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

A while ago I started thinking about how to celebrate Easter on this site.

First I pondered on Lent. Maybe I could give up something for 40 days the way I used to give up candy for Lent when I was a kid. But now I don’t really eat that much candy. (And don’t even mention giving up wine. During a pandemic? Never). Next I considered making a cake – an Easter Bunny with floppy ears and whiskers. But the grandkids really prefer hunting for Easter eggs in the back yard, and the adults say they don’t need more desserts.

Then I wondered about dragging Peter to Germany to watch the Passion Play. This is a once-in-a-decade event, sponsored by the people of Oberammergau who, way back in 1633, asked God to save them from the plague in exchange for this play which they promised to present every 10 years, (and have done so for 388 years including 2022). The theatre holds 4500 people and the show runs from May through October. But Peter gets antsy siting through a whole Mirvish Musical. He might not be too keen on sitting through 6 hours of religious suffering.

The Passion Play is the story of Jesus’ life, culminating with his final journey to the crucifixion. The last part of the story, one of violence and suffering with a vision of hope at the end, is often reproduced as “Stations Of the Cross.” Sixteen stations, from the Garden of Gethsemane to the Resurrection, show the last hours of Christ’s life. They are sometimes set up inside churches, for example St. Michael’s in Toronto. There are 16 permanent outdoor stations at Marylake Estates in King City where visitors can walk the pathway, stopping at each station and praying or saying the rosary. The most famous permanent display of Stations Of the Cross is in Jerusalem.

If you don’t want to travel that far, you can make the pilgrimage this year in downtown Toronto. Several arts and religious groups have organized an exhibit of the Stations. Called “Crossings,” 11 of the Stations are on the University of Toronto Campus and 5 more are on church properties at Yonge and St. Clair. The walk can take up to 3 hours, or you can cheat, like Peter and I did, and take the subway part-way.

Each station/exhibit is a piece created by a local artist. Some are paintings, some are bronze sculptures and some mixed media. The one of Christ’s final hours on the cross shows incredible suffering, and a crown of thorns dropping blood hangs nearby. The last piece, “Resurrection,” is a joyful image done in pottery.

No matter how you choose to spend Easter this year, I hope you find time to be thankful for all the blessings we have (including vaccines). And try not to get too much chocolate on your mask.

Sue

Guess where Peter and I went on Saturday night? Nowhere! Now it’s true that we are old and often go nowhere on a Saturday night. But this past Saturday was supposed to be different.

Way back in the “before times” 2020, we were invited to an April wedding – Peter’s nephew. We were really looking forward to a night of spending time with family, eating delicious food, and maybe even dancing, (if I could find comfortable shoes). Well, you know how those plans went. The wedding was postponed to October 2020 and then April 2021.

The poor couple were beside themselves. They wanted to get on with their married lives. So they decided to hold the church wedding last April, with limited family guests, and then postpone the reception till this April – 2022. The church serviced last year was lovely, although the priest warned us in no uncertain terms to go directly to our cars after the service – no chatting, and definitely no hugging. Since then the bride and groom have settled into their new lives together and even had…you guessed it…a baby!

And that brings us to now – April 2022. At the end of March I went shopping for a new dress. I found appropriate jewellery and put some stretchers in my fancy shoes. I booked my hair appointment for the day before the wedding. As I drove home with my new hair do, I fantasized about being at a party where somebody else cooked the food, socializing with family members we have hardly seen in 2 years, and meeting baby Sofia.

When I got home and prepared to show off my new hair “look,” Peter was sitting in his chair with his new “forlorn” look and a thermometer in his mouth. Oh No! I got out the unused rapid antigen tests and began to read the instructions. It took a little while to assemble all the bits and pieces. Then came the nose swabbing and sneezing. Finally the results – positive!

Aggghhh! So what to do now? We called Pete’s doctor and got the instructions: isolate for 5 days and then take another test. If negative, then resume your regular life. As for the wife – isolate too and try to stay away from Peter – easier said than done in a 3-bedroom bungalow. We quickly became territorial. Who gets the upstairs bathroom and who has to go to the basement? Who gets to sleep in the master bedroom and who gets the couch in the sunroom? Who gets the big TV and who makes do with the little one? The sick person definitely has more bargaining power.

The next hurdle was calling the parents of the bride and groom to tell them our sad news. Imagine our surprise when they said that 2 other uncles had Covid too. The mother quipped: “By the end of the wedding we might All have Covid!” And maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Three vaccines plus a dose of the real thing surely means total immunity, right?

Peter spent a few days feeling sick with a cough and a sore throat, but today he is doing better. He plans to test himself again today to see if it is safe to resume his life. As for me, I am still OK. Maybe all that hiding in the sunroom worked.

Meanwhile we wish the bride and groom a wonderful life together. They deserve it after going through all those wedding delays. And if you know anyone who wants to borrow a brand new dress, suitable for a lady of a certain age to wear to a wedding, let me know.

Sue

Last week Peter and I went to our second movie in as many years. There were 10 of us altogether in a theatre meant to hold at least 200. Needless to say, we felt very safe. The movie was ideal – passionate romance, beautiful clothes, exotic scenery, lots of red herrings, and an elusive killer. We had just finished dinner and had to pass on the popcorn. But otherwise it was perfectly entertaining.

But it was not one of the movies nominated for an Academy Award. We decided to watch the Oscars on Sunday night anyway, not wanting to miss any of the action. The women wore the usual glamorous gowns showing lots of cleavage. Many of the men went all out, wearing velvet tuxedo jackets in navy or forest green, and there were a couple of daring guys wearing suits with decals. One had flowers all down one side of the jacket and pants, and another had butterflies in the same places. John Travolta had neither tuxedo nor hair. Imagine all those slicked-back wavy locks with sideburns – all gone!

There were the predictable emotional moments when old stars showed up: the 3 amigos from the Godfather era, Liza Minelli in a wheelchair, supported by Lady Gaga, a song of hope dedicated to the people of Ukraine. And the highlight of the night – Will Smith slapping Chris Rock, then blubbering like a baby afterwards, calling for love and peace. Despite cutting some awards, the show was still 3 1/2 hours long. Well past our bedtime.

We live in a city that is known worldwide as Holly wood North, a good place to film movies. Why? Because: we have a large pool of talented multicultural actors. We have thousands of professional sound engineers, animators, designers, editors, and other technicians. The industry has created partnerships with 11 Toronto high schools, which can be used as locations and for education co-op placements. The city has over 2 million feet of studio space and, best of all, the city provides film and TV tax credits.

So, with all those advantages, what movies have been made in Toronto?Here are a few:
The Shape of Water, a sci-fi romance filmed in 2017, won the Academy Award for Best Picture. The setting is supposed to be Anywhere, but University of Toronto buildings, the Elgin Theatre ,the facade of Massey Hall, and other streets were used to film this movie.

Good Will Hunting, a 1997 film about a mathematical genius, also used U of T buildings but substituted them for Harvard and MIT. This movie won an award for best screen play.

Chicago, filed in Toronto in 2002, also won the Best Picture award. It was the story of Chicago in the 1920’s and many Chicagoans were outraged that Casa Loma, Queen’s Park, the Distillery District, all stood in for real Chicago buildings.

My Big Fat Greek Wedding, filmed in 2002, used the Danforth’s Greek Town of course. St. Nicholas Ukrainian Church was chosen for the wedding.

Suicide Squad, filmed in Toronto in 2016, was the top-grossing box office hit that year and made over $784 million. This movie featured a plane crash on Yonge St and a helicopter crash on Bay St. Aha! there’s a reason for all those potholes!

And there are several other movies that have been filmed here. One to watch for next year is called Turning Red. You may have seen the trailers. It’s an animated movie about a teen-age girl who turns into a big red furry panda whenever she gets upset. This movie really is meant to take place in Toronto. You can see the streetcars on King, the eclectic stores in Kensington Market, and the CN Tower often in the background. No missing the location of this one. The director calls it a “love letter to Toronto.”

So, even if you are not a fan of the Oscars, you might want to follow this movie as it casts Toronto into the movie spotlight once more.

Sue

Spring is actually here – date-wise, that is. And Mother Nature is sending little signals too. Have you noticed that it is still light out at 7:00 pm?

Spring is Peter’s favourite time of the year. In early March he started looking lovingly out the window at his vegetable garden. Sadly, it was covered in those piles of dirty snow left over from that big dump we had in January. Not to be deterred, he found some garlic heads left over from last year’s harvest, and planted them in an out-of-the-way corner of the living room. Since he didn’t have any way of separating the seeds in the old plastic containers, he cleverly found some old playing cards and used them to divide up the space. For several days he watched over them, like any proud parent, as they slowly stuck their hopeful little tips out of the soil.

Next, Peter turned his attention to the front porch where he had carefully placed Christmas decorations in our 2 large pots, creating lovely Christmas arrangements. By March the arrangements were looking a little out of place, but they were frozen solid. Finally this past weekend a few tugs worked, and Christmas is now gone until next year.

Then Peter made up his shopping list and headed for a garden centre where he spent a wheelbarrow full of money on seeds and fertilizers. He even scored some elusive curly kale seeds. (Last year we had to settle for Russian kale, not a wise political choice this year). Then he unearthed his old gardening clothes and went outside to do some fertilizing. Today he is looking for another project – maybe he’ll find my hair dryer so he can thaw some frozen ground.

And for me? My job is to oversee the flower gardens. Two years ago I planted some exotic tulips, orange with yellow centres and a fancy name like “Emperor.” And they were very regal – until the squirrels ate them. Last year I found a great spray called Super Hunter that did the trick. So, in the fall, I ordered some more bulbs and planted them with some bone meal and a generous handful of hope. Now every day I go outside with my magnifying glass to check for signs of life.

Meanwhile I’ve been reading some garden literature. Did you know that there are people called “plant influencers”? You can find them on tic toc or You-tube, or Instagram. One gardening site on You-tube has over 40,000 followers. The influencers tell you what plants are trending; what plants you absolutely need in your garden to stay current. Houseplants are especially popular right now.

It seems that gardening has become a hobby for the very rich. One plant that was mentioned, “Thai constellation monstera,” sells for $800 for a 6-inch beauty. These plants are often hard to find, lasting only a few hours on social media. Once you get your hands on one, then you need equipment such as humidifiers, grow-light systems, and special fertilizers. Imagine how you would feel after having spent all that money on your special flower, only to have it wither…and die!

As for Peter and me, we are mostly sticking to tried and true. Think tomatoes, squash, geraniums and of course garlic. As soon as the ground thaws completely, we’ll be digging in.

Sue

I could not go another week without devoting a post to the brave but desperate people of Ukraine.

Toronto is among the most multicultural cities of the world. Immigrants and refugees are welcomed here by the first monument they see: the Monument To Multiculturalism just outside Union Station. This memorial, designed in 1985 by Francesco Perilli, was intended to show man and doves crossing through and connecting the 4 meridians, creating a world of peace and respect.

Canada is a country built on the labour and loyalty of immigrants. Think of all the Chinese labourers who worked tirelessly in the 1800’s to build our trans-continental railway. A monument on Blue Jays Way is dedicated to those workers and the hardships they suffered as they worked to open up our country from sea to sea.

Think of the Irish peasants who, suffering from the potato famine in 1847, came here for a better life. The monument dedicated to them is built on the waterfront near Billy Bishop airport. The sculptor, Rowan Gillespie, has depicted faces torn by hunger and sadness. Once settled, the Irish immigrants had an advantage over other ethnic groups because they spoke English. They tended to settle and get jobs in the cities and towns where they landed.

Italian workers came too, many of them after the war ended in 1945, when construction jobs were plentiful. They often arrived courtesy of the family class immigration rules – where family members were invited to join their relatives who had already established themselves in Canada and had found steady employment. A touching monument to these Italians can be found on St. Clair Ave in the area where many Italians first settled. The inscription reads: “famigilia, lavoro, communita.” Family, work and community are part of the Italian tradition.

How do the Ukrainian people fit into this history? Ukrainians have been settling in Canada for a couple of centuries. Who has not passed by a Ukrainian Catholic church, or eaten perogies, or admired the intricate painting on those delicate Easter eggs? Who does not recognize the names of famous Ukrainian-Canadians such as politician Ray Hnatyshyn, astronaut Roberta Bondar, or hockey legend Wayne Gretzky?

Canada has the third largest Ukrainian population, after Russia and Ukraine. According to the 2016 census, there are about 1,400,400 Ukrainians living in Canada, many of them in the western provinces, and the rest in Toronto and Montreal. The first recorded Ukrainians arrived here in 1892 where several families moved to Edmonton and began farming. During world War I, a dark chapter in our history, Ukrainians were sent to work camps for the duration of the war. When they were released, they found good-paying jobs and built worthwhile lives, despite their ill treatment.

Already there is a park in Toronto dedicated to Ukrainian immigrants. An obelisk, erected in 1998, sits on a patch of land running along Scarlett Road north of Eglinton. We are ready to welcome more Ukrainian immigrants. We have the support systems: reception centres, ESL programs, welcome wagons. We even have the park!

Another inspiring monument to immigration sits at the foot of Yonge St. Sculptor Tom Otterness created this loving family vignette in 2007: dad holds 2 suitcases and stares loving at his wife, who cradles their tiny baby. Their faces are full of hope. Let’s give this same opportunity to those Ukrainian families headed our way.

Sue

You didn’t realize this was a porn site, did you? Me neither. I originally heard about massages from a divorced friend. She said she went once a week for treatment. I just figured she was missing her ex-husband. Then I got a little more experience.

My first personal encounter was with a chair – a massage chair in a shopping mall. A clerk was giving a demonstration so I figured why not?I sat down gingerly and the chair began to rumble. I searched frantically for handles so I could hang on. Then I began to feel the pulsations up my spine and around my neck. It was heavenly. When the clerk tried to get me out of the chair, I pretended not to notice. When he tried to sell me the chair, I got the message and left.

Then I went for a pedicure and there was the chair again! I eagerly climbed on. The associate turned on the chair and dialed up an appropriate setting. It was great while she worked on my toe nails. Then she started massaging my feet. Even better! She kneaded toes, soles and heels. Then she moved up my legs and stated working on my calves too.

Soon after that I went to a new hairdresser and discovered a new treat – a scalp massage! First the washing, then the conditioner, then the massage. I could feel my brain waking up and asking “Where have you been all my life?” When I got home and told Peter about my experience, he looked a little nervous. He seemed somewhat relieved when I told him that all these masseuses were female.

Around Christmas I was feeling some neck pain, particularly after long walks. So I went to my family doctor who prodded, and poked, and prescribed – guess what? Massage! I called a local wellness clinic and was assigned a therapist – named Charley. I met Charley and we hit it off. Charley is an immigrant from China who had lived in Shangzhou, a city Peter and I had visited while on a trip to China about 10 years ago. I showed Charley some pictures of our trip and he opened up about his life in China. He had been an orthopedic surgeon and now here he was in Canada pounding on people’s backs. How lucky I was to have such expertise working on me.

Charley had me stand up straight while he did a 360 walk around my ancient bones. He pronounced his verdict: my neck was seriously “deformed” from years of slouching. I asked him if there was some way to turn back the clock. Maybe he had a time machine in the closet? Out loud I wondered why my parents didn’t tell me to stand up straighter? I could almost hear them looking down from above: “We Did tell you but you were too busy slouching around to hear us.”

Then the treatment began. First Charley worked on my back and spine. Then, after what seemed like mere seconds, he had me turn over and slide up so he could work on my neck. The kneading and rubbing continued. Time flew by and then it was over. Charley asked me if I wanted to come for another appointment. “Is the Pope Catholic?” I asked.

When I got home, Peter wanted a full report. Now he seemed really nervous! I explained to him why I desperately need this treatment. And it is making a difference. After several appointments, my neck is only partially deformed. Charley is turning back the clock on my old body!

And Peter is glad to know I still need him – in a different way.

Sue

PS No pictures since this is not Really a porn site. Hope you aren’t too disappointed.

Well February was a month we are all glad to see in our rearview mirrors. Covid is hanging around far longer than we expected. Its mandates of masking and vaccines have caused far more disruption than we imagined. Just ask the residents of Ottawa about how they liked having their freedom taken away by “freedom fighters.” Climate change continued to surprise us with more extreme cold and more snow to shovel. And then Putin decided to shake up what little peace we had in the world by attacking the poor citizens of Ukraine. Things could hardly get worse.

But there was more sadness ahead for me and Peter. Many readers know that my birthday was last Tuesday (and the family had celebrated the week before in Niagara Falls). It was a biggie. As a matter of fact I am now halfway through my time in Seventy In the City. In only 5 more years I will have to retire. Either that or change the title. But who would want to read a blog called Eighty In the City? Would there even be time in our lives for any adventures after visits to doctors, medical labs and hospitals?

Anyway on Tuesday when I woke up, I was greeted with cards, phone calls and facebook birthday messages. Things were looking good. Then I went to say good morning to our 2 resident mice, Agnes’s pets, Missy and Sissy. Sissy was all cheerful and wished me Happy Birthday right away. But dear Missy was not looking well. She was hiding in her little hutch and shivering. Oh oh… She was well into her life span of 2 years: a “junior senior,” you might say. I bent down and spoke in her ear: “Missy, do not die on my birthday!!”

Well she paid attention. She lived for 2 more days. But on Thursday morning she had had enough. She lay down quietly and closed her eyes. “Good bye Missy,” I whispered. Peter and I made plans to keep her in a box in the shed until the spring thaw would allow us to bury her with dignity. Then I sent an email message to Agnes in New Zealand.

Agnes shed many tears, as you can imagine. She finally facetimed us to share stories. Her 2 concerns were: first of all, that we keep Sissy happy despite being alone. And second, that we keep Missy’s body safe so that Agnes can bury Missy herself when she returns to Canada in the summer.

So, following orders, I have been visiting Sissy often, asking her how she is doing. She seems OK – content in the cage that she knows well after living there for 18 months. She still loves her Christmas gift tubes that traverse the cage. And she has been using little bits of brown paper to insulate the hutch so it will be warm in the absence of her room-mate.

That leaves us with the other dilemma: where to keep a mouse body in the warm weather until the burial? Dear readers, if you have any freezer space you are not using, could you rent out a corner? Just a tiny corner would do.

In the meantime, our thoughts shift back to the people of Ukraine. Let’s all hope that March is a better month.

Sue