The other night, while watching TV and eating a snack, I tasted something strange in my mouth. I spit it out and there was an entire front tooth sitting in my hand. Now dear readers, I will go to almost any length to get an interesting story for you, but this, this tooth story, it definitely was not planned.

The next day I took a chance and called my dentist. Yes the office was open! But only for emergencies. I was not in any pain, but one look in the mirror and I knew this was definitely an emergency. The receptionist thought so too and she began the screening process. She ran down a list of possible covid symptoms: headache, fever, coughing, and a few I hadn’t heard of before, like loss of taste and difficulty swallowing. Well, without my tooth, food tasted strange for sure, and every time I tried to swallow, my tongue got caught in the empty space. The receptionist didn’t seem to think that these were covid symptoms and she booked an appointment.

The dental office was empty and eerily quiet; all the doors were closed and people were speaking in hushed voices behind their masks. Nobody laughed at my plight – it was all business. The dentist looked around in my mouth and, while she stuck the broken tooth back in with some crazy glue, she gave me the long-term treatment options: cheap but basic, or the high-end special. Since the high-end choice required several appointments, I went for cheap with only 2 appointments needed. I hoped it wouldn’t be too basic.

The next appointment came all too soon, and I endured an hour and a half of freezing, probing, drilling, more probing, fitting and gluing. Then the dentist brought up another issue: since this was a front tooth, the colour of the new one needed to match the other front tooth. A trip to a denturist was in order. Well I know colour is important when my hairdresser is covering up my unfashionable grey hair. And my decorator friend has often pointed out the different shades of white paint for woodwork. But a tooth? Wasn’t this going overboard?

Besides, the very word “denturist’ conjured up visions of a serial-killing denturist in Nova Scotia. Then, when I called to make an appointment, this one told me that his lab was in his private home, in the basement, on a street I had never heard of. Maybe I would need to take my husband with me as protection. I didn’t want to go from having a broken tooth to being a murder victim. The night before the appointment I had a few bad dreams.

The next day, when Peter was too busy to be a body-guard, I used my GPS to find the denturist’s house. It was Not on a dead-end street in the middle of nowhere. The house had No ghostly creaking porches, no secret turret windows. Instead it appeared to be a family home in a pleasant subdivision. Still cautious, I went around to the side door where there was a dental lab sign. But there was no answer when I knocked. This was my last chance to back out….Finally, I gathered up my courage and opened the door.

The denturist welcomed me with a smile peeking out from behind his mask and some questions about covid symptoms. He didn’t look menacing at all! His lab was sun-filled and the walls were painted a soft grey, maybe antique silver or misty fog. Then the wall behind his work table caught my eye – children’s drawings of cartoons, hearts, unicorns, rainbows, all in shades of pink; created by Mia, Anna and Una. This denturist was a family man!

It only took about ten minutes for the denturist/family man to touch up the paint on my new tooth. And today, after I finish my post to you, I will go and get it cemented in. No headlines, no drama, no dead body, no covid germs; just a new-tooth story with a boring ending. Sorry! I tried my best.

Sue

During these covid 19 days parents are struggling to keep their kids busy and involved. After three months inside, just about all the entertainment ideas have dried up. Board games, lego-building, painting, playdough; all of them are losing their allure. The situation seemed desperate; until recently.

Summer is here and everyone with a back yard has moved outside. When my husband Peter and I lived in the country, all our neighbours were miles away, well almost. We didn’t see people out in their back yards unless we had our binoculars handy. But here in the city, our back yard abuts two houses with young children, so we can watch them as they spend time playing outdoors.

The two families have little boys, Hudson and Thomas, both about 4 years old. Because of the pandemic germs, neither family is comfortable having the boys play together. Instead, they play side by side, watching and often copying each other’s games. At first little athletes emerged. Hudson fancied himself another José Bautista as he swung his small bat at a rubber ball, trying to hit it “out of the park.” He also showed some Tiger Woods promise with his little set of golf clubs. Thomas, on the other hand, ran around tossing balls into his short basketball hoop and yelling “I am Kyle Lowry!”

After a couple of weeks of sports heroism, the little athletes grew tired of summer training camp and began to whine. It was time for something new. Hudson got a bright green climbing gym, backyard size. After a few jealous tears, Thomas found a large box in his back yard. The anticipation was high as Daddy slowly opened the box and pulled out the pieces. He assembled a round platform, then sat down for a rest. The next day some poles were erected, followed by a roof and netting sides. Gradually the form emerged – a trampoline! Thomas jumped for joy. When he noticed me watching, he explained that there was a lock on the netting doorway – to keep out any stray squirrels that might be tempted to sneak in for a quick somersault.

When the weather warmed up, both families felt the need for water features. They bought small plastic pools and filled them from their hoses. The kids splashed around, playing with tiny boats and squealing with delight. Then they noticed small puddles forming around the pools. Out came the dump trucks, and backyard construction sites emerged. A few riding toys were added to the fleets.

Then the parents got into the act. Thomas’s parents bought new outdoor furniture – comfy chairs and a coffee table. Hudson’s parents went for the natural look and ordered cedar trees, and a couple of decorative hydrangea bushes. They added a wooden bench for seating and some small pots of impatiens for a splash of colour.

By now both back yards were getting pretty full! There was barely space to move. Maybe the buying spree would be over. I started listening in on some of the conversations. (Yes, during the pandemic I have sunk to a new low – eavesdropping on little kids). “Tickle me some more Daddy!” “I’m hiding now. When are you coming to find me?” “Mommy can you help me make some mud pies?”

I realized that, no matter how many toys parents buy, the best entertainment for kids is still time spent with mom and dad. It’s a valuable pandemic lesson.

Sue

PS Happy Fathers’ Day to all those dedicated dads.

For the entire month of April, folks were salivating about getting out on the GOLF course. We women especially were anxious to escape from our expanded Covid kitchen duties. A day off from kneading bread dough. Yea!

Chasing a little ball along some fairways, over a few hills, through a couple of sand traps, and around a few water hazards seems like FUN! We can easily get in our 10,000 steps as we enjoy the outdoors. Even physical distancing still allows us to chat, exchange family news and gossip, share a few jokes, as we walk. We can admire the landscaping too and get some planting ideas for our gardens.

We also have lunch together in the new Covid style. Since there’s no restaurant service in the clubhouse, we bring along food; bananas and granola bars are the best because they don’t require plates or forks. As for the “dining room,” it’s standing room only while we wait for our turn to hit the ball on the 10th tee. It’s only half-way through the game, but we are starving because at home we would have eaten several entire meals by now as we puttered around in the kitchen.

The actual game of golf is a little easier these days with the new Covid rules. There are no rakes in the sand traps for people to touch and inadvertently share germs. No raking required. And the hole on the green is filled with a pool noodle so that it’s not necessary to remove the flag, another way to prevent the spread of germs. All a player has to do is hit the noodle with the ball and Pretend it went into the hole!

One thing players are definitely Not supposed to do is go searching in the bushes for lost balls; first of all because our stalling will allow other players to catch up and breathe on us. But more important, there might be Covid germs on the lost ball from its original owner. But just tell that to a man. Really, did you ever see a man walk by a patch of rough grass without looking in there for lost balls? Never. Except Alan Shepard. When he went to the moon to play golf in 1971, he took two balls with him so he didn’t have to hunt for his lost one.

You don’t need to know too much terminology to play golf. “Fore” is a handy word you can yell if your ball decides to take a short-cut to another fairway with people on it. Golf balls seem to have minds of their own. Just try yelling “Stop!” or “Slow down!” or “Don’t Go Into That sand Trap!” and see if your ball pays any attention.

You do need to know your avian creatures to keep score in golf. You might be lucky to score a birdie or an eagle, but you will hardly ever get an albatross. Golf books also talk about ostriches and condors but they are rare birds indeed. Sometimes, even on a city course, you might get a goose. You just load it onto your cart and take it home to cook for dinner. After a short break in the outdoors, it’s back to the kitchen again.

Sue

My mother, who lived through two world wars and a depression, used to tell me that often. Now that we are living through a pandemic, these words ring just as true today.

We see creative solutions everywhere these days. Many businesses like GM have re-tooled from making cars and trucks to constructing surgical face shields. Clothing manufacturers are switching from pants and tops to couture face masks. Distilleries have moved from single malt scotch to hand sanitizer. Restaurants are re-opening with tables two meters apart and patio spaces expanded onto sidewalks. One creative restaurateur seats mannequins at empty tables, mannequins dressed in high-end fashions which are, of course, for sale. Eat and shop at the same time.

Performance companies are working hard to find audiences through live-streamed performances. We can watch performers dancing around their dining room table, or playing an instrument on the basement couch beside their dog. David Mirvish posts a weekly newsletter with trivia quizzes and contests. Patrons are asked to create new songs for the times. Last week’s winner was a song from the musical Hamilton with new words to “I Am Not Throwing Away My (Vaccine) Shot!

Sports teams like hockey, basketball and baseball are considering televised games with cardboard cutout people in the stands and canned cheering. Outdoor venues, like the zoo, are figuring out how to keep people safe and separate in their cars while doing a zoo safari. Arts patrons can see several different Van Gogh paintings digitally presented on the walls of a large factory-like setting while sitting in the comfort of their cars.

Closer to home, my husband Peter and I were faced with figuring out how to celebrate a family milestone, my brother’s 70th birthday. Not only that but his partner also has the same birthday on the same day. This was an event not to be ignored just because of some virus. But how to celebrate safely? After discovering that the birthday couple did not want to meet us in a park somewhere, we decided to take our little party to them.

First we had to come up with a menu from ingredients we already had on hand at home. I found a simple brunch recipe with eggs and ham, and a cake recipe with fresh rhubarb from the garden. As the cake came out of the oven I suddenly remembered: “Oops, my brother doesn’t even Like rhubarb!” Quickly I covered up the cake with an icing that masked the rhubarb taste. Then we found a bottle of old, I mean well-aged, champagne in the basement that would go well with some orange juice we had in the fridge.

Next we needed a gift. Since there are no malls open yet, our shopping venues are limited. But the drug store always welcomes us. So we picked up a few goodies the birthday folks might find useful in their eighth decade: polident, arthritis cream, a laxative; things like that. A very thoughtful gift, don’t you think? We were almost ready to go. Except for one last little issue….

The drive to my brother’s house takes about 2 hours so we were going to need a bathroom stop. Hmmm…..First I thought about buying a box of Depends. But really, did I want to buy a big box of diapers just to have one? Besides, where was I going to hide the box? Heaven help me if the grandchildren spotted it in a cupboard while they were playing hide and seek. I could just hear them chanting: “Nana wears diapers!” all around the neighbourhood.

Then we remembered that there was a Tim Horton’s on the route. We we all set. We packed up the car and headed off to the makeshift party. But when we got to the Timmy’s, the bathrooms were closed. Oh oh…I crossed my legs and began scanning the horizon. Further down the road we spotted a forest. Peter stood guard while I hopped over a ditch and ran into a clump of trees. Unfortunately the trees had prickly needles and some got stuck in my underwear.

All in all, the impromptu backyard party was a big success. We exchanged stories and hugs from a distance. My brother didn’t notice the rhubarb in the cake. Neither did he seem to notice as I squirmed around, trying to get comfortable while sitting on prickly needles for two hours.

Sue

Even now that the pandemic curve is slowly flattening, physical distancing is strongly encouraged. Walking outside is good, but walking in our own neighbourhoods is best. For my husband Peter and me, our neighbourly Humber River has become a lifesaver.

We are not the first travellers to stroll along the banks of the Humber River. In fact this river has been a pathway for First Nations people and explorers for more than Twelve Thousand Years! Archaeological evidence shows that Paleo-Indian nomads first wandered along its banks from 10,000 BC, followed by the Archaic People and then woodland farmers, who used the river to set up farming sites from around 1,000 BC until the 1500’s.

In 1615 Etienne Brulé became the first European to walk the valleys of the Humber River, from Lake Simcoe to Lake Ontario. Soon other Europeans followed this route, which became known as the Carrying Place Trail. Another well-known European, my husband, has been following this trail too, ever since he immigrated from Italy in 1958.

Peter’s first house, where he lived with his mother and his older brother, was near Black Creek, a tributary of the West Humber. He says that, when his mom wanted him to do chores, he used to sneak away on his bike and ride along the river. When he got married, his first house was near the West Humber and he took his kids for nature walks there. Then the family moved to King City where a branch of the East Humber was almost in their back yard.

My first acquaintance with the Humber River was when I met Peter. On one of our early “dates” he took me wandering through the snowy forest near his King City house. Not watching where I was going, I suddenly plunged through the snow into water, soaking my boot and pant-leg. “Well,” he said, “there you are in a branch of the mighty Humber River!” I was not impressed at the time.

Our new house in the city is located south of where the many branches of the Humber merge into one, and the river flows resolutely towards Lake Ontario. We can walk the riverside trail south from near our house, and under the iconic Humber Bridge, until we reach the lake. Or we can walk north, across the heritage-designated Etienne Brulé bridge and past several waterfalls where salmon jump upstream during October. The river path carries on to highway 401, and all the way north past the McMichael Gallery in Kleinberg. We haven’t walked that far…yet.

We have also paddled on the Humber; once a few years ago going north from Sunnyside beach, and again last fall on the 20th anniversary of the river being designated a Heritage River. The TRCA hosted a paddling celebration for the public. We joined in and went south from the Old Mill to the lake. With old people, teenagers, dogs and kids, it was a paddling party!

The Humber River hasn’t always been so accommodating. Back in October, 1954, Hurricane Hazel swept furiously down the river, flooding its banks, destroying bridges and homes, and killing 81 people. But these days, as we search for somewhere outside where we can briefly escape from our home to enjoy the outdoors, the Humber River, keeping a safe distance away, is our companion.

Stay safe and keep walking.

Sue

For many of us this past weekend marked the beginning of summer. What? You are surprised because we had snow last week, restaurant patios aren’t serving yet, large public fireworks displays are not allowed, the Blue Jays aren’t swinging their bats, and there are no campgrounds open? Well this is the new normal for us: a summer like no other. We have to make do.

On the Friday of the Victoria Day weekend we invited our son Daniel and his family to come over for a BBQ lunch on disposable plates, in the back yard, two meters apart. We woke up to rain, and it rained all morning. Since we can’t have people in the house, we began planning curbside pick-up for the food. But suddenly it stopped raining. We wiped the outdoor furniture and started the BBQ. It was a May 2-4 Miracle. When the guests arrived we enjoyed our lunch outside, the first burgers of the season. Just as we swallowed our last bites, it started to rain again, and the guests ran to their car.

On the second day of the weekend the weather turned beautiful and we went for a walk on the nearby path along the river. We invited another son to join us because they have a dog and nobody goes for a walk in this neighbourhood without a dog. The path was pretty crowded with other families and dogs out for a dose of sun and freedom, so we cut our walk short and went home for a beer instead.

On the next day of the weekend our grand daughter invited us to visit her back yard and share her Victoria Day projects. She and her mom served us a delicious Victorian sponge cake and, from a distance, she sang us a song with lyrics which included the names of all the Kings and Queens of England. How patriotic. How ambitious! Clearly her home-schooling is working out alright.

At home again in the evening we heard the sound of fire crackers. We put on our raincoats and walked around the neighbourhood until we found several folks gathered, socially distanced on the street and sidewalk, watching an impromptu display of fire works donated by a neighbour. At the end we all clapped. But what I really wanted to do was give this man a hug for bringing us together, for this traditional celebration, as close as we were allowed.

Yesterday I was wondering how to cap off this iconic weekend with something exciting, a suitable ending for my blog post today. I checked with my editor, Peter, to see if he had any suggestions. “Well,” he said, “there’s a chipmunk in the garage and he’s trying to get into the house. Will that do?”

I abandoned my laptop and went running out to see. This could be the ending I needed! “Oh Chippy,” I begged, “come on out from your hiding place!” Instead he hid in one corner after another, leading us around the garage in circles, and ignoring the open garage door. Next Peter started banging loudly on some old pots and pans while I tried to direct Chippy outside with a broom. No deal. Then Peter got the car keys and began honking the horn. The sound echoing in the garage was deafening. Chippy stayed out of sight, but some neighbours dropped in to see if we were OK. “Yes” we told them. “Just having a little May 2-4 fun!” As we chatted, I noticed the chipmunk sneaking by, headed for the river.

Looking back, I can say that the weekend was just like any other Victoria Day weekend: burgers, sun, beer, family gatherings, fireworks, chipmunks…Well maybe it wasn’t exactly the same, but we made do.

Sue

PS Here’s a sign of hope: our bougainvillea plant just after Christmas, and again yesterday.

This past weekend we celebrated two special occasions – our wedding anniversary and Mothers’ Day – covid style.

Last May on our anniversary, the first one after we moved from the country to the city, my husband Peter and I made reservations at the iconic Old Mill restaurant which is very close to where we now live. We had a delicious 5-course meal in elegant surroundings, and danced to the music of a talented pianist. This year we decided to do the same. Sort of.

After discovering that the Old Mill does not do take-out, I donned my shopping outfit – mask and disposable gloves – and headed for No Frills at 6:45 am. I managed to grab one of only 2 prime rib roasts, and unearthed a cheesecake from the bottom of a freezer. Later that day Peter and I walked to the main street where Peter hit up Sunnyland Produce for 2 bags of salad ingredients, and I went to the LCBO where I got 2 bottles of our favourite red wine, packaged in 2 separate paper bags. That way we were able to use the bags and bottles to do arm exercises on our way home. I am REALLY missing my exercise classes.

On Saturday, the morning of our anniversary, we heard that the Snow Birds would do a fly-past along the Lake Ontario waterfront. How nice of them to honour us this way! So we walked down to the lake, which took about 40 minutes, and then we discovered that the fly-past had been cancelled due to bad weather. In the afternoon we ate chips as our appetizer course. Then we cooked the roast, tossed the salad, and opened the wine, one bottle each. (Only kidding!). We lit a couple of slightly used candles, and danced around the kitchen to the music of Alexa.

On Sunday morning, Mothers’ Day, we learned that the fly-past had been rescheduled and, if we hurried, we could be down at the waterfront in time to see the Snow Birds.We looked out the window and saw, to our horror, that it was snowing. Really? In May?? We got our winter coats out of storage, put on our boots, and rushed down to the lake, just in time to see 30 seconds or less of the Snow Birds as they whizzed by.

Then we had to rush home because my son and his wife were planning to drop by for a socially distanced back yard visit. We took a short-cut which involved a lot of climbing hills. As we started up the first one, our grand daughter Agnes called, planning to say Happy Mothers’ Day. Instead, she said: “Nana, why are you puffing and panting so much?” As we continued climbing, she played us her 3 newest piano pieces, and the hills were alive with the sound of music. (Sorry – I couldn’t help myself).

We arrived home in time to greet James and Glenda armed with sweet buns and cupcakes. Yum – lunch! As we sat around in the back yard, 2 meters apart and munching, the rain/snow mix started up again and we had to retreat under some umbrellas. After a short while, everyone was getting cold and in need of a bathroom, so our visit ended.

Peter and I went inside to watch a movie and finish off the cupcakes. Then we heard a knock at the door – another son, Daniel, visiting with his family and more desserts. Yum – dinner! More sitting in the back yard, 2 meters apart and munching. This visit was cut short too for the same reasons; too cold and no bathroom available.

After Daniel and his family left, I went back inside to warm up. Then I noticed Peter was still outside, holding a measuring tape. What on earth was he up to? Well, in case the pandemic goes on much longer, he was looking for a spot to build a little back yard outhouse for our guests. I got thinking; maybe grey on the outside, some nice flowered wallpaper inside, a scented candle, a little rug…could be quite cozy.

Dear readers, please stay safe, and try to enjoy the new normal that is our lives.

Sue

While things may seem relatively peaceful these days, at our home in the city we are fighting a war.

Last fall, in an attempt to postpone the coning winter, I ordered ten new colourful tulip bulbs. The name, “Orange Emperor,” had caught my attention. I waited patiently for them to arrive in the mail, but after a while I checked the catalogue and learned that the bulbs would only be shipped to me when it was safe to plant them. These tulips were going to be very fussy.

Finally the big day arrived. I carefully removed the promising bulbs from their packaging and, following the instructions, dug down 8 inches, added some coarse gravel for drainage, and then some good potting soil. Nothing but the best for my new tulips. I watered them carefully according to their schedule, until it was time for nature to take over. I tearfully said good-bye and told them to have a good winter. Then I promptly forgot about them.

About 10 days ago I noticed some strange leaves popping up – similar in shape to other tulip leaves, but with burgundy stripes. What could they be? Then I remembered my Orange Emperors – a lovely surprise in the middle of a pandemic. I watched them as they grew taller and started to show some colour. There was one that was clearly ahead of the pack; I could detect orange petals! One more day of sunshine, I thought, and it would be in full bloom. I went to bed as excited as a kid on Christmas Eve.

Early the next morning I put on my housecoat, grabbed my phone, and rushed out to photograph this beauty. It was gone. No tell-tale petals anywhere. Only a stem remained. My tulip had been beheaded. I looked around and saw the carnage: two other tulips that had been about to bloom were headless too. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted a black squirrel running past. He had a guilty look on his face and telltale orange on his lips. Honest!

Now I know some readers were upset by a recent post where I lambasted a skunk for digging up our back lawn as he was hunting for grubs. Some readers were upset when Peter threw baseballs at him. Some readers were quick to point out that skunks kill a lot of harmful insects. Well OK but who could possibly defend a nasty squirrel eating the tops off those gorgeous tulips?

I searched the internet for weapons. I read that human hair around the base of the plants works. We certainly have lots of extra human hair right now, if only we were brave enough to cut it. Another useful deterrent is garlic. Being married to an Italian, I always have access to garlic, in the fridge and in the garden, but unfortunately not planted near the tulips. The best defense, according to one site, is a spray called “Super Hunter,” also super expensive at $17 a bottle – more than the cost of the bulbs themselves! But in a war, no price is too high.

Meanwhile, Peter searched the garage and found something we used to chase creatures from our vegetable garden in the country. Called a “Scarecrow,” this gadget with a motion detector gets hooked up to a hose. When the creatures walk by they set off a sprinkler and get sprayed. That’s the idea anyway. All I know is that our grandchildren love running through it.

So now we are fully armed, with spray and Scarecrow, on a mission to save our remaining 7 tulips. But if they fail, we’ll have to resort to 24-hour surveillance. I’m not sure how long Peter will last sleeping outside on the swing, especially when the temperature gets below zero. So if you know anyone out of work, I might have the perfect job.

Sue

Now that we are stuck at home, we have time to learn new things: card games, dance moves, how to empty the electric pencil sharpener, and more…

A number of people have retreated to their kitchens to do some new learning. There are aspiring bread-makers throughout the country, and flour is flying off grocery store shelves almost as fast as toilet paper. So far I have stuck to my favourite recipes, except for biscotti, but a few days ago when it was rainy and dreary, I tackled a cookie recipe that called for 13 ingredients, an hour of chopping, and another hour of arm-breaking stirring. It was a good way to get some arm exercise and make 96 cookies at the same time. Multi-tasking!

Many of us are learning more about technology, especially social media. In our need to stay connected, we are circulating jokes, videos, stories, exercise routines, travelogues, news clips, and chain letters, non-stop, like a virtual merry-go-round. If we abandon our ipads for even an hour, to make some bread for example, we come back to a screen full of messages. When we are bored with that, we can facetime our grandchildren. When Agnes facetimes us, she carries us around the house, upstairs and downstairs, showing us her latest projects. When we get to the piano she lays us down so we can study the ceiling while she plays her latest favourite piece. When Ben calls, he shows us his new painting project and then knocks over the paint water. Oops “Daddy!”

Slowly we older people are stretching our minds even further – to live-streaming, Ted Talks, podcasts. This online connecting is a great skill for us. As we become less mobile, for whatever reason, we can still be in touch with the world. We’re learning other skills online too, such as how to sew personal face masks. I decided to give one a try but I had no material so I looked around the house. An old dishtowel had horizontal stripes which made my face look fat. A piece of faux fur looked comfy but it was too hot. My husband Peter’s T-shirts were too holey plus he didn’t want to give them up. Finally I had to sacrifice one of my summer tops. But maybe we’ll be stuck inside all summer anyway and I can just stay in my pyjamas…. Noooooo!!!!!

In the bathroom we are learning new grooming skills too. Who knew it was so hard to cut your own toenails? When we aren’t as flexible as we used to be, it’s a long way down there to the end of your feet. And of course the hair – too long and too grey. Not a good look. So in desperation one day, I got out the hair dye kit which I had purchased in a moment of bravery, and read the pamphlet carefully. The disposable gloves didn’t scare me at all since I wear them to the grocery store every Monday at 7:00 am. But the part that said: ” dispose of any unused product immediately to avoid danger of exploding and harmful projectiles”? Well that was a bit unnerving.

I updated my will, put on my disposable gloves, and headed down to the laundry room in the basement, where I figured an explosion would do the least damage. And today I am alive to tell you that things worked out fine: I am a blonde again and the house is intact. Sometimes you have to take risks when you want to get ahead.

Now I am trying to think of another scary, I mean exciting, learning skill to tackle. If you have any suggestions, please share them.

Sue

PS stop looking for a photo – there isn’t one. I mean, did you really want to see my overgrown toenails?

The covid 19 pandemic continues, and my husband Peter and I search daily for new places to walk in our neighbourhood.

One day we checked out a website that has maps indicating which homes in a neighbourhood have a heritage designation. We followed the map to the home of Archibald Thompson. Thompson was the first landowner in our area and he was big – 200 acres big! He cultivated farmlands and orchards and plunked his big farmhouse in the middle. He was practising social distancing way back in 1855, long before any virus had hit the city. The farmhouse, with a few modifications such as bathrooms and a garage, is still a stately family home today.

On other days we walk north to the local shopping area for essentials such as Sunnyland produce, banking, and hair dye. Then we go home by way of the cemetery. Park Lawn Cemetery is a heritage site too. It was opened and managed by a group of farmers back in 1892. It now holds over 22,000 graves, and there is still empty space. A sign along the fence tells passers-by that there are “New Lots Available! Come On In!”

As we sneak in, a safe distance from the sales office, we look for graves of dignitaries that are buried there. So far we have found the resting places of hockey greats Con Smythe and Harold Ballard, and musician Jeff Healey. Other well-known figures who live there forever are Gus Ryder, Gordon Sinclair, and Robert Home Smith, the original land developer for the Kingsway area.

The most disturbing monument is one dedicated to the “British Home Children.” Between 1869 and 1948 British couples often sent their children to Canada to escape war or sometimes extreme poverty. The children, who came by steamship, were often mistreated and overworked. Many died in childhood, and 75 of them are buried at Park Lawn. In 2017, a group of community-minded citizens raised some money to build a memorial to those children. The monument is topped with a porthole reclaimed from one of the steamships used to transport the children. Below the porthole are the names and ages of all 75 of them.

It’s very safe for walkers in the cemetery. Nobody ever coughs on us. There are no teenagers gathered to party. The bodies of the residents are buried not only 6 feet under, but 6 feet apart as well. There are lots of flowers to admire, although most of them are plastic. There are loving messages and candles on many graves, candles that will burn forever in the minds of the bereaved families.

It’s very peaceful in the cemetery too. But one day recently we made some noise – when we saw deer! Could these be the same deer that we saw in our back yard a few weeks ago? We called out to them but they didn’t seem to recognize us. Fortunately we had just been to Sunnyland, and Peter was not giving up. He pulled some lettuce out of his bag and held it up, running after them and yelling “Deer, deer, come and get some lettuce! Nice and fresh, just for you!!” The deer turned and ran the other way, looking for a place to stay safe.

Dear readers, please stay safe too. And stay out of cemeteries, unless you are just going for a walk.

Sue