In Ontario we have all been suffering under the leadership of Doug Ford. It started out almost as a joke. Remember the new licence plates he ordered, where the paint wore off after just a few weeks? Or the “buck a beer” campaign? We all laughed at this big goof, never imagining that he could figure out how to do us real harm.

But now the tide has turned and we have enough documented evidence to be worried. During the pandemic, Ford killed thousands of older people by not overseeing the running of for-profit nursing homes which, as it turns out, were owned by his rich buddies or campaign donors. Then he tried to usurp public lands, notably the greenbelt, for housing developments, once again owned by buddies and donors. Recently we were overwhelmed by his decision to tear down the Ontario Science Centre and rebuild just a tiny part of it somewhere inside his posh new spa at Ontario Place.

Cries of “Ford Has To Go!” rang out. Peter and I heard the call. We are on a mission – to find a replacement for Doug Ford.

First we assessed the political landscape and joined the liberal party. A few dollars for membership is a small price to pay to have a say in Ontario’s future. Yes, the liberal party has made mistakes in the past, McGinty’s gas plants for example. And, during the last election Steven Del Duca did not inspire nearly enough confidence in voters.

When Mississauga mayor Bonnie Crombie announced her decision to run, we went to her opening day meet-and-greet. It was a pub, with wine and snacks. We met her partner who was supportive from behind, a great place for a partner in this endeavour. We greeted her son, Jonathan, whom we already knew from his involvement in previous elections. We were introduced to another campaign worker, a man I knew because he has donated hundreds of children’s books to our local food bank. We met Bonnie’s mom, likely in her late 80’s – in a pub at 9:00 pm. Pretty good support all around.

At the next public event, Crombie and 4 other candidates met for a short presentation. It was more business-like. Only coffee and cookies were served. Each of the 5 candidate spoke for about 5-10 minutes and I must tell you that all of them seemed worthy, They all have university degrees and speak well. Each has political experience, either as an MP or an MPP. But we didn’t hear much about their platforms that night.

At our third event we listened to an actual debate. No food was served that night – it was all business, One candidate had dropped out in order to throw his support behind Crombie, but the other 4 all talked for a couple of hours, answering questions submitted by the panel. In short, they mostly agreed on the big issues: affordable housing, health care, and cost of living. Once again, we felt that any of them could run our province effectively. But the big question still remained: Which one of them could defeat Doug Ford? Stay tuned for the next blog post.

Only kidding… Peter and I have to make up our minds by next Sunday, voting day for liberal party members. We were disappointed when 2 of the candidates joined together to try to defeat Crombie. It has a feel of anti-feminism we just can’t get past. Crombie has done well as Mayor of Mississauga, and as MP before that. She has the political experience and the smarts. Most of all, she is feisty. We can really imagine her standing on stage with Ford, and fighting back. She will not let him push her around.

So, dear readers, on Sunday we will be voting for Bonnie Crombie on behalf of you, the residents of Ontario. You deserve someone better than you have, as Premier.

Sue

Peter and I both have relatives who were involved in WWII. Peter’s father fought for Italy and my uncle was killed on a mission to Germany. On Saturday, November 11 we were tied up with household chores, so we postponed our remembrances. But on Sunday we decided to take a stroll down University Ave, one of Toronto’s most stately streets, and visit some war memorials there.

We began, and ended, at Queen’s Park. At the first corner Peter spied a soldier on a horse. He wondered if it could possibly be Garibaldi, his favourite war hero, displayed in all big cities across Italy. But sadly Garibaldi had not immigrated to Canada. Instead it was King Edward VII, the monarch who officially opened the park back in 1860, even before the legislative building was there.

Next we came upon 3 small gardens dedicated to the late Queen Elizabeth II: her Golden Jubilee, the diamond one, and the most recent Platinum Jubilee just before her death. According to a tourist strolling near us, there was supposed to be a brand-new statue dedicated to the long-reigning Queen. We wandered farther until the woman shouted: “There She IS!” Well yes she was, but I think the sculptor could have done a better job on her face.

As we rambled along, we discovered that the Queen’s Park grounds host 32 plaques and monuments, dedicated to various Monarchs, Ministers, and causes. Sir John A. Macdonald has a statue. William Lyon Mackenzie, Toronto’s first mayor, is represented by a bust. Sir Oliver Mowat, Ontario’s third prime minister (as they were called back in the day), stands tall near the front doors of the building. I stopped in my tracks. Did this mean that All the provincial premiers would be here, even the bad ones, no names mentioned? I wasn’t sure I wanted to see any more.

But we needed to find the war memorial so we carried on. We were looking for something tall and we almost missed it. But there it was, built in 2006, tucked into the side of a hill: a 30-meter granite wall with lazar-etched photographic images depicting scenes of Canada’s role in war and peace-keeping since 1867. The most recent inscription reads: “campaign against terror.” In front of the wall more than 75 wreathes had been placed on Remembrance Day.

This wall and the other memorials in Queen’s Park are not just about WW I and WW II. Nearby is another sculpture, this one dedicated to Canadians who died during the war in Afghanistan.

And at the south entrance, the most poignant memorial of all. Donors have laid down children’s shoes; reminders of those who suffered in Residential schools in our past, and children who are suffering today in Ukraine, Israel, Palestine and around the world.

At this point, about 3:30, the sun was beginning to set. We would have to save our southward journey along University Avenue for another day. But we were glad to have spent some time remembering the sacrifices that others made, so that we could enjoy a lovely fall afternoon in a beautiful park.

Sue

My suggestion recently for an outing to the Bata Shoe Museum did not meet with Peter’s approval. I have loved shoes since I was a kid, but Peter is not interested, as you can see below:

Peter’s shoes:

Museum Shoes:

The Bata Shoe Museum is a unique structure. The shoe collection started as a hobby for Sonja Bata, wife of shoe magnet Thomas J Bata. When her collection became too big for their house, they hired architect Raymond Moriyama to design a building.

Moriyama was born in BC and created his first structure at the age of 12: a treehouse where he imagined he could hide from the Canadian Government’s plan for internment of Japanese immigrants during WW II. Since then he has designed several masterpieces including the Toronto Reference Library and the Ontario Science Centre. Perhaps fortunately, he died in September of this year, so he won’t have to witness the possible demolition of the Science Centre.

But I digress…

The Shoe Museum, completed in 1995, features elements of Moriyama’s style: lots of light and lots of wood. The new exhibit, Dressed To Impress: Footwear and Consumerism In the 1980’s, grabbed my attention. According to the introduction, ( and my foggy memory), the 80’s are known in the fashion world for an emergence of new styles: bright colours, stiletto heels, and high-status sneakers. This was a decade that encouraged fashion as a way to promote one’s individual style. Fashion advertising became common. You may remember music videos, Jane Fonda workout shows, other TV shows and movies that promoted fashion shamelessly.

One of the displays, Let’s Get Physical, features athletic footwear. Here you can see several kinds of sneakers: Reeboks, Adidas, comfy sneakers designed for women who were now commuting to work. Another 1980’s trend, technology, is represented in “computer shoes” which contain a chip to record running distance and time, similar to today’s Fitbit. The famous Air Jordan takes centre stage in this exhibit; and how about a shoe for Jordan’s girlfriend?

During the 1980’s, famous people promoted specific styles. In the Museum you can see cowboy boots belonging to Robert Redford, and black boots worn by Molly Ringwald in The Breakfast Club. Princess Diana sported a pair of low-heeled shoes fashioned after men’s saddle shoes of the 1950’s. Diahann Carroll wore these shoes befitting the “filthy rich.”

Other new styles of the 80’s included deck shoes for yachters, jelly shoes for young teen girls, and high-fashion shoes for celebrity actors like Madonna. Devotees of punk found footwear to their liking too: stilettos decorated with studs for goth girls, and these “brothel creepers’ for the guys. Notice the thick rubber sole, perfect for sneaking around:

By the end of the 1980’s, footwear was a defining element for every well-dressed man and woman. Who better to represent them than the Queen of Shoes who owned over 3,000 pairs? Presenting:

So grab your best sneakers and run on down to the Bata Shoe Museum for a nostalgic glimpse into the past.

Sue

Peter and I live in a neighbourhood where Halloween is a BIG thing. In honour of all our neighbours who put so much work into this event, I have chosen some haunted yards to share with you. Enjoy.

Here are some of our neighbours hard at work:

Celebrating the evening are bouncers, dragons and polka dot cuties:

And the perfect couple:

Trick or treating: take a boat, drive a car, or hop on spider rider:

But don’t get caught in a graveyard like these guys:

Tell your grandkids to be very very careful.

Then sneak up behind and steal their candy.

Happy Halloween!

Sue

Ps Like my new haircut?

Just a short drive from Toronto, readers can find a conservation area well worth a visit. Crawford Lake sits amid the Halton Hills, surrounded by walking and hiking trails.

Peter and I joined friends there last week, friends we have known for over 15 years. We first met on an organized hiking trip to Corfu, Greece in 2008. It was a memorable trip – in fact it was our honeymoon! Not every couple chooses a hiking trip as a honeymoon destination. Most prefer to spend their energy elsewhere. But we had been living together for a while, and we ended the trip with a romantic cruise of the Greek Islands.

During the Corfu part we met 15 other like-minded souls and we bonded. Since then we have met at least once a year, in the fall, for a reunion and a hike. The reunions started off with a weekend away, to Prince Edward County one year, the Adirondacks another, and somewhere in Quebec another. We would have a sleepover a couple of nights so we could stay up late drinking wine and sharing stories.

As we grew older the trips grew shorter. Now we hike (or walk) somewhere local and have lunch afterwards, with water or coffee to drink. There are fewer of us too, alas… But we still enjoy each others’ company and being together in the outdoors. Crawford Lake Conservation Area is a great place for us. And maybe for you too.

The trails are of varying length and difficulty, from a 1-kilometer boardwalk around the lake, to a 9-kilometer hike up and up to Rattlesnake Point. On this particular visit, we chose something in between, a route which led to a view from the escarpment. The colours were beautiful. We walked past the original Crawford homestead, now just a cement pad. The Crawford family bought the land in the late 1800’s and used it as a summer residence. Then, in 1969, the forward-thinking descendants sold it to Conservation Halton.

The view from the escarpment

Next we strolled on the boardwalk around the meromictic lake – 2 distinct layers of water that never mix. The sediment at the bottom collects evidence of history, including corn pollen, which led researchers to look for the remains of an Iroquois village. This village is re-created on the property. Visitors can browse through 10 longhouses full of Indigenous artifacts.

Winding our way along the Woodland Train toward the exit, we came across several beautifully crafted wood sculptures. Local artists have outdone themselves representing wildlife in the area and providing seating for tired hikers.

Then it was time for lunch. We drove to the nearby village of Campbellville, where the restaurant choices were limited to an upscale dining room with linen tablecloths and expensive wine, or a neighbourhood hang-out with plastic on the tables and coffee on tap. We chose the latter and found a large empty table on the patio.

After a while it became clear that the waiter on duty was also the cook, host, and cashier. A few hikers got up and found cutlery, menus and water pitchers. Somehow I got to be the stand-in waitress. Despite my lack of recent experience, ( Peter often waits on me!), everyone got the food they had ordered. We raised our water glasses and coffee cups in a toast to another great reunion.

Sue

PS Some of the other hikers took a few of these pictures – thanks!

Technology is changing so fast in our lives that sometimes it’s necessary for an update: a few tidbits that don’t make a whole story but that change our lives in small ways. Sometimes good, sometimes not.

In the news last week an actress married to Canadian pianist and composer David Foster confessed to a serious version of losing your device. Her toddler son who had an ipad – what 2-year-old needs an ipad? – was using it too much. So she did what any distracted mother would do: she hid it in the oven. Then Thanksgiving dinner came along, and you probably guessed the ending already. A metallic-tasting turley.

Our grandson Ben, who is 7 and loves gadgets, got caught by technology recently. On the way to a baseball game with his parents one Saturday, he dropped into a STEM camp and built something electric. You’d have to ask him for a complete explanation, but it had wires and batteries and he was proud of his creation. But, at the entrance to the basebal game, it set off an alarm – not just a tiny beep but an alarm so loud that the security team came running to investigate. They were preparing to call the Bomb Squad when they came upon tiny Ben, who proudly took his little creation out of his backpack to show them. After playing with his gadget, they decided he did not have to go to jail.

Thursday night, on a long walk with Agnes, I had a sudden urge to find a washroom. Dear Agnes, who is pretty savvy about everything, said “Oh Nana, I know where to find one.” Just ahead was a silver shed. I put a quarter into the slot. The doors slid open, music began to serenade me, and a soothing voice whispered, “Welcome!” The door locked behind me and I was treated to a comfy seat which was automatically flushed and sprayed with cleaner after each use. The sink provided water, soap, and towels electronically. With a push of a button, the doors slid open and the voice said “Thank you for visiting.”

If you are not impressed so far, because you would NEVER put an ipad in the oven, you don’t have any tecchie grandkids, and you NEVER intend to visit a public washroom, then here is another option: next time you are waiting for a while in a doctor’s office, take out your phone and browse through the menu. You can do Anything on your phone. Try it: use the flashlight to look inside your purse or man-bag for your next pill, play games to keep your brain from atrophying, check your rising blood pressure, create a music video to entertain the other patients, and, if you wait long enough, write your autobiography.

And the grand finale? Let me introduce Elli*Q. She (or maybe they) is a robot companion for people who are sometimes lonely. She can help with verbal reminders about appointments, financial advice, kids’ birthdays and news updates. Ths amazing non-human can also share conversations, jokes and holiday celebrations. She is known to “provide peace of mind and empathy in a relationship that grows through time.” She could become your best friend! Although there is no mention of her cooking a turkey.

Sue

Isn’t she just so cute?

This year’s holiday brought regret along with the usual joy of sharing a meal with family and friends. There was our disappointment in the weather which had turned cold and rainy after several beautiful summer-like days. There was the price of turkey which forecd many families to switch to chicken or even plants. Then there was, and continues to be, ongoing tragedy in the world: including Ukraine, Afghanistan, and most recently Israel.

To distract myself, I picked up a copy of Food and Drink magazine at the LCBO. This is one of the few perks of paying such high prices for wine grown just down the highway, and having to bring your own bag to the store now too. The magazine photos are colourful and the recipes are sometimes quite delicious.

This latest issue has a theme. The magazine is celebrating 30 years of publication and the holiday theme is Then and Now. I could hardly believe how our tastes have changed from the 1990’s. For example, a good old-fashioned hamburger with tomato, relish and mustard is no longer worth eating. Snce then, we have moved through the era of the “slider,” a couple of tiny burgers with some gourmet garnish on a fancy plate. But now even a slider won’t do. Now we must have a “smashburger.” This concoction of 3 beef patties, 2 different exotic cheeses and a few strips of bacon, all drenched in fat, sounds like a killer burger to me.

Other classics have been updated too. “Macaroni and cheese” has become “Shells WIth Vodka-Squsash Sauce”. (Well it IS a liquor store magazine, after all). Anther favourite drink from the 90’s, the perfectly delicious margarita, has been modernized into an avocado margarita, still with lime juice and tequila, but substituting the other juices with pureed avocado, and rimming the glass with chili powder. I guess it could be healthy.

Who is responsible for making these decisions to update our food choices? Well, like just about every trend these days, we rely on food “influencers.” In my mother’s day it was Betty Crocker, with her frilly white apron over her house dress. Then Julia Child took over and French cuisine was all the rage. Recently Stanley Tucci has been promoting Italian dishes. But now? How do we deal with dishes such as “Roasted Goldenheart potatoes with Iberico pork, sheep’s milk cheddar, and sherry-butter sauce”? Who has the time or the money to even buy all these ingredients?

This year I went with some traditional dishes. The turkey was not air-fried or perched on the BBQ with a beer can stuck up its butt; it was right-side up in the oven and the dressing was an old family favourite. But I got a little edgy with the vegetables and tried a version of an indigenous recipe called “Three Sisters” to which I added a couple of cousins and a neighbour. At least the adults liked it. And one of our daughters brought sweet potatoes roasted in a maple sauce that was deilcious.

But old or new, does it really matter? Basically I am saying that, whatever you ate for Thanksgiving dinner, a family traditonal recipe or something nouvelle cuisine, you had food on your plate and a safe place to eat it. Many people in the world would gladly give thanks to be in our place.

Sue

“What?” you ask. “Writing about swimming in October?” Yes I am. With the unexpected gift of a few sunny warm days, I have swimming on my mind.

Peter and I only went swimming in a lake a few times this past summer. We swam at our son’s cottage in Muskoka. Actually I didn’t swim much. Instead I tried to join Ben and Gavin, the grandkids, on their lily pad while they used me as target practice with their water pistols. Peter swam across the lake one day and was pleased with his accomplishment. Another day he went swimming accidentally when his kayak almost submerged with him in it.

Peter chasing the kayak; vacated lily pad in front

Swimming in the city is usually convenient. There are several public pools – indoor and outdoor. A few times we walked up the street to our local outdoor pool, heated and not too crowded in the deep end. One day in August we took grandchildren Sophie and Gavin there for an afternoon of diving for octopus. Gavin was not armed and we all had fun. We threw the plastic toys and they dove for them. After they were tired out, we walked home for ice cream. The pool is a delight but it is now closed until next summer.

One of our daughters lives in a condo with an indoor pool, and we sometimes get invited for a Sunday swim. The water is warm and there are noodles for floating; both requirements for an aging Nana. Mostly we watch our grand daughter, Agnes, practise her swimming skills for the competitive swim team she has joined. A couple of weeks ago she taunted Peter with an offer of a race. He couldn’t resist the challenge. On the first try, she beat him 4 laps to 1. But on the next race, Peter got out his best swim stroke and turned up the heat – she still beat him, but only 2 to 1. Pretty good when you consider that she is 12 and he is 77!

Last Friday, when Lucy arrived and we hadn’t discussed where to go for a walk, we decided to investigate an indoor pool only a few kilometers away. This pool, Gus Ryder Community Pool, has a reputation with seniors for having warm water And warm dressing rooms. This is our kind of pool! We weren’t too sure how things worked, so we took bathing suits, towels, a few small bills and not much else.

The small bills covered the entrance fee – $5.00 for both of us. The pool was divided into 4 sections for lane swimming: fast, medium, slow and FAT aka Float And Talk! Peter chose Medium and I chose FAT. There were a number of older women in that section and they were definitely talking a lot, as they wandered from one end of the pool to the other, sometimes splashing their arms around from side to side.

I found a spot on one side of the FAT lane, where I could do some lengths at my own pace. There was classical music playing and it was heavenly. After about an hour, Peter and I got out of the pool and went to our separate change rooms. I had a lovely shower and was able to dry my hair under a hand dryer that had been installed at head height. Everything worked well for me.

Peter, on the other hand, had forgotten shampoo and soap. He tried to “borrow” mine, but one of the lifeguards came to my rescue and told him there was soap in his change room. Well there was, but it was with the sinks, not the showers. So Peter spent a lot of time running from the shower to the sinks and filling his cupped hands with soap, running back to the shower as the soap dripped onto the floor, washing one body part, running back to the sinks while trying to avoid the slippery floor spots, getting more soap, running to the shower, washing another body part, and so on. It took a while.

Meanwhile I sat in the lobby waiting for him and planning his Christmas gift – soap on a rope.

Sue

Our local pool, closed for the season

September is the month for 2 important Italian traditions: Tomato Day and wine-making. Ever since I have known him, Peter has celebrated both. Recetly tomatoes have given way to Rau tomato sauce, available at specialty stores and a whole lot easier than home-canning. But wine-making is in a special category – one connected to social gatherings. ” Vieni alla mia casa, e beviamo un bottiglia di vino!”

When we lived in the country, Peter visited a local vineyard to buy his grapes, and made the wine in our 2-car garage. But how would we manage this important tradition in the middle of a big city? There certainly weren’t any vineyards at Bloor and Jane, and only a few of the homes for sale had garages, (tiny ones only big enough for a tiny car). As we packed up our country house, Peter tearfully sold his heritage grape press.

Then we moved – to a house with a 2-car garage and extra space in the front. Peter began dreaming of buying back his press. Then he started looking for grapes. He explored the neighbourhood where Italians settled when they immigrated to Canada in the 1950’s: St Clair and Caledonia. And there he discovered Macedo Winery. He came home beaming, and loaded with grape juice. No need for a press now! He washed out some demijohns and set up his wine business in the garage. Soon the juice was bubbling away.

This year Peter’s day for grape shopping was a Lucy cleaning day. So I decided to go shopping with him. Granted it was not as exciting as Winners or Home Sense, but I was curious. The Macedo parking lot was overflowing with cars. I was astonished by the number of cases of grapes and the variety of choices. Whites were available in: Chardonnay, Reisling, Sauvignon Blanc, and Muscato. The reds came in: Merlot, Pinot Noir, and my favourite; Cabernet Sauvignon.

At this stage of the process, “wine tasting” amounted to customers wandering around, sneaking hands into the cases, and sampling the grapes. I happily joined in. We selected our grapes – 5 cases this year instead of 10 – the new alcohol guidelines had us being a little more careful. The cases were delivered by forklift to a huge crusher where the stems were removed. Then the juice and skins were transferred to buckets with very tight lids, so we could drive them home in our car withouth drowning.

When the clerk took our money I asked her if ours was an average-sized order. She said yes, But in the 1950’s and 60’s the average order was 50 cases, not 5. Those early immigrants sure did a lot of partying! She also told me that, during those 70 years, the business had grown and changed names several times. There were now 2 grape distribution centers and one fancy wine bar which hosted wine tastings, food pairings, and weddings. The entire family was involved.

We drove home carefully with our juice and Peter dumped it into the large barrel where it would bubble away, fermenting. During this time, it was dangerous to go into the garage without a mask – you could get a little muddled from inhaling the fumes, and we were already muddled enough from age.

One more trip to the winery with the juice was in order – so the juice could be pressed and the skins removed. Now we are waiting a little longer for the juice to finish fermenting. In a few weeks, I mean months, the wine will be drinkable. And finally – bottling time!

Meanwhile, every once in a while, Peter disappears. I find him in the garage, stirring, sniffing, and secretly tasting. “Quality Control” he calls it.

Sue

Some people wll do almost anything to come up with a topic for a blog post.

A few weeks ago I was on the subway going downtown to meet a friend for lunch – when I lost my wedding ring. I stared down at my bare ring finger and let out a shriek. The ring must have slipped off my finger somehow. I got on my hands and knees, not a pretty sight thses days, and began looking under the seats. I won’t tell you what I found down there but it was not gold or diamonds. Others joined me in my search but we found nothing. So I got off at the next subway stop, which happened to be Bay, and rushed to the Lost and Found Office, where I met my new best friend Nancy.

Nancy was about the age of someone who might be hoping for a wedding ring herself, and she gave me a big hug. Then she carefully took down my contact information. She mentioned that rings sometimes did get turned in. After all, this is Toronto the Good, right? In fact there was a ring in their collection right now, but it had pearls instead of diamonds. Maybe there was hope.

Then I met my original friend for lunch. Before I even said hello, I blurted out my news. Her jaw dropped. She asked her burning question: was I going to tell Peter? I hadn’t actually gotten that far in my thinking. Of course I would tell him. Wouldn’t I? Then I remembered that Peter doesn’t wear any rings and doesn’t notice if others do either. Could I just pretend that mine was in my jewellery box – for the next 20 years or so?

I thought about my ring all through lunch. I have no idea what else we talked about. Mostly my friend talked and I nodded. On the subway home, I got on the floor again, thinking maybe luck was with me and I was on the same train. Of course I wasn’t. Or it wasn’t. Or whatever. I was so distracted I don’t remember.

At home I blurted out the news again. Peter reached me for a hug and said: I will love you forever, ring or no ring.” That hurdle overcome, I began to think about whether our home insurance policy would cover the ring, and whether I even wanted to replace it. But, after a few days without it, I began to miss my ring. My finger looked so bare. Was I even really married without it?

So the research began. I hounded Nancy at the TTC, without success. Then I found the insurance certificate from the jewellery store where Peter had originally bought the ring in 2008. Peter called the insurance company and found out that, yes, they would cover most of the loss, except for the deductible amount. Then, somewhat daunted, I began the search for a new ring. Where to start?

First I went back to the original jewellery store which was, miraculously, still in business. The clerk looked over the certificate and said he would check the SKU – a lot number for that particular style of ring, And there it was – in another store – one ring, the same as mine, 15 years later. Neither of us could believe it. I almost gave him a hug too – I was getting a lot of new best friends over this piece of jewellery.

A couple of weeks later, after the ring had been tried on and re-sized, Peter and I made plans to celebrate. We would go to the jewellery store together to pick up the ring, and then go out for lunch.

At the store, I gave the clerk my phone to take a picture. No, Peter did Not get down on one knee. Come on – we are OLD! But he did ask:”Will you marry me again?” After a short pause for dramatic effect, I said yes.

Sue