Toilets are probably the best-used “appliance” in our homes. Which of you, dear readers, does not utilize this device at least once a day? And yet, according to recorded history, toilets have been rarely modified since they replaced outhouses back in the early 20th century.

Toilets still have basically the same design: a seat on a pedestal and a tank on the back that houses the same flushing mechanism. Well, you Can go to Japan and find the upscale model with all sorts of additional options. Check out the icons below to get a sense of your choices!

But I digress.

A couple of months ago our main floor toilet started making noises – kind of a grunt and a bit of a shake down below. Just to be clear: this was when nobody was using it! Peter brushed it off in his usual manner: “Just leave it. It’ll probably go away by itself.” In fact it got worse. Next thing, the water kept running every time we flushed. We had to reach inside the tank, push down on a round yellow disc, and hold it until the water stopped running. This can add to your water bill and seriously cut into your relaxation time!

Then another complication: when Peter was watering the garden, the toilet would start running too. Maybe it wanted attention because sometimes the pipes below would really start to shake and it felt like one might burst at any moment! Finally Peter gave in and said yes we should probably call a plumber. We tried to contact a couple of our go-to handymen but they were away. This was the Canada Day weekend and what plumber would want to deal with our little tragedy when he could be drinking beer at his cottage, paid for by previous customers?

So Peter got out a vice and shut off the water to the main toilet. I made a cute sign for the lid, saying “Don’t You Dare!” And we loaded up on toilet paper in the downstairs bathroom. This was all fine, lots of extra steps up and down, very healthy. Except at night. By the time we found the light switch to the stairs, made our way down, did our business and went back upstairs, we were wide awake! And then there were guests: “You want to use the What? Oh That Thing! Well you have to go downstairs. Sorry.”

Then we got sneaky and invited our daughter Jennifer, and son-in-law Richard for dinner. Richard knows a lot about a lot of things. Did he know about toilets? Yes he did! But he looked inside and said there were complications: the flapper thingy was a special make, installed with the toilet and difficult to replace, since the toilet was situated under the counter. Richard suggest we call a plumber. What a novel idea!

Unfortunately, this saga is not over. Stay tuned for more developments. Meanwhile, there is a porta-pottie at a construction site just down the road that is looking better and better all the time.

Sue

Dear Loyal Readers;

After deleting several thousand old emails, I find my blog site working Much better. Imagine that! In fact, I am now able to add photos. So, in honour of this great holiday, I give you, not text, but pictures!

First some pics from our trip to New York, (Sister Cities posted June 14)

Walking on the High Line

We also had a lovely family gathering of Peter’s cousins while we were in New York. While many of Peter’s family moved to Toronto from Italy, one branch of his family moved to New York – another similarity between these two cities! It was great to spend time with them.

The next blog post missing pictures was Fore! June 21:

And from last week’s post, Agnes Arrives! June 28:

Happy Canada Day everyone. I’ll be back on Tuesday with another post.

Sue

Last week, when our grand daughter Agnes (age almost 11), returned from a year in New Zealand, she came to stay with us for a week while her parents stayed elsewhere and organized their new lives: jobs, housing and so on. It was quite a week for us, her aging grandparents. But don’t worry – I only have 600 words to touch on the highlights.

Our first mission was grocery shopping for her favourite foods, followed by lunch at Tim Horton’s for her favourite bagel with cream cheese. Alas, the bagel’s flavour had waned over the past year. So during lunch I was able to bring up the subject of Missy and Sissy, Agnes’s 2 pet mice who had been in my care while she was away and had died in the spring. They were waiting for her, well-wrapped, in our freezer. Both Agnes and I were anxious to send them to the afterlife.

We went to Michael’s and picked out tiny boxes which Agues would transform into little coffins with some paint. She found a couple of rocks which could serve as headstones. And she chose a spot in our garden under the magnolia tree. Peter, aka Nonno, dug a hole and we had a very reverent burial – with their coffins, their food bowls and sunflower seeds, and one toy each, just the way the pharaohs have treasure buried with them. Those mice had a high-class send off!

Now that our obligations were taken care of, Agnes wanted to go shopping at the Eaton Centre. It’s not hard to believe that there are no malls of this size on the NZ South Island. I worried a bit when she said she wanted a new purse, the kind that transforms into a backpack so she could ride her bike or roller blade while wearing it. Then she mentioned Gucci. Oops! At the first store we found one she liked for $50. I figured I could afford this but Agnes announced that it was too expensive because “I might lose it, Nana!” Smart girl. We finally left the Eaton Centre and went to Winners where I explained that the rents are lower and so are the prices. Agnes found the perfect bag for only $40. Phew!

Our next big outing was to Centre Island. We took the ferry over without incident; no falling off the boat or anything. Maybe something more exciting was in store. But Agnes wanted to go to Centreville. I tried to discourage her because she had been only 9 the last time she visited and she might find the Tipsy Teacups and the Big Bear Ride a little childish. She persisted and finally chose 2 rides: the ferris wheel and the log flume. Which one of us would like to go with her? I quickly opted for the ferris wheel and let Peter have the log flume – the one where you climb into a log, go up and up, then shoot down the river to the bottom where you get soaked. I thought he might enjoy it… But I did hear some screams from high up, before the plunge, and they were definitely Not from Agnes.

After that adventure, Agnes strapped on her new backpack and her roller blades and we all set out for the bike rental place. Peter and I got a quadracycle, basically a two-person bike, side by side. This seemed like our speed! Agnes easily bladed well ahead of us and had to keep coming back to see what was taking us so long? Finally, in desperation, she grabbed on to the back of our bike and started pushing! We saw a lot of other grandparents laughing out loud as we were pushed along.

We had lots of other adventures during our week together and the time flew by. Our bodies felt ancient but our spirits were young again! Welcome home, Agnes.

Sue

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