While this is a Christian term for the season leading up to Christmas and the birth of Christ, for kids there’s excitement too – of a different kind. As early as November, children of all ages start behaving better in the interests of getting goodies from Santa. It’s a tough slog towing the line for that many days. No wonder some smart advertising company, back in the 70’s, began taking advantage of the calendar idea to sell things.

The first time I remember buying an Advent calendar was when my own kids were little. It was a cardboard box, about the size of a fat colouring book. There were 24 little compartments, which could be poked into, and inside there would be a piece of chocolate, stamped with a Santa face, or a star, or an ornament. Early on the morning of December 1st the kids would grab their calendars, gulp down the chocolate in one bite, and exclaim: “Only 23 more days to behave!”

A few years ago a new kind of calendar emerged; online. My niece Amy, living in BC, sent me one. It was 24 days of little online surprises: a special Christmas scene drawn before my eyes, a recipe for a holiday treat, a story read with background Christmas music. What a Great idea! I watched, thinking of Amy and her new life out west, for 24 days.

Then Amy’s dad got into the game. In Port Dover my brother and his partner joined a group of 24 neighbours who get together yearly to create what is known as a living advent calendar. Every evening one of the 24 families reveals their decorated front window, to a chorus of “ooh’s” and “ahh’s” from the visitors waiting outside. Then the hosts serve a holiday treat: like hot chocolate. This year the stakes are higher – whiskey shooters – and the crowds are merrier too.

In November a friend gave Peter and me an eating kind of calendar: 24 days of cheese! Every evening before dinner we pour ourselves a glass of wine and try to remember what day it is. Then we frantically search for the correctly numbered little door and open it to cheddar, smoked, Mexicana, or Leichester. Yummy.

Our Cheese Calendar on Day 13

Recently I did a little research to see what else is available. For kids, the tiny chocolate bits have been replaced by Lego figures, or fake gemstones from National geographic. For women there are little samples of beauty products, or herbal teas or, for that really special woman in your life; a Swarovski calendar with miniature crystal figures, for only $1,000!

Men are not off the hook. For them you can purchase an advent sock calendar, But note that there are only 12 pairs of socks in this calendar. Does that mean that they can only change one sock per day? Or that they change both socks every 2 days, which is just about average for some men I know, not mentioning any names?

This advent calendar shopping is not without its challenges. And so I offer you some words of caution:

The Proseco calendar: too big for your fridge!

The Love Calendar with the warning: “Not safe for work.” well duh….

The Lidi Chocolate calendar: “May contain salmonella,” Buy this for your nasty neighbour.

And finally, I am not making this up, the COSTCO Dog Delights Advent calendar – sold out!

Happy Advent

Sue

Photo taken from COSTCO website

Yesterday our mailman did not deliver anything. On Friday he brought 2 Christmas cards and 7 advertising flyers. It was a far cry from the olden days.

When I was a child, admittedly a long time ago, mail was delivered twice a day during December. Twice a Day! Plus Saturdays. My mother spent a couple of weeks writing and addressing some 200 cards every year, and we got a similar number in return. The cards were displayed on every flat surface – on mantels, ledges, plate rails and coffee tables. It was a feast of greeting cards.

Peter has a different Christmas card memory. One year, when he was a teenager looking for money, he was hired as a mailman’s assistant for the month of December. He enjoyed being active and outside. But he was especially happy when he started getting gifts in some of the mailboxes: chocolates, home-made cookies, even money. Sadly his windfall was short-lived – soon the regular mail man noticed what was happening and confiscated the gifts, explaining that they were Not intended for the lowly part-time assistant!

In honour of this year’s Christmas mailing season, Peter and I recently visited Toronto’s very first Post Office, opened in 1837. In those days the centre of the city of 9,000 people was in the east end, 10 blocks square: Queen St to the north, Front Street and Lake Ontario to the south, Parliament on the east, and Yonge St on the west side. The Post Office was, and still is, situated on Adelaide St, the heart of the financial district in the 1800’s.

Entrance

The original Post Office is still open to the public, as a working post office and as a museum. When we walked in, we were greeted by the clerk who was busy selling stamps and weighing packages, just like at any other Toronto postal station. Behind her, arranged in neat rows, were the mailboxes of local residents. And on the opposite wall were postal items for sale – unusual stamps and coins, writing paper, sealing wax, and replica quill pens.

Mailboxes

In another room visitors are drawn to a topographical scale model of Toronto as it was in 1837. The Post Office can be seen in the centre and, if you look closely, you can pick out the north building of the St. Lawrence Market. But the south building is not there; that land was still beneath the waters of Lake Ontario. On the western boundary of the small city, the flatiron building is standing alone in a field of grass.

Scale Model of Toronto in 1837

The Reading Room is at the back of the Post Office/ Museum. This cozy place had chairs and tables, and a fireplace to keep the room warm while locals sat to read their mail or write return letters. They needed the Postmaster’s help with this, as many of them were illiterate. The cost of mailing a letter was steep too. For a piece of mail to go by stage coach to Niagara Falls, the postage would be 4 pence or more. But people were more than willing to pay in order to stay connected with friends and family living far away.

These days there is a different attitude towards mail in general, and Christmas cards in particular. People have other options, like email messages, or online card companies such as Jacqui Lawson or America Greetings. If you choose to be more creative, you can use the services of COSTCO for example and have cards designed with family photos and a printed message. Then all you have to do is shove the card into an envelope, add an address label printed at Staples, and a “family letter” highlighting all the achievements of your exceptional grandchildren. Voila! your card is ready to go.

Then take the subway downtown, walk over to 260 Adelaide St E, and mail your Christmas greetings!

My signature, using a quill pen

Last week I told you about visiting Varsity Stadium when Peter and I sauntered along Bloor St. on a Friday afternoon. But that’s not all we saw on that well-known cross-town street in mid-Toronto.

Bloor is famous for many tourist places and activities: the ROM with its infamous crystal jutting out like an ugly growth and its unique gift shop inside, or the Bata Shoe Museum which houses Elvis Presley’s blue patent loafers, or the old Park Hyatt 18th floor Bar from where we used to be able to see the CN tower.

The ROM

Bloor St. holds personal memories for me too. Many decades ago I studied at OCE, the Ontario College of Education. I lived in a one-bedroom apartment with 2 other young women. We had all our clothes in one tiny closet, and we put on all our make-up in one tiny bathroom. And we are still friends! I have also visited the Royal Conservatory of Music on a couple of important occasions. Once I took our grand daughter Sophie for her piano exam. I was almost as nervous as she was; I wanted so badly for her to do well. And she did! Recently my niece’s husband Ryan, a violin maker, was part of an exhibition in the same building, where he and a couple of other exhibitors were chosen “best in show.”

OCE where I studied. Twenty years later, when it was changed to UTS, Peter’s daughter Andrea went to high school there.

Ryan’s violin

Some of my best Bloor memories are about…shopping! After I graduated from OCE, I found a teaching job and got my first real paycheck. What did I do with it? I bought a pair of brown shoes at a very expensive store called Brown’s Shoes! It was located in the newly constructed Colonade, one of the early shopping malls in Toronto.

During the holiday season many shoppers take advantage of Bloor St, soaking up the festive atmosphere and doing a lot of window shopping. On that particular Friday, Peter followed me along reluctantly as I checked out the windows with their finest window dressing. I went to Holt Renfrew first because that is the company that began this trend several years ago, Then I caught sight of a couple of window dressers doing up Harry Rosen in style. Farther along I noticed that Dior and Vutton had “gone rogue” with some nouveau art designs. And then, I am sorry to say, Peter had run out of patience for shopping. We went home to relax and watch TV.

Hold Renfrew’s 2022 Christmas window.

Harrry Rosen being gussied up for the holiday season.

Sadly for Peter, shopping has been in the news a lot lately. We watched a story about “vanity sizing” where factories mark jean sizes smaller than they actually are, so that customers can indulge in a fantasy that they have lost weight. Another story making the news was about “convershopping” – the idea the people shop only to keep up with the current small talk. “Have you heard about the latest xxx? Well I managed to get one of the first ones on sale at yyy!”

By this time, Peter was falling asleep in his chair.

Good luck with your holiday shopping,

Sue

Vutton and Dior go rogue for the holidays

This past weekend, many of us took part in a Canadian tradition – the Grey Cup. This annual football match began in 1909 when Governor General Earl Grey commissioned a trophy in his name and the Toronto Varsity Blues met their opponents, the Parkdale Club – at Rosedale Field. The Blues threw, kicked, passed and tackled their way to a victory before an audience of 4,000 spectators. Since then, the Blues, re-invented as the Argos, have collected the prized trophy 18 times, more than any other team in the CFL.

The Grey Cup match has never again been played at Rosedale Field, moving instead around southern Ontario to places like Kingston and Sarnia, and then expanding to Montreal, Ottawa, and western Canada. During this time the trophy has been broken, stolen, burned and kidnapped. Even in its battered state, it is much coveted by Canadian teams. Rivalries are strong; a Saskatchewan fan announced on TV recently that she would rather get Covid than watch the Winnipeg team play the Argos at HER Rough Rider stadium.

In Toronto the game has moved around from Rosedale Field, to Varsity Stadium, Exhibition Place, the Rogers Centre, and the last time, BMO Field in 2016. Coincidentally, on our recent Friday excursion, Peter and I decided to walk along Bloor St, from Yonge to Spadina. Dear readers, I could write several posts about all that we saw along the way. But one venue stood out for us on that day – Varsity Stadium.

Peter stopped, as if hypnotized. And then memories came flooding back. His older brother, Victor, had taken him to Varsity to watch soccer when he was a little kid, new to Canada. One time he recalls that the international star, Pele, came to paly there and Peter watched in fear as the crowds outside the stands, so eager to get in, charged over the wall and outnumbered the police. Later, Peter played high school football here in the 1960’s when he was a Downsview Mustang. He went on to play university football here too as a member of the Queen’s Golden Gaels. Then in the 1980’s he returned as a Dad when he refereed his own kids in little league soccer.

Peter finally tore himself away from the past, and we continued to wander along Bloor St until we found the plaque describing the history of the Cup and the stadium:

This year the Grey Cup’s 109th game was viewed by over 4 million people; some at a stadium, some at a bar, and some in private homes. Our own particular tradition is to gather with friends at a private home, share chips, wine, beer, wings and chili. The men sit in front of the TV, eyes glued to the screen, and the women sit discreetly to the side so we can ah…gossip.

Another much-loved part of the evening is making bets on each quarter of the game. We started at 25 cents per bet, but last year somebody suggested a loonie instead, and this year, due to inflation of course, the bets cost a toonie. It certainly makes the game more interesting; even interrupting the gossip at times. Also this year, as you already know, the betting became a moral issue. Should we bet on the team that was winning, or on the team that represented our home town, even though they were losing through most of the game??

Fortunately, everything went well, and we’ll see you at the Grey Cup celebration on Thursday.

Sue

Varsity Stadium

When we returned from Italy to Toronto Pearson Airport last week, we were greeted by the customs agent with a friendly “welcome back.” It was heart-warming. While our trip to Italy had been wonderful, it was nice to be home.

We six travelers had a few tearful good-byes at the baggage carousel – and Not because we had lost our luggage! We all felt a certain sadness that our holiday was over and it was back to our usual routines. As well, both of the other families were facing doggie trauma. James and Glenda’s dog, Venus, had been homesick in her boarding place, had eaten very little, and had lost a lot of weight. So they were on a mission to fatten her up. Even worse, Jen and Richard’s dog, Teidi, who was only 2, had collapsed and died suddenly while we were in the middle of our trip. His parents had held up pretty well around Italy, but now they would be facing the cold dog bed, the empty food dishes, and the dormant toys they would find at home.

Peter and I hugged them good bye, knowing there was no such trauma waiting for us at home. We knew that CUPE was on strike and the battle with Doug Ford was raging. We also knew that our neighbours in the USA were facing a potential threat to their democracy with the mid-term elections. And we knew that mountains of leaves would be covering our driveway and lawn, waiting to be raked. But otherwise, things would be fine. Wouldn’t they?

Leaves waiting for us on the driveway

As the taxi drive navigated down the street towards our house, we began to see a lot of orange signs, Construction signs. How could this be? The road crew had been working industriously when we left, covering up new water pipes, and preparing to lay the asphalt. Surely we would be driving on a new street by now. Wouldn’t we?

Well basically NO. Our street was in even worse shape than when we had left. Instead of buried pipes, we had wide gaping holes, with only orange plastic cones to keep drivers from tumbling in. Instead of new tar, we had deep ruts and dangerous ridges in our path. At least it was a Sunday and there was no work going on. Somehow the taxi driver managed to weave his way around the hazards and into our driveway, where we gave him a big tip. We hauled our suitcases through the mounds of leaves and into the house. Phew.

Gaping holes with only cones and yellow tape to protect drivers.

Monday morning, after a restless night on Italian time, we were awakened at 7:00 am by the sounds of bull dozers, gravel trucks, and steam rollers. The work went on, non-stop, all day. The steam rollers were the worst, pounding down the gravel and shaking the house so hard I figured our wine glasses were all done-for. During all this, of course Peter and I had to go out. We had drug prescriptions to fill, appointments to keep, and groceries to buy! We spoke to a road worker who managed to stop the truck traffic and get us out of the driveway,

Driving back home again was another matter. We live at a 3-way intersection, not a busy one but one that had to be navigated. When it was time to return with our groceries, we had no way to contact the road workers so we played a kind of game that you may have seen on TV: which of the 3 doors/streets has the prize/driveway behind it? After 3 tries and some melting ice cream, we finally hit the jackpot.- an opening to our driveway! We were so stressed that we sat down in the kitchen and ate the ice cream. All of it.

Ah… home sweet home. Come and visit if you dare.

Sue

Dearest loyal readers, you may have noticed that I’ve been absent, doing research, for the past couple of weeks, I am now home from a trip to Italy con mio marito – oh excuse me – with my husband, my 2 adult children, and their spouses We were a happy little group of 6 and we had a great time. But no, I will not be including any family gossip in this post; like the day we visited Peter’s family in Veroli and met ALL of his cousins. Or the time Jennifer was left behind in the washroom at Pompeii. Or the number of fridge magnets that James bought in a single day. Nope – whatever happened in Italy stays in Italy. For the most part.

We had planned and postponed this trip for about 2 years, strategizing around career changes, doggie boarding arrangements, and Covid. We canvassed the group to find out their most desired sights and any concerns about travelling together; night owls vs early birds, shoppers vs sightseers, hikers vs riders. We also worried about the weather in late October/early November. Should we take bathing suits or fleeces? Finally, on Saturday October 22, we met at Pearson airport and flew away together.

Our family group begins our adventure in Peter’s home province

We chose a number of different places to visit, including Rome, Florence, Venice, Sicily Naples, and a couple of outsiders; Croatia and Corfu. To get around efficiently, we travelled on bullet train, subway, tour bus, vaporetto, cruise ship and on foot. Especially on foot. Most days we covered over 15,000 steps. Several times, especially in big cities, we almost got run over by speeding motorcycles, or tourist horses and carriages. But we marvelled at the highlights along the way: the Trevi Fountain where we made wishes, Vatican City with its incredible art collection, the impressive Duomo in Florence, the canals of Venice lit up at night, the dormant volcano at Mount Etna where Peter kept watching for signs of smoke, the stunning Amalfi Coast where Nobody was brave enough to sit on the coastal side of the bus.

Trevi Fountain, Rome

We stayed at hotels, B and B’s, and cruise ship cabins. In the evenings over dinner we shared stories of our accommodations. We compared the size of our showers; some so small that we could only wash half a body at a time. Or the noise: how many circus performers were actually staying in the rooms overhead? On the ship we designed elaborate plans for keeping our morning coffee hot as we travelled from the coffee station to our cabins. We sent out a search party to locate the mini-golf course. We nominated scouts to test the food in the 2 main restaurants before deciding where to eat.

We rode on the smallest elevator in the country

We did a lot of shopping as we flew past souvenir stores on our way to a monument or church. And the food… ah the food! We can tell you where to get the best pizza, the most delicate pasta al dente, and for sure, the best creamy and inexpensive gelato in the neighbourhood. We also became experts on local cheap red wines. As for the country’s 2 current popular drinks – we had them both; the aberol spritz while we sat, and even danced, on the Piazza San Marco, and the limoncello as we toasted our wonderful trip on our last night.

Enjoying the aberol spritz in Venice

And yes it Was a wonderful trip. We had a few hiccups, like hauling our suitcases over the cobbled streets as we searched for our hotel in Rome, trying to locate the tour bus for Amalfi which was changed to Sorrento at the last minute, stumbling through a rainstorm on the slick walkways of Pompeii. But during our trip we created a lot of memorable moments which will be with us all for a very long time.

So might I suggest that, besides leaving your kids an urn with your ashes inside, take them on a trip and leave them with lifelong memories as well.

Sue

Venice Grand Canal at night- voted the best place on our trip

Ghosts have started to appear in our neighbourhood. At first it was just one, but now there are groups of them! Something must be afoot.

If your kids are all grown up now and your grandchildren have mapped out their favourite Hallowe’en candy routes where all the rich people live, then you need something else to do to celebrate this haunting occasion. Might I make a few suggestions?

Go for a walk in a cemetery. They are beautiful at this time of year. If you go to Park Lawn near us, you will see deer instead of ghosts. But I hear that the Necropolis has some interesting residents, such as Joseph Tyrell. His life was filled with spooky creatures – he discovered the dinosaur badlands in Alberta back about 100 years ago.

Also buried in the Necropolis is William Lyon Mackenzie who led the rebellion against the government of Upper Canada in 1837. Mackenzie House, which was inhabited by Mackenzie for a few years, is reported to be the most haunted house in Toronto. A small bald man resembling Mackenzie is often seen in a third-floor bedroom. The indoor plumbing also appears to be haunted: the toilets flush and taps run with no help from human hands.

If you are a member at the Royal Ontario Museum, you can go on a ghost tour today! (October 18). You may see one of ROM’s most infamous ghosts, its original director, Charles Trick Currelly who has been known to wander through the East Asian galleries in his nightshirt. A ghostly little girl, who was named Celeste by the staff, has been seen sitting in the planetarium watching the shows, long after the “real” children have filed out.

Walking along the west Toronto waterfront, you will eventually come to a park near the Porter Airlines terminal, called Ireland Park. This haunting space is dedicated to the Irish refugees who came here during the potato famine in 1847. The statues are truly disturbing and bring us down to earth as we remember the many starving people in the world today.

In the centre of the city our own castle, Casa Loma, is suited up for Hallowe’en with an interactive theatrical experience: Legends Of Horror. Guests wander through the gardens, pathways, chambers, and dark tunnels, on the lookout for ghosts. Apparently this walk is so scary that there is a bar conveniently situated at the midpoint of the tour, so you can drink up some liquid courage for the rest of the walk.

Farther afield the Gibraltar Lighthouse on Centre Island waits for you. According to history, a murder was committed here. The lighthouse keeper, John Paul Rademuller, was brutally murdered by soldiers from Fort York. He still haunts the island today as he searches for his limbs, hacked off by the killers. He might do well to visit St. James Park on King St East, where lies a mass gravesite for cholera victims of the 1830’s. During a bad rainstorm, human bones sometimes float to the surface.

Is that ghoulish enough for you? Happy Hallowe’en!

Sue

Who will ever forget the 2013 newspaper picture of the black Ferrari submerged in storm water underneath the the Gardiner Expressway? Or the GO train passengers being transported to safety in inflatable rubber boats? Those were times when climate change was just beginning to seem real to those of us who live in Toronto.

The biggest storm event in Toronto history was Hurricane Hazel in 1954. But our memories of that day are very distant ones, or maybe just recollections of stories our parents told us. We can not fathom how high the waters of the Humber River rose, even though there is a marker way above our heads on a pillar of the Bloor St. bridge. After homes were relocated and damage was repaired, life carried on and the storm water was forgotten by most.

These days, as we read about Fiona and Ian, the reality is just as devastating; and close. We see the downed trees, the collapsed roofs, the pleasure boats tossed around like toys. And we now know that the danger is not far away. Many of us travel to Florida every year, to escape the winter months. As for Nova Scotia, PEI and Newfoundland, well they are part of Canada, for heaven’s sake, not some tropical island in another hemisphere. Storm water will be moving in with us very soon.

Recently our municipal government has begun making contingency plans. I wrote about the Toronto Green Roof Bylaw in a post in February, 2019: Looking UP. At that time there were over 700 green roofs in Toronto, all of them designed to absorb rain water run-off. In July 2020, I told you about a project on Toronto Island: Island Adventure. After high water levels were reported in Lake Ontario due to excessive rain, sandbags were used to form new berms and native grasses were planted – all in an effort to keep the lake water from overtaking the shoreline.

A couple of weeks ago Peter and I went east to look at another municipal project – Sherbourne Common. Storm water is gathered from local communities and treated in a nearby facility, then transferred through 3 towering art sculptures in the form of falls. The water then travels along a channel to the lake where it is released. At the south end of the Common, picnic tables, a playground and a lakeside walkway greet visitors. This is a fine example of science and art co-existing for the public good.

Since we were nearby, we decided to wander over to Sugar Beach. This is definitely not a climate change project – it’s just meant for fun. Although it was built in 2010, we had never visited. Somehow the idea of a hot sandy beach with no place to swim did not appeal to us on a humid summer day. But on a cool fall day, with the wind blowing through the trees – that was much more inviting. Tourists and residents were soaking up the sun, reading a book, or sipping on coffee. Kids played in the sand with trucks and diggers. Everyone seemed to sense that the cold dark days of winter weren’t far off. Season change is also with us.

This week, while you are remembering your Thanksgiving dinner with family and neighbours, give storm water a thought. It’s our new neighbour too.

Sue

As we get older, Peter and I find that we don’t see as well at night. We try to avoid driving after dark as much as possible. This is made simpler because we live close to the subway and the GO train. It’s just one of the adjustments we make so we can stay active and engaged.

Last Saturday we had the opportunity to go to a Jays game, followed by dinner at our daughter’s new waterfront condo, and then a visit to Nuit Blanche. We switched our afternoon nap to the morning and headed out to the local GO station.

As we sat down in our aisle seats at the Jays game, we could feel the buzz in the air. The spectators were pumped: it was the end of the season, with the playoffs in sight. The 7 quasi-adults sitting beside us were already into their second beers. They proceeded to drink throughout the game, and there was a lot of pinching, kissing and grabbing of butts as the women crawled over the men to get out for more beer and washroom breaks. As the score went up for the Jays, the crowd got louder and the grabbing and kissing got more frequent. Finally we left. We really didn’t need much vision to see that the Jays were going to win and the couples were going to hotel rooms.

Then we walked to our next adventure – dinner with the family on an upper floor of a condo with amazing views. As we ate, we watched a crew on a raft in the lake setting up an installation for Nuit Blanche. We discovered it was the offering from New Zealand, a coincidence because our daughter and family have recently returned from a year in that far-off country. The effect at water level was quite unique – images portrayed on a water screen. Created by Maori artists, the pictures depicted people’s relationships with the ocean and climate change. They were not always obvious, but they were truly original.

Next we sauntered along the waterfront which was quite well-lit and easy to navigate, We found other installations: a video projected on the wall of the Power Plant, of a woman wandering through sand dunes in a gorgeous chiffon dress. We stopped to study A God Among Us; a metallic bird-like creature absorbed in reading a book, flanked by 2 modern adults wearing masks and reading on their phones. Then our collective eye was caught by Avataq, a window full of silver balloons, spotlights reflecting off them.

At this point the grandkids were getting tired of art, so we chose one last installation to visit: RATS! Who could resist a title like that? What we found was 1 Huge Rat sitting on a tractor in the middle of Yonge St. His long tail stretched out behind him. I took pictures from the front and then from the side so I could get his long grey tail in the photo too. Then I realized that the family was a bit ahead of me so I rushed and – tripped on the end of the tail!

Down I went, grabbing the man beside me, and landing on my knees, then falling sideways onto my purse. Feeling embarrassed more than anything else, I quickly got up, with a little help from the man who was now my best friend, and realized that I had not broken any bones; sensing only a little pain from scraped knees. The family rushed back to my side, the doctor in the family calling out: “Are you OK?” The physiotherapist in the family checked me out from behind as I walked. And the grandkids chimed in too. Agnes informed me: “Nana you have BLOOD on the knee of your jeans!” And Gavin added: “Oh gross!” I figured I was in good hands.

Peer and I are hikers and we always watch our footsteps. But it was night, the grey tail blended in with the pavement, and I was rushing. This was a reminder to us that life is out there waiting to be explored, but we need to be a little more careful, and watch out for RATS, as we age.

Sue

RATS!

Growing up in the 50’s, I had salivated over the teen-age singing stars: Jerry Lee Lewis, Elvis, Buddy Holly, the Everly Brothers. But I had never been much of a fan of Tom Jones. Maybe there were just too many choices, So, when a friend offered Peter and me tickets to a Tom Jones concert last week, at the newly renovated Massey Hall, we were curious.

As the date got closer, Peter and I looked up TJ’s age – 82! WOW. Would this be a rock concert or a boring evening at a senior singalong? Should we wear jeans or polyester? Choosing business casual, we sat down in the new plush seats and waited. And waited. Had Tom not awakened from his afternoon nap? Finally he emerged, slowly making his way towards the mic, using a cane! Then he carefully lowered himself onto a stool and performed his first number: “I’m Growing Old.” OMG.

He looked a little frail but, we had to admit, his voice was powerful. And the song, despite the message, was heart-warming. After the clapping died down, he told us the story of the cane: he needed a new hip but had postponed the surgery until after he finished his North American tour. Very soon, he quipped, he would be really “HIP.” His fans ate it up. Peter and I were intrigued. Maybe we shouldn’t be so quick to judge this man.

Tom Jones continued singing, each melody bringing out the depth and nuance of his vocal range. He did sing a few more songs about aging; a subject in the back of the minds of almost everyone in the silver-haired audience. But these numbers were interspersed with old fan favourites: The Green Green Grass of Home, It’s Not Unusual, and the crowd-pleaser, Delilah. he also sang a few numbers from his new album; Surrounded By Time. He proudly told us that he was the oldest singer in UK history to release an album. Loud audience applause for that one.

In the middle of the show, Tom talked about his life in the UK and his close relationship with the Queen. They had met at parties and receptions and made small talk. Later she had bestowed the Order of the British Empire on him, and still later, made him a knight. Sir Tom Jones OBE. Not bad credentials.

There were also a number of songs with hidden sexual themes. Sometimes not so hidden; as in Keep Your Hat On, about a stripper who gets down to nothing but her hat; or his best-seller, Sex Bomb. The audience went wild. One woman with dyed blonde hair ran up to the stage and hurled her panties at him. But first she held up the message on the back: something subtle like “I love you.” She had left a space for him to write his phone number and, I guess, hurl them back at her.

Ah the audience…almost as interesting as the Star. People arrived early enough to head down to the newly renovated bar. They emerged, many of them with a drink in each hand, which they carefully carried to their seats and the waiting drink holders. During the two-hour show many left to get refills or do some emptying in the washrooms. It was a tipsy crowd.

It was also a noisy crowd. There was loud clapping and cheering. And screaming like adolescents. And mooo…ing. Really! One old guy sitting near us did a great imitation of a cow in heat. Another aging couple near us stood up and danced through most of the show. Meanwhile the people around them, including Peter, were getting hit by flailing arms. Finally an usher had to ask them to leave.

It was hard not to reconcile this teenage behaviour with the grey hair and wrinkles. And that was true for the Star as well as the audience. Tom Jones, you are forever young, and We want to be just like you!

Sue