of e-coli. Well readers, I was not ready to poison myself for you, so we left.

Now what? Somebody told us that, further west on another beach, the e-coli levels were low. We went searching and found the beach. Once again we saw sun-bathers and even paddlers, but no swimmers. Plus the lake was rough! And the bottom was rocky! Really, how much sacrifice am I supposed to make for this blog anyway? So we went home, and sat inside with the air-conditioner going full blast.

Through a window I spotted the garden hose in the back yard. Would a run through the sprinkler count as swimming? I’d have to invite some grand children over so I wouldn’t look silly. Or maybe I could go with them to a splash pad…..

Then I decided that maybe it was just easiest to go back to the outdoor pool. So, after I finish writing this, I’m going to sneak out the back door and race up the street, ready to capture spot number 6. Don’t anybody tell Peter!

Sue