After returning from a wonderful trip to New York, (see blog post Sister Cities, June 14), we had to be on the golf course the next morning at 8:00 a.m. Talk about poor planning, especially at our age!

Peter and I had signed up to volunteer as Marshalls at the 2020 RBC Canadian Open Golf Tournament back in the fall of 2019. We had done this job a few years previously when it was hosted by a local golf club, and we found it to be a lot of fun. When the pandemic hit, our application for 2020 was rolled over to 2021 and then 2022. And here we were. What we didn’t think about was, adding up all the years between our last time and this,12 years had gone by. Which meant that we were 12 years older! That’s a lot of time and, let’s just admit it, aging. How well would we manage?

When the alarm went off at 8:00 am, we had our doubts. Would we find time for a nap somewhere during the day? Maybe there was a tree on our assigned hole, number 13, where we could hide and rest. After scarfing down a quick breakfast, we headed for the local bus that would take us to the site; a far shorter commute than driving past the golf course to park and taking the shuttle bus back.

The local bus stopped several blocks short of the course, St. George’s, because the road was closed to traffic. So we had to walk quite far to get to the Volunteer Centre. Then we discovered that there were no shuttle golf carts to take us to our hole and we had to walk farther. Much farther. It turned out that hole 13 is the farthest one from the entrance, and nobody we asked really knew how to get there. It took us a good half hour to find our way to the distant corner, at the top of a hill. Good grief – we hadn’t even started our shift and we were exhausted already!

The other Marshalls and our hole captains, Howie and John, were all very friendly and we chatted as we waited for the first group of golfers to show up. This was a practice day and not many pros came, so we sat on the grass and chatted some more. Some smart volunteers had brought collapsible stools to sit on and we were envious. Sitting on hard ground with no back support is hard work! Finally about 4:00 pm John offered to send some of us home and we accepted.

The next couple of days were similar – a lot of sitting around waiting and trying to balance on our newly-purchased stools, punctuated by very long trips to the distant porta-potties. Finally, on Thursday, the golfers came in earnest. We stood behind the ropes, facing the spectators with our hands up. “Silence please!” Except there were hardly any spectators; it seemed that they too had trouble finding hole 13. So we often sat down to watch, or even read the newspaper between foursomes. Until Bruce showed up.

Bruce took his Head Marshall job very seriously. “Marshalls are not allowed to sit!” “Keep your hands in the air at all times!” “Do Not walk in the tee area!” “Don’t disturb the players!” When he wasn’t around, we questioned our decision to help with this great Canadian event.

First of all we, and all the other 2000 volunteers, had to pay $80 each for our shirt, hat, water bottle and volunteer pass. Although the spectators were mostly agreeable, there were some challenges; for example the young guys who wanted to smoke pot. But mostly we had to really stretch ourselves to manage the 12-hour shifts, only able to sit down when Bruce was elsewhere.

The best perk, besides getting a guest pass so friends could visit, was watching the pros play up close. They studied their shots carefully, consulting notes and caddies for advice. They drove the ball over 200 yards effortlessly. They chipped out of the sand with ease. And they even missed a few putts – just like us! So maybe next year we’ll put our $80 towards our entrance fee and go as spectators. Sometimes, as we get older, we have to admit that, while we can still do our favourite things, we sometimes have to make modifications.

Sue

Still having technical difficulties so no pictures. A new laptop is in my immediate future!

Did you know that New York City and Toronto have more in common than almost any other two major cities in the world? We could start by comparing our beloved Blue Jays and the Yankees. But Peter and I had a chance to observe first-hand some of the more interesting similarities when we spent 5 days last week with our son and his family.

First there is the geography. Both cities are situated on large bodies of water fed by rivers, so they are ports at their core. Expansive waterfronts dotted with skyscrapers, mostly glass and very tall, greet visitors as they sail in from elsewhere. Islands make up part of the landscape too. Partly due to this limitation on spread, the cost of real estate is very high in both places. New York, being older, is more densely populated than Toronto, but the ethnic make-up is similar. While Toronto’s downtown population is just under 3 million, New York is over 8 million. How does one navigate around such a large metropolis? Peter and I donned our most comfortable running shoes and went to find out.

The subway beckoned from only a block away. We discovered that the underground opened in 1904. The current system, with not 3 lines like the TTC, or even 6 lines, but with 36, yes Thirty Six lines, is open 24 hours a day. The stations we visited are old and a bit tired, but the trains we rode were new and squeaky clean. If you don’t want to take the subway to your destination, there are buses, ferries, and bikes available. New York is considered the least auto-dependent city in the entire USA. Toronto would do well to follow this model of less dependence on cars.

One day Peter and I visited Prospect Park. It reminded us of our own High Park; an idyllic place of forest and greenery in the middle of a city. We found walking and bike trails, flower gardens and benches, fountains and a large pond, home to ducks and swans. We felt right at home as we strolled along, until we asked someone the name of some swimming birds in the pond and she replied: “Geese.” “Not Canada Geese?” we asked. Definitely not!

Another day we walked along the East Hudson River towards the Brooklyn Bridge. The similarities to our neighbourhood Humber River walk were striking. There was no CN Tower in sight; instead we saw the Statue Of Liberty in the distance. A third day we walked along the High Line, very much like our downtown Toronto Beltline, but higher up. And then there was the “Ghosts and Gangsters Tour,” a fascinating look at the history of the New York Mafia and some haunted sites too. Fortunately Toronto doesn’t have the locations or the material for this tour – not yet anyway.

One evening our hosts suggested we might like to see a Broadway show. We were game for anything until we looked at the options: Dear Evan Hansen, Come From Away, Hamilton, and Chicago. We had seen them all, through our Mirvish subscription. We ended up going to an immersive art show, but not Van Gogh or Klimt. It was a mix of art and science: neurons swimming around in the brain as they age. The first ones were cute little colourful things; as they got older they grew into big green blobs. But then the poor guys went downhill – shrinking and losing colour until they were nothing but a big grey mass; kind of like a neuron nursing home. Even our grandson was sad!

In retrospect the most fun we had was with the kids: Dan, Jenny and Ben. We explored their neighbourhood together and saw Ben’s school. We went to several of their favourite local restaurants. And on our way to the airport on the last day we stopped at a park to watch Ben play soccer. A future Michael Bradley for sure!

It was a great adventure in our sister city.

Sue

PS So sorry there are no photos! I had great ones to share but encountered technical difficulties. Hope to fix them this week.

Dear Readers:

I accidentally booked 2 research projects back to back, with no time to write in between! So sorry. I’ll be back next week –

I am taking the day off to do – research! See you next week.

Sue

Next weekend Toronto hosts the revival of Doors Open, an annual tradition that has been on hold, like so many other things, for the past 2 years. During that time, I have written about lots of buildings around our great city; ones with historic relevance, ones that are part of eccentric neighbourhoods, ones with artistic features. So what to write about this year?

In Saturday’s Globe and Mail, Elizabeth Renzetti had the answer. Her headline caught my eye: ” Public washrooms Should Be Figured Into People’s Reckoning of a Great City.” Renzetti points out that public washrooms are key to allowing people full access to their city. Consider families with small kids, tourists in a hurry to see everything before their bus departs, business people running between appointments, oldies like us who have to pee every 2 hours. How else are we able to venture very far from our homes?

There are elegant washrooms in many public spaces such as shopping venues. One of my favourites is at Yorkdale Mall. The wall tiles are glazed in a lovely shade of turquoise, the sinks have sink-sized water walls, and quiet music – all these features create a very relaxing visit. I also found a washroom in the same mall with a fireplace, comfortable chairs, and a TV! I’m not sure why somebody would want to camp out in a public washroom to watch old re-runs of Downton Abbey, but hey….

However, a lot of these public washrooms are not really available to the public. The premise is that you are going to BUY something in exchange for these services. I’m sure you have sometimes bought a coffee you didn’t really want, just so you could use the Timmy’s bathroom nearby. But many large families can’t afford to do this.

So are there public washrooms that are accessible to everyone? Well there are lots of porta-potties. Usually they are bright blue and come equipped with much odor and no toilet paper. You can find these lined up, row upon row, at outdoor concerts, fairs, or golf tournaments.

We actually had a porta-pottie on our front lawn recently during some road work. Not sure that it increased the value of our house. Another time we had a wedding in our back yard and rented the high-end version – white with little sink stations inside each. We added white bows to each door and voila – we were all set for 100 people!

For other locations, look on the internet and you will find apps and websites that direct you to public washrooms; ones near subway stops, on public golf courses, and around various downtown neighbourhoods. That is not to say that they are respectable – just that they are there if you are desperate.

So I went online to find the best public washrooms in the city. Number one is listed as the women’s washroom at Bayview Village Mall, a high-end shopping spot. The washrooms there come complete with chandeliers, gilded mirrors, and individual stalls. The stalls are all hands-free: no possibility of catching germs on the toilet, the sink, or the dryer. Another washroom high on the list is at Humberwood Park in north Etobicoke. It’s not so fancy on the inside, but the outside, designed by architect Kevin Weiss, is quite unique.

One public washroom Peter and I pass by quite regularly on our walks to Lake Ontario is called the Oculus. It was built in 1959 after Hurricane Hazel tore through the Humber Valley, destroying everything in its path. The Oculus, built as a “comfort station,” fell into disrepair and we found it deserted when we moved here from the country. But recent attempts have been made to restore it. The latest renovation has begun with bright yellow vinyl stripes attached. This new washroom is aptly titled ” Brighter Days Ahead.” We could all use some brighter days – and more public washrooms would help! A place to rest in comfort without paying would be welcomed by all.

Sue

PS if you have a favourite public washroom, please hurry and share it with other readers. We all may need one during Doors Open.

For many people this day is just another Friday. For some, it’s one of unfounded worry – what if something unlucky happens? But for the residents of Port Dover, Friday the 13th is a whole other story.

My brother lives in Port Dover so I have visited many times. For the most part, it’s a quiet little town, waking up in the summer as a beach resort. It’s known for its beautiful sandy beach and for the Erie Beach Hotel which serves up the best fried perch anywhere, accompanied by a side of their famous celery bread.

But on Friday the 13th something else happens: all the motorcycle owners from miles around descend on the town for a huge party. The party began back in 1981 when about 25 guys met up there. It now draws a much larger following. Friday the 13th happens on a varying number of days in any calendar year. For example, next year there are 2 – one in January which probably will not be well-attended due to the weather, and another in October which is likely to be busy. But this year, after a hiatus of 2 years due to the pandemic, there is only one Friday the 13th, the one we had last week. No wonder over 100,000 bikers and families showed up.

Residents of the town know the drill. The streets will be closed to cars and there will be crowds, loud music, and the noise of revving motorcycle engines. There will be injuries too – this year at least one biker was killed in a vehicle accident. But there is generally a civilized atmosphere. According to the residents, the bikers are very polite; apologizing for stepping on toes or bumping into people, something really hard to avoid in these massive crowds.

One year Peter and I attended this event. We had to drive there the day before and stay overnight. We wandered downtown the next morning, jostling and pushing our way forward. We visited the vendors and stared at all the bike merchandise; every bell and whistle that a biker would dream of. We gawked at the bikes, some of them worth thousands of dollars. Our jaws dropped as we took in the outfits: garish for sure and often erotic – chaps with no rear end. How comfortable would that be on a hot bike seat?

On our way back to my brother’s house, he suggested that we take a short-cut – through the Hell’s Angels campground! Peter and I pictured ourselves tied up in a tent, interrogated, possibly tortured, and then thrown in Lake Erie with weights tied around our ankles. Agghhh! But my brother assured us he had made this trek before and it was safe. And it was. The bikers even engaged in some small talk with us: “Nice day, eh?” and so on. We survived!

How do the citizens of Dover feel about this regular invasion of their town? The businesses are very happy. The service clubs, like the Kinsmen and the Lions, host food trucks and campgrounds. The hotels, bars and restaurants are bustling. One store, that sells Friday the 13th kitsch all year round, has line-ups around the block. And the beer store? Well you can guess the answer to that!

So next time you are wondering how to avoid bad luck on a Friday the 13th, try your luck in Port Dover. You don’t need a Harley; even a scooter will work.

Sue

PS Thank you to my sister-in-law Kathy for the great photos.

Dear readers, I hope that you have enjoyed the stories about Missy and Sissy; the 2 mice we have been babysitting while our grand daughter and her parents are visiting in New Zealand. I’m sorry to tell you that those stories are finished.

After Missy died of old age in February, her sister Sissy managed quite well on her own as a single lady. Who says we girls aren’t resilient? She tidied up the bedroom and added lots of paper and bedding to keep herself warm. She got to spend time in a wheel that had been Missy’s exclusive territory. She ate all the nuts and seeds that she was offered. But a few days ago she started sleeping curled up in a corner, instead of in her bed. She seemed a little lethargic. I coaxed her: “Sissy you can do it!” But she couldn’t.

So now Sissy has joined Missy in the freezer, waiting for Agnes to return in June and plan the burial. I’m not sure what she has in mind. She does play the piano – maybe she has an appropriately solemn hymn in her repertoire. Then what? A double plot in Mount Pleasant Cemetery? A cremation with ashes sprinkled in Lake Ontario? Or maybe just a nice spot in our garden underneath the magnolia tree.

I never thought I would be babysitting mice inside my home. I always thought of mice as rodents in the garage that were caught in traps and flushed. But I have to confess that I miss those cute little girls. They became a part of my routine. Every evening I would visit them, say hello, check their water and food bowls and add a few treats. On Sunday mornings I would clean out their cage, rearranging the tubes, the wheels, the bridge, the teeter-totter. Then I’d watch them scurry around, investigating the new arrangement. They were so excited – just like Christmas! Our house seems a little empty without them.

Bot Not For Long! We have heard that my son James and his wife are going to the Philippines to visit relatives – and they need a babysitter for their dog, Venus. Now Venus is no tiny mouse. She is Big – 100 lbs. She arrives with a suitcase full of treats, large food and water bowls, a raincoat, a collar and leash, and Two beds!

The last time Venus came to stay, she brought only her night-time bed for the bedroom. When we watched tv at night in the living room, she would lie on the floor, clearly uncomfortable. She would toss and turn, snort and sniffle, and finally get up and head towards the bedroom, looking back at me to follow her. But it was only 9:00 and I didn’t want to go to bed yet! She would slump back down on the floor, disgusted with my attitude. So this time she is bringing her daytime bed too, for the living room. I can just picture it: she will be snoring on the daytime bed, Peter will be snoring in his La Z Boy chair, and I’ll be trying to hear the news on TV.

Venus is very good company. She listens carefully when I talk, tilting her head sideways so she can hear better. In just one day she can chase all the squirrels out of the back yard. She delights in entertaining the neighbours’ cat Minou, and she happily cleans up any leftover food, especially if it drops on the floor by mistake. A very helpful guest.

It looks like we have traded two tiny mice for one huge dog. Stay tuned for updates.

Sue

So what are you going to be doing at 7:30 tonight? Could it be that you will be glued to the TV watching Mattea Roach win another round of Jeopardy!?

We Canadians have trivia in our genes. The world-famous game, Trivial Pursuit, was created by 3 local folks. One of them, Ed Werner, was a neighbour of a friend in Niagara On The Lake. He delighted in entertaining people with stories of how the 3 young guys would sit around somebody’s dining room table, (probably drinking beer and) making up trivial questions. Little did they know that they would all become millionaires from this silly pastime.

Then there’s Alex Trebek, the celebrity host of Jeopardy! for 37 years. Alex was born in Sudbury, to a father who had emigrated from Ukraine and a French mother, the perfect multicultural family. His first job was with CBC hosting the news. He moved on to hosting the high school game show, Reach For the Top. It was a kind of general knowledge program, a forerunner of the trivial pursuit era. Next, Alex moved to the US where he became an American citizen and the game show host. After his death, the final episode of Jeopardy!, with Alex as host, aired in January, 2021.

These days Ken Jennings, the highest winning contestant on the show, is now the stand-in host. And that brings us to Mattea Roach. Born in Halifax and educated at U of T, Mattea has won more games than any other Canadian contestant, and most American contestants too! Her parents, interviewed on CBC, said that she knew the letters of the alphabet at 18 months, and could read at age 3. Still, at 23, she has only had 20 years to amass all that knowledge. Last night she answered questions about reptiles, hairstyles, the Boston Tea Party, Shakespeare, congressional bills, the Virgin Islands, and Louis the 13th. Incredible!

Mattea is also a superstar at strategy. She hangs onto that button for dear life and often presses it before the topic is announced; she is that sure of her answers. She knows how to bet too, winning one game last week by $1.00. Her total winnings to date are almost $500,000. She says she will use the money to pay off her student loans, and maybe the loans of friends and family too! She is now the 5th-highest winning contestant on Jeopardy!

So tonight at 7:30, try your hand at trivia and cheer on our current Canadian hero. No need to drive anywhere at night, no chance of picking up Covid from others, a fridge and a bathroom nearby: the perfect entertainment.

Sue

Nobody disputes that Zoom has been a lifesaver during the pandemic.

Sure, we all complained when we first started Zooming around. It was hard to learn how to join with audio, how to use breakout rooms, how to raise your hand virtually, and especially how to mute your mic when you are yelling at your partner to bring you a coffee. But we easily figured out the tricks: wearing a nice jacket over your pyjamas, and drinking your wine out of an opaque water bottle. Zoom has given us a germ-free world inside the safety of our homes.

I’m currently enrolled in 2 Zoom courses; they are both entertaining and often amusing. I follow a fitness class at 9:15 on Mondays. I believe this is a good way to get the week started. The instructor, Sean, sees things differently. There I am, ready with my weights and water and where is Sean? Well he usually shows up around 9:25. He is mostly in a rented studio, but during the Easter break he visited his sister and used her living room for the class. I had trouble focusing, as I studied her home and noticed that her tropical plants needed watering. Should I tell Sean?

Last week Sean had a new student join – his cat Gus. Gus, a tabby house cat, rubbed against Sean’s legs as he led us in some balancing poses. Next Sean got out the stretch bands and Gus got on a nearby table so he could bat at the bands as they flew around. Then Sean lay on the floor for some abdominal exercises and Gus climbed in his lap and fell asleep! Now that was a dangerous example for the rest of us who were also ready for a nap.

My other Zoom class is Italian. I have been studying Italian since the pandemic began and I must admit that this pandemic will have to last a few more years if I am to become fluent. I have switched teachers twice. The first time was because the class was progressing too quickly while I needed to go backwards. (This is hard for a former teacher to admit!). The second class was on Monday evenings at dinnertime and I found it difficult to cook, eat, and study all at once.

So now I’m in a new morning class with a new teacher. Letizia doesn’t have a cat; she has a dog – a very barky dog. When he gets into one of his moods, she has to go into the other room and cuddle him on the couch till he settles down. She also has a husband who brings her snacks throughout the class. And she doesn’t even have to yell at him to get this service! The first class went very well except that I set up in the TV room where Peter wanted to watch TV and soon I was getting calls from the other students to “mute.”

The second class was even more interesting: it turned out that 2 of the students had Covid and were lying in their beds or relaxing on the couch in their pyjamas, their kleenex boxes and pills on the table beside them. Then Letizia started doing a little sniffling as well. Not to miss a “teachable moment,” she quickly switched to medical words such as cough, headache, and sneeze. It seems like Zoom and Covid have a partnership going on.

Pace e bene tutti! Which, roughly translated, means “Stay safe and try some Zoom classes.”

Sue

When Peter and I moved from the country to the city about 3 years ago, our then 3-year-old grandson Ben liked our new house. He was fine with the nearby park and the local outdoor pool. But the roads? “Nonno, the roads are broken!”

And Ben was right. Our lovely winding tree-lined street was full of cracks and potholes. It was impossible to drive faster than 10 kph without bumping and heaving. We considered buying shock absorbers by the dozen. But then the pandemic came along and we weren’t driving anywhere. Mostly we left the cars in the garage and used “shank’s pony.” But in his spare time, which was plentiful, Peter began calling the local councillor about the roads. He told the councillor that Ben was not impressed.

Recently notices began appearing in our mailbox and on the hydro poles, warning of the new project. Then little blue, yellow and orange flags were planted on our lawn. Next, construction equipment was piled on the sides of the road: orange cones, rubber rings, metal plates, signage – all very picturesque. We held our breath in anticipation.

One day at 6:30 am cars began showing up. Workers with their yellow vests and their Tim’s coffee in their hands gathered to enjoy their first coffee break of the day. By 7:00 am the engines revved up and started digging. At least they began at our end of the street. This meant that Maybe by the summer, when we wanted to open our windows, the workers would have moved down to the other end of the street; we thought hopefully.

On the second day, the crew had worked their way down the street to our house. But nobody told us! When Peter needed to take the car out, he had to beg for help. Construction had to stop and the workers had to search for a steel plate to position over the gaping hole at the end of the driveway. Then the workers smirked and I held my breath while Peter gingerly drove over the hole and escaped. He parked on another street for the rest of the day.

By the third day the workers and all their equipment had moved up the street and we sighed with relief. For a few days we had relative peace and quiet. But a week later at 6:30 am they were back! A little to the left of our driveway, they began drilling and digging. The dump trucks lined up to fill up and haul away the dirt and concrete. When the hole was fairly deep, a worker jumped in with a flashlight and began searching. Then a second worker went to his truck and found a large drawing which he studied intently as he stared down the hole. A third worker got out his cellphone and called for help.

We were curious. The dirty dishes were waiting in the kitchen, but what Could they be looking for? Did they have a tip that secret treasure was buried right at our corner? Had a family of bears been hibernating in the wrong place? Most of all, how long was this going to take because we had appointments and needed to get out again!

A few days later all was quiet. Too quiet. We walked up the street to investigate. There was nobody and there was nothing. All the back hoes and dump trucks have disappeared, leaving behind a dirt-covered street with steel plates, orange cones, deep ditches and yes – potholes! We are not sure whether to rage at the delay or just enjoy the peace and quiet. But if you see any guys with yellow vests standing around anywhere drinking Tim’s, can you send them our way??

Sue