Last week I wrote about my chair-recovering project. I thought it went quite well, actually. But that’s Not what readers said. The comments went from kind but condescending to outright scathing! One reader suggested that my recovered chairs were not nearly as beautiful as the originals. Really? Another reader went to great lengths to suggest that the recovered chairs would not be as comfortable because the softer, more porous, gold material was more forgiving of various bodily emanations which one might wish to hide. I have to admit I hadn’t thought of that.

So where to go from here? How to hide my shame? One thing I do know is that projects are helpful in staving off the emotions we are currently feeling. A recent article mentions that most of us are not depressed, but neither are we flourishing. The author calls it “languishing” as in hanging around, accomplishing nothing, nada. Just waiting for… something, but what? On that note, I hereby present another covid project:

After we moved to the city, I decided to explore my interest in learning how to speak Italian. Peter is Italian and speaks his native language fairly well, although much too fast for a beginner like me. “Lentemente, Pietro!” I considered my options and chose a class at a nearby adult learning centre. We studied some Italian culture and at a lot of biscotti. But as for actually speaking? Nothing. Niente.

When the pandemic hit, the class, like everything else, got cancelled. I was relieved, honestly. But then the boredom wore me down and I went searching for a different kind of class; a more interactive one, with more speaking. Eventually I signed up for a U of T Italian general interest class. Online Monday evenings. Perfect, I thought.

The course platform was Zoom. I have used Zoom a few times, for book clubs and family visits. I know how to sign in, turn on my audio and visual, raise my hand (virtually). What more could there be? I soon found out. At the beginning of the first class, the instructor, Lorenzo, put a document on the screen and asked us to download it, fill in the answers, and share our screen. I didn’t know how to do Any of this. Zoom was turning out to be harder than Italian!

Fortunately, I was in luck. Several of the other students in the class were younger than me (not hard to imagine) and most of them still worked in the daytime, online, using Zoom. When we were in our breakout rooms, something else I had not experienced, they happily shared their screens with me and did the filling-in part. I did my share by contributing a lot of the answers. It seemed to work OK.

The 10 weeks went by quickly and I had a lot of experience speaking. We supplemented our class time with work in an interactive text book and taped dialogues. We covered the material in 3 chapters. I am still not good at rolling my “r’s” but I have mastered a few verb tenses and learned some new vocabulary. Feeling very proud of myself for accomplishing something – learning Italian And Zoom – I signed up for level 2.

The first class of level 2 was last night. The new instructor, Tanizio, introduced the two groups of students to each other – Lorenzo’s level one students, and Tanizio’s level one students. Then he announced that we would be starting level 2 with chapter 6 from the textbook. Mamma Mia! How had we, Lorenzo’s students, managed to skip chapters 4 and 5? I could feel my anxiety rising. Should I give up now while a refund is still available?

NO! I should not. And neither should you. Get that new project going. Whether it’s recovering furniture, or planting a new kind of shrub, or baking cookies for the neighbours, we all need a sense of purpose. Find one and share it with us. No languishing allowed!

Sue

When Peter and I decided to move to a smaller house in the city, we had to get rid of some furniture. It was a heart-wrenching task, giving away all those gorgeous couches and dressers that nobody else wanted. But, with a little arm twisting, we managed. Except for the gold chairs.

This set of 4 stackable chairs has been in the Iaboni family for decades. They may even be antiques. But boy are they ugly! They’re covered with a shag material in a mustard colour, not anywhere near gold, that was right in style during the 70’s. I would have disposed of them ages ago.

But those chairs have fans: Peter’s poker buddies Love those chairs. During their regular poker games, they can sit in them for up to 6 hours, betting and handing over quarters. I guess their butts get sore on wood chairs, so a long time ago they attached themselves to the ugly padded chairs. When it came time for us to move, the poker buddies got a say: “Take the gold chairs to the city!”

Now I wouldn’t ordinarily take advice about furniture from a bunch of guys who play cards and tell dirty jokes. But the poker buddies have been in Peter’s life for over 50 years. Their opinion carries weight. Plus, one time when they visited, one of them sat on a bench in the hall to put his boots on, and the bench crashed to the floor. The poker guy was not hurt but he was embarrassed. I have a lot of guilt over that bench. I need to provide decent seating for the poker buddies.

When our move was over and the pandemic hit, I was looking for projects to fill those long days and weeks and months with nothing much to do. The gold chairs came to mind. How about recovering them? During an opening up of stores during the summer, I visited a fabric shop and got some imitation black leather. It looked sturdy, it could be wiped off if some beer happened to spill, and it was masculine. I bought several yards. Then I went to a hardware store and purchased a staple gun. I was all set. Except…

I have to admit that I was rather nervous about starting this project. I could handle measuring and cutting the material. But the staple gun scared me. I procrastinated with lots of excuses: wait until after Thanksgiving, maybe following Christmas, how about after Easter? None of these excuses made any sense, since we weren’t having any big parties or celebrations, and certainly the poker buddies were not visiting either. But finally I had completed just about every other project I could think of. It was time to face the chairs.

I spread the fabric out on the floor, measured and cut. Then I tackled the staple gun. I carefully cut it out of its plastic packaging, and read the instructions: “Wear goggles. Use the safety catch. Watch out for flying debris.” This certainly was no comfort. Were the poker buddies really worth a life-altering injury?

I swallowed my fear, filled up the gun with staples, and began banging away. It was actually fun! And a lot speedier than sewing. I was on a roll. Bang, bang, bang went the staples. In no time at all I had one chair finished. And you can see the results below.

Peter sent this picture to his poker buddies. I waited impatiently for comments. I thought they would write back immediately and beg him to set up a game. Despite the pandemic, wouldn’t they be just desperate to try out my new black (fake) leather chairs? Apparently not. They want to wait till it’s safe. Imagine – I risked my life with that staple gun, and they are afraid of a few covid germs?

Well I guess nobody can blame them for that. So now I’m thinking of Plan B. Maybe the chairs can take on a new role – to make some money and fill in for Peter’s lack of poker winnings. If you are short of furniture, we have some black (fake) leather chairs for sale at a really good price.

Sue

PS If you have any pandemic projects to tell us about, send in a comment.

As I write this post, the weather forecast for tomorrow is Snow. The pandemic numbers are spiraling out of control. Our freedom is under lockdown once again. What can I possibly write about that will cheer us up? Well – how about funerals?

This topic is on my mind because recently a golfing friend passed away, at age 91. She had hit her last hole-in-one at age 89. That, to me, is a great life!

During the pandemic we have lost a lot of friends and relatives, mostly to the diseases of old age. We have had no chance to celebrate their lives. They have gone quietly, sometimes without even family by their sides. There have been no funerals, no memorial services, no way to bring a sense of closure to those of us who are left behind. Some families postponed because the church or reception hall would only accommodate a few people. A couple of families postponed because relatives from other places, such as Europe, were not able to travel. Other people thought, like us, that wearing masks and staying 2 meters apart is not conducive to a special event.

Even the Royal family is not immune. Think about Prince Phillip – a pretty famous guy. But did he get a royal funeral at the abbey? No – he too had to make do with a private service at Windsor Castle and only 30 guests. The poor Queen had to sit in a pew all by herself. No pomp and circumstance, no big parade, no choirs singing.

Before the pandemic, I hate to admit this, but a lot of our social life was going to funerals. We welcomed the opportunity to honour those who were gone, by being there for whatever way the family chose to recognize their lives – whether it was a solemn church mass followed by a reception, or a memorial gathering with speeches and stories of remembrance. It was a chance to pass on our condolences to those who were left behind.

It was also a time to see people we hadn’t been in touch with for years. Funeral receptions and memorial gatherings can be the perfect social event for us oldies. Somebody else does the cooking and sets up the bar. The events are usually held during the day so we are able to stay awake and don’t have to drive home in the dark. We get to wear a nice outfit instead of our jogging pants. Peter would even put on his suit for this.

I’m not going to make any crass jokes about having to wear name tags because nobody will recognize us now that we are so much older. But in many ways funerals and memorials are almost joyous – an opportunity to recognize that the deceased is no longer suffering, and to celebrate together all that he or she has accomplished. I’m sure that, if my golfing friend had had a memorial, there would have been a Lot of golfing stories going around the room. She would have been delighted.

Since turning 70 and moving to the city, I have been thinking about how I want to be “disposed of” some day. One place we have been visiting a lot during the pandemic is the local cemetery. It’s a pretty place to walk, the grounds are well-kept, and readers have see pictures of the deer who live there. I’m kind of getting attached to them. So, if the time comes and you get invited, be sure to bring along a name tag and some jokes. And don’t forget to stick an apple in the pocket of your jogging pants. The deer like Honey Crisp the best.

Sue

PS No photos today. I mean really? How morbid can you get!

When my daughter Jennifer told me that she and her husband Richard were moving to Orangeville, I did a double take. Why would they want to move from our great city to a small unknown town? Over the last couple of years, I have found out.

It began for me with a childhood memory of Orangeville. When I was about 5, my family used to drive through the town on our way to a family cottage at Wasaga Beach. My dad would yell out “Bananaville!” Or maybe “Peachville!” My brother and I would giggle in the back seat and say, “No silly Dad, It’s Orangeville!” And so on…every time we visited. My husband Peter remembers that, as a young teen, he had a summer job as flagman at his older brother’s construction site – building sewers on Orangeville’s main street. It was not a glamorous job but he felt powerful holding up that little flag and stopping traffic. (And occasionally chatting up any cute female drivers).

Since Jen and Richard moved there, we have visited several times. We took some international guests there in 2013 for the 150th anniversary of the town. The main street, named Broadway, was shut down to cars so hundreds of pedestrians, kids, and dogs could wander on the road, visiting booths, eating street food, and celebrating. We enjoyed walking on Broadway, an attractive street with lots of heritage buildings, including a lovely old theatre built in 1875.

Another time we stopped by the Saturday Farmers’ Market. People were shopping and eating lunch, as they met with neighbours and chatted. Jennifer tells us that during a non-pandemic summer there are festivals almost every weekend: Ribfest, Blues and Jazz Festival, Taste Of Orangeville, and more. In the spring there is a maple syrup festival, with an “adult version” at night. That sounds intriguing, doesn’t it? We know that kids make toffee by pouring hot syrup on cold snow. But how does that translate into adult fun? Use your imagination!

Not too long ago, Orangeville gained new fame with an artistic project, initiated in 2002 by an enterprising mayor who decided to “breathe new life into dying trees.” He commissioned local carvers to create characters from dead tree trunks. The project began with 56 sculptures along Broadway and First Street, and in parks.

Recently on a Friday, when we had to leave the house so Lucy could clean, we decided to investigate. We headed to Orangeville and meandered along Broadway. We found some trees that had died, been cut off a few meters above ground, and carved, and other trees that had died completely and a portion of the trunk saved, carved, and mounted on concrete pads. The collection, refereed to as Tree Spirits, is clever and eye-catching.

On our way home, Peter and I laughed about our childhood memories of Orangeville, and speculated on the name. We had not seen a single orange tree in the entire group. Where had the name come from? A quick search of Google gave us the answer:

Orange Lawrence, an ambitious young man, had moved to the tiny hamlet in 1843 and bought a mill. He followed that with a general store, a school, and a post office, where he became post master. Feeling his power grow, he lusted after a life in politics and ran for office in 1861. Sadly, he lost. A few months later he hanged himself from one of those trees! Such a terrible irony, one not mentioned in the Tree Spirits pamphlet.

Orangeville has a great time with Christmas: a decorated park, a parade of lights, and…. Oops sorry – we are barely into spring! This is a topic for another day. Meanwhile, when Stay-At-Home orders are lifted, head up to Broadway and feel your spirits lifted too.

Sue

We’ve all been focused on Spring since late February. But now that April is here we can really begin to see it. There are signs everywhere.

Some days are warm enough to sit outside on the patio and watch the wildlife. Our first robins appeared n early March, tweeting away and digging for worms. The snowdrops have shown their sunny white faces. The squirrels are getting frisky. The kids are roller blading. And the adults…we can hardly contain our excitement.

Take my husband Peter, for example. He’s an avid gardener and started growing garlic from sprouts inside several weeks ago. In mid March he began looking for his electric drill so he could make holes in the frozen ground to plant the tiny garlic plants. Now he has turned our living room into a nursery and has planted seeds: zucchini, beets, squash, tomatoes, lettuce and spices. Very handy if we were having any dinner parties.

Another sign of Spring is when I check out my wardrobe and do a little shopping, The thought of exchanging all those dark winter clothes for something colourful just gets my shopping genes going. So what if I have to shop online? When those items arrive on the doorstep – it’s a big surprise! I open them and discover: “Oops this top is too tight. Guess the pandemic snacking got to me.” or “How did the red sweater on the screen turn into this purple-orange sweater in the package?”

But the biggest sign of Spring in our house is: Income Tax! Despite the pandemic and the possibility of postponing the April 30 deadline, Peter starts getting organized early. He checks out the tax program installed on his computer, and begins collecting the necessary documents. Every day around 1:00 pm he looks for the mailman. What important papers does the mailman have for us today? He opens the mailbox and out come – real estate flyers. Several phone calls later, he is assured that the necessary T 4’s will be arriving soon.

But this year a couple of my T 4’s are missing. Peter gets me to hunt them down. I call the appropriate government agency and discover that I forgot to change my address when we moved to the city. The missing documents were likely delivered to our old address. I call the CRA and listen to elevator music for over 2 hours. Then the agent tells me that the website was recently hacked and I need to answer some extra security questions: What was my previous address? Check. How about the address before that? “The place where I lived in 2005?” I wrack my brain and give her the details. Check.

Then the agent asks about the address before that. “You mean 1997? That’s almost 25 years ago! How am I supposed to remember that?” I come up with the street address but the unit number fails me. I blurt out: “It was on the 4th floor, so 4-something.” Silence from the agent. “It had a tiny balcony.” More silence. Now I am grasping at straws: “The walls were painted turquoise!” I begin to snivel. Finally the agent takes pity on me and says “Enough.” She will send the new T 4’s. I am saved.

Soon it’s time for Peter to start filling out the forms. This is where I retreat to the basement, the garage, or really any place where I can’t be a distraction. It’s nice to know that I have such power! I hide somewhere quietly and wait for a sign – Peter jumping up from his desk and announcing: “Let’s have lunch!” Tax time is over for another year.

Now we can truly enjoy Spring. I hope you can too.

Sue

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Several readers have asked for an update on our resident mice, Missy and Sissy. Honest – they really have! So here you go:

After over a month of co-habitation, we can say that Missy and Sissy are pretty good tenants: they look after their unit, tidying up their little tea-box bed every night. One night, when their bed was beginning to get stinky, I replaced it with a new similar box. They spent the next several hours searching out new bedding and bits of paper to fix it up.

They are fussy eaters, however, preferring our food to theirs. They love pear, tomato, and the sunflower seeds that Peter eats each night while watching TV. When they go to sleep, they cover up their food bowls to prevent prowlers from stealing their leftovers. Maybe they have heard about Peter’s grazing habits. During the day they sleep off their meals, sometimes snoring softly.

But at night? Well that’s a different story. These girls are night hawks! They are awake partying from 8:00 pm until early morning. They keep busy sashaying around the cage, swinging on their little hammock, walking their tight rope, pole-dancing on their ladder. But mostly they head for their mouse-powered ferris wheels. They climb inside and start running. The wheels squeak and wobble and make a huge racket. Fortunately our bedroom is at the other end of the house, or else we might have to downgrade their suite to the basement.

The new tenants are really keeping me busy. Every night around 8:00 I visit them and share the news. I locate their hidden food bowls and replace the contents with fresh goodies. On Sunday mornings I do the housecleaning – half the cage per week. With one hand I dump out the old bedding and pooh, while with the other hand is free to catch the tenants if they try to escape. Then, after I wash the wheels and other toys, I re-arrange things. Because Agnes might be calling at any time…

Agnes, the mice’s real mother, stays in touch from New Zealand. At least once a week she facetimes me to have a tour of the cage and see if I am doing my job properly. She checks their food bowls. “Nana, just give them one fruit at a time. You don’t want them getting diarrhea.” (No I don’t !). She often comments on how the mice need mental stimulation. “You have to move things around, Nana, add new toys, so they don’t get bored,” (just like the rest of us during the pandemic).

Anyway, my conscience got bothering me so, a few days ago, I drove to Walmart (double-masked at 7:00 am). I went straight to the pet aisle and there, on the shelves, were little mouse toys. Well I couldn’t help myself – I bought a cute little swing in bright colours that went perfectly with the cage decor. I could hardly wait till Sunday when I got to put it in the cage. Missy and Sissy were ecstatic! They climbed on instantly and began chewing. Oops – what if the paint were toxic?

I checked the box for hazards and found that the swing is perfect for chewing. And on the side of the box was a picture of another toy – a teeter totter “for your tiny special pet!” It was adorable. But another trip to Walmart? I decided that I would make a teeter totter myself. I gathered up the glue, scissors and appropriate cardboard. And you can see the results in the photo below.

Now I am thinking of signing up as a vendor on Etsy. If you need any mouse toys, I can give you a break on the price.

Sue

Back in March of 2020, I remember watching those impromptu concerts on balconies, as musicians played their pots and pans and other home-made instruments in tribute to the frontline workers. I was thinking – well good for them – the frontline workers deserve this. But how is the TSO going to fit on a balcony, especially with a piano, a drum set, and a few oboes up there too?

We now know that the TSO went virtual, and they are about to perform Vivaldi’s Four Seasons online beginning March 26. Other musicians, visual artists, dancers, and writers did likewise. They have learned how to perform on zoom. And we have learned how to participate: comb your hair, check your shirt for stains, put your wine in a coffee cup, and pull up a comfy chair.

The Art Gallery of Ontario now has an impressive line-up of activities and events online. There are courses for adults on painting, and even life drawing if you want to add some spice to your life. Talks by artists and historians include artist profiles, and other topics such as The History Of Nightclubbing in Toronto. You can view some of the AGO collection on their site, and you can do virtual shopping in their store.

The Mirvish Theatre had to suspend their season in March of 2020. There were a lot of disappointed patrons who didn’t get to use their tickets for the blockbuster hit Hamilton. Instead they had to be content with the covid-ized version of the show’s hit song “I’m not throwing away my shot!” The Mirvish staff did get creative and produced a weekly online newsletter titled “Meanwhile.” It had stories of past shows, interviews with actors who had nothing else to do, and little contests such as “What was your favourite theatre moment?” (if you can remember back that far).

Hot Docs, a film company that would normally be planning their annual May festival right now, went online with documentaries and talks. I signed up for a series on architecture, which was fascinating except…the presenter, clearly not used to zooming, had an annoying habit of taking off his glasses and putting them back on again, so often that I started counting. I got so fixated on those glasses that I lost track of the buildings he showed us. Not everything in our covid world is perfect.

Small arts companies have had to be more creative – it’s hard to put together a play or concert or art show with no audience and no money. A friend belongs to a church choir that meets virtually to rehearse. They learned the music long before they figured out the technicalities. A community arts group I know got creative with outdoor event planning, organizing an art show en plein air in the fall and a winter scene photography contest in the colder months. And the kids, even the kids found outdoor venues for their creative talents: on driveways and rocks.

So what does the future hold for all the artists and audiences who have been waiting an entire year for restrictions on live culture to be lifted?There is good news: the TSO is now planning their summer season of in-person concerts beginning in June. Stratford has announced a modified summer schedule, with plays to be performed in open-sided tents. And the highly acclaimed Van Gogh exhibit, which was staged last summer in the Toronto Star building, has announced plans to re-open their drive-through show in the next couple of weeks.

These are such hopeful plans. The arts are coming alive again in the city.

Sue

Now that we have been “doing covid” for over a year, we are pretty well-set in our routines.

Here are our daily activities: eat breakfast, read the paper, go for a walk, eat lunch, read a book, go for another walk, eat dinner, watch TV, go to bed. Next day, repeat. These daily activities are interspersed with occasional zoom calls, virtual bridge lessons, showers, laundry, putting out the garbage. There are other highlights: put on mask and go to the grocery store, put on mask and go to the drug store, put on mask and go to…hmmm where else can we go that’s not too scary?

In a previous post I laid out our lengthy nighttime routines: finding our pyjamas and socks, brushing our teeth, washing our faces, donning our “appliances,” and then, since we are now wide awake, reading a boring book to put us to sleep. But there is one more item that goes into all of this: taking our pills. Yes I do mean pillS. This is harder than it seems. One pill requires that we take it on an empty stomach, another one says to take it before bedtime, another one recommends taking it before a meal, and yet another one says “Do Not take this medication with any other medication!” It almost requires an algorithm to figure it all out.

Once we have our pill routine organized, another factor comes into play – our memory. How do we remember to take all these medications at the right times? One reader has an alarm set up on her phone. But if she forgets to charge the phone, then the pills are out of luck. Other people use a place as a reminder. Put them by your place at the table and see them when you sit down for meals. But if you are lucky enough to get takeout one day and eat it in the car, well so much for that pill. Or you can buy one of those little divided boxes and fill it up according to the hour. At the end of the day, when the boxes are still full, just dump the pills into your hand, say a little prayer, and swallow them all at once.

I am sorry to tell you that these nighttime and pill routines are not going away any time soon. In fact, they might get more complicated as we age. But the daily activities? Well we’re all hoping that they might change sometime soon! The covid variants are competing with the vaccine for dominance, and we are cheering loudly for the vaccine. There are 4 to choose from, but the best choice is to “take any one that is offered.”

The possibility of vaccines gives us something weighty to think about: how are our routines going to change when we have a chance at freedom? At our age it’s been hard to watch the days and weeks go by as we stick to our schedules, without much meaningful purpose. I’ve been asking people how they’re going to react to freedom, and here’s what I’ve heard:

Some people are desperate to sit in a restaurant and be waited on. This is mostly women. Women also mention shopping malls quite a lot. On the other hand, men want to watch sports with a live audience, such as cheering on the Blue Jays. Some even want to play a sport; on a tennis court or curling rink. Several people are contemplating a travel adventure, maybe somewhere in Canada first – carefully testing the waters in a safe place. Get home quickly if necessary.

But there are some routines that people have embraced during the pandemic: going for a daily walk on our beautiful city trails, making yummy loaves of bread on the weekend, reading novels that are more than 150 pages, buying fewer clothes and wearing them longer, getting in touch with family and friends more often.

These are pretty important life lessons learned during a pretty tough year. If you have any to add, send us a comment.

Sue

As we thumb through travel albums and fantasize about taking a trip one day soon, we shouldn’t neglect our local area; the Golden Horseshoe. Take Niagara On the Lake. Most readers know NOTL as the day trip of the century: crowds of people shopping, taking wine tours, staying at quaint B and B’s, and going to the Shaw Festival. But there is a lot more to this town than just tourism.

The Niagara area played a major role in Canada’s history. During the war of 1812, (a war between the USA that wanted to annex Upper Canada, and Britain that wanted to keep the territory as part of its massive empire), Niagara was the site of several battles. Situated on the Niagara river which was, even then, an informal border, the area saw bloodshed and the deaths of many Canadian soldiers at Fort George as they fought the Americans across the river at Fort Niagara.

Many of us have visited, or even climbed, the monument dedicated to General Brock who lost his life fighting an important battle. We’ve all eaten chocolates dedicated to Laura Secord, who apparently walked with her cows through American territory to warn the British of a planned attack. The Canadians/British finally won the war, but a battle in 1813 saw the US general burning NOTL to the ground as he retreated from his occupation of Fort George.

Following the war, the town was rebuilt and many of those heritage homes are still standing; homes such as the Hawley House, 1816, a neo-classical beauty. My parents knew the owners who purchased and renovated it in the 1950’s, finding a priceless set of sterling silverware hidden in the ceiling. St. Mark’s Church, originally built in 1792, was mostly destroyed during the fire, but was rebuilt and is the oldest continuously-used church west of Quebec. Next door stands the church rectory built in 1858, a brilliant example of an Italian Villa, L-shaped, with a tower in the middle and wonderful windows. Other heritage buildings stand proudly on the main street and along many side streets. Most have plaques which make for interesting and informative walking.

But I know a different Niagara On the Lake. As a child, I spent my summers there. It was a sleepy town back in the 1950’s and 60’s. My friends and I used to ride our bikes to the movies (now the Royal George Theatre), and afterwards we would wander down the main street to the Avondale Dairy for ice cream. When I was in university I worked at the Oban Inn as the dining room hostess and general gopher. The Shaw Festival was just beginning and I met all the actors, when they came in to the bar for a drink.

I got to know the owners quite well. Edna Burroughs steered the ship, checking on flower arrangements and menus with a magnifying glass. Her son Gary was the amiable sous-chef who eventually became mayor of NOTL. Her daughter was Jackie Burroughs, the (late) well-known actress. Jackie would drop in occasionally to chat, mostly when her mother wasn’t around. Edna did Not approve of Jackie’s interesting lifestyle or her boyfriends. I, however, was in awe. It was a coming-of-age time for me, just as the town was growing up too.

Not too long ago, during the pandemic, I had a chance to visit Niagara again. It was the same tourist destination. But it was missing one key element – people! The town was deserted. The theatre was closed. There were actually empty parking spots on the main street. The restaurants were only doing takeout and the owners were standing on the sidewalks begging for customers. It was a sad state for this historic town which has contributed so much to life in Canada as we know it today.

During covid our minds, in searching for things to ponder, often go backwards. We remember things that were more interesting than our lives today; going on trips, celebrating milestone occasions, and sometimes reliving our childhood. When I go backwards, I end up in Niagara On the Lake.

Sue

Yesterday I threw out my red turtleneck sweater, a warm but worn one that I’ve been slouching around in all winter. Spring is on the way. The birds think so too; just this morning I heard them tweeting at 6:00 am.

OK so maybe I am rushing the season just a tiny bit. Like everybody else, I am tired of this pandemic winter, especially since I’ve been wearing the same old clothes for months on end. Those jogging pants and sweatshirts are in rough shape. My boots are truly “down at the heels.” And my puffy winter coat is well – pathetic. There are stains from eating takeout in the car, and the pockets are filled with dirty gloves, old kleenex, and used masks. So last weekend I decided to march forward, towards my closet.

For inspiration I went to Zoomer magazine and an article entitled “No Sweat(s)!” The article was researched by someone who has an MA in fashion psychology. Who even knew there was such a degree? As we have already noticed, her first premise is that the fashion bar is set pretty low right now. The secret to dressing for success these days is just getting dressed! According to her, “denim is a solid step up from pyjamas.” Well so far so good, (except for those male readers who have already left the scene).

Of course this researcher is being paid by the fashion industry which recently declared that profits in their sector were down 93% over the past year. They have a reason to write these articles! But let’s just see what new trends she considers.

For her ideas she turned to the fashion trends following other world disasters. After the bubonic plague, Renaissance clothes of silk, satin and rich brocade became popular. After the 1918 Spanish flu, the roaring twenties ushered in flapper outfits. And after World War II, Christian Dior introduced the New Look for women: rounded shoulders, cinch waist, and long full skirt.

None of these styles look good on us older adults. So what will the next fashion era hold for us? Even though stores in most places are not yet open or have limits on customers, Toronto is considered a fashion hub; we need to be prepared for our chance to shop. As I read on, the author’s most important piece of advice is to head for colour. Nobody wants to see funereal shades of black and navy right now. Okey dokey, we can go with that. But the pictures in her article show women’s jackets that look Way too big and skirts that are Way too short. She mentions Diane Keaton as a role model, wearing “jeans, little hats, and trench coats; modern yet elegant.” hmm…

You men who are still reading are not left out either. For you there is Stanley Tucci, host of the new Italian travel/food show. He has a definite style. He chooses linen shirts in various hues of soft blue. He wears them with the neck open and the sleeves rolled up. His outfit is complete with denim jackets and jeans, very well put-together and sexy. Peter is not impressed. He says his 2 plaid flannel shirts are cozy and hardly worn at all!

The article ends with an earth-shattering quote: “Let’s rise to the occasion and perk ourselves up!” So find a picture of Diane Keaton or Stanley Tucci and just do it.

Sue

PS Peter refused to be photographed for this post. Sorry