Have you ever noticed how, as we age, we tend to think more about our past? This is especially true as we cope with a life-altering disease such as Covid 19. When the world looks so different, we are drawn to something familiar – our personal histories.

My husband, Peter, has been doing a lot of reminiscing lately. He often steers our walks in a north-west direction, where he lived when his kids were growing up. And he’s been studying his family tree which one of his nephews recently created. It’s gigantic. Peter figured out that he has 49 first cousins! And when he is not going on walks or looking over this huge family tree, he sits in his favourite chair and plays music by Italian singers Claudio Villa and Rita Pavone, from his childhood.

Watching Peter so involved in his past, I decided to get into the act too. I remembered something about my dad’s history – that he had moved to Canada as a 2-year-old and had settled with his family in Hamilton. What about that house? Was it still standing? Peter and I drove to Hamilton and found a house in an industrial area. The owners were sitting on the front porch. How serendipitous! They confirmed that the house was about 120 years old and had been built, along with several others on the street, as accommodation for Stelco workers. I knew my grandfather had been a Stelco worker. Bingo! It was the right house. Next stop – England – where both my parents had been born.

BUT… England is not easy to visit during a pandemic, so we planned a short trip to Kingston instead. Peter and I had both gone to Queen’s University, although we didn’t know each other back then. We had spent a lot of time on the campus but we were both so busy studying (well maybe socializing too), that we didn’t really know the city. Kingston has one big travel advantage right now: it’s safe! There is no Covid 19 there.

We spent our first day strolling around the campus, checking out our residences and reminiscing about our classes and friends. Most of the old buildings, constructed with local limestone, are still standing and in great shape. There are new buildings too, a mix of limestone and the trendy new building materials: glass and steel. We laughed when we saw our new library which is now the OLD library, across the street from the new NEW library. Can Our Library have actually worn out since we studied there only 50 years ago?

On the second day we explored Kingston’s scenic waterfront. There is now a beautiful pathway with reminders of the War Of 1812: Martello Towers dot the landscape, along with information plaques, benches and picnic tables. Downtown we also found great restaurants with open patios, some of them on the waterfront too. We took the free ferry to Wolfe Island and strolled between the bakery serving coffee and cinnamon buns to a waterfront patio offering up beer and nachos. But we didn’t find any appealing beaches for swimming there, so we went back to our hotel rooftop pool overlooking Lake Ontario. We had the pool all to ourselves and it was perfect. Not quite swimming IN the lake, but very close!

On the last day of our mini-vacation we were lucky to get tickets to tour the Kingston Penitentiary, a maximum security facility which had closed in 2015. We toured the gyms, the office areas, the shops and…the cells. Some of them were open. Suddenly I noticed an evil look in Peter’s eye as he suggested I go into one and try it out. Well dear readers, I knew I had to write this blog post so I resisted.

If yo are looking for a safe place in Ontario to have a little break, you could try a visit to Kingston. Just be sure to watch yourself at the jail.

Sue

After spending an entire vacation week staying cool in a lake, my husband Peter and I wondered how we would survive the rest of this hot summer with no swimming.

Then we heard the best news – outdoor pools in the city were going to be open, with restrictions of course. We live less than 2 blocks from an Olympic-sized public pool with a very pleasant water temperature. The schedule indicated lane swimming, 6 people for half an hour at a time, from 11 to 12 noon. This was followed by family leisure swim, 25 people per hour, from 12 to 8 pm. We chose lane swimming over being splashed and jumped on by little kids. We changed into our bathing suits and headed up the street.

When we arrived, there were some people in line ahead of us. It seemed to be 4, which meant that we would be 5 and 6 – yea! We sat down on a curb in the shade and waited. When the whistle blew and everyone jumped up, we discovered that one babysitter was actually a swimmer which meant that we were numbers 6 and 7. Peter and I looked at each other with longing. But I tend to be a martyr, so I gave him the spot and left for home.

When I got home, I started feeling sorry for myself and desperate to get into that pool, so I walked back again. When Peter’s half hour ended, he passed me as I was waiting. He looked very appreciative. I got into the pool: ah cool water! ah exercise! ah martyrdom!

The pool swim was lovely but I started thinking about the lake – Lake Ontario – the lake where I spent all my childhood summers. Readers may remember that last September I decided to try swimming in the lake again, at age 70 plus. I dragged Peter with me but he has Mediterranean blood and only got in up to his knees. I made it all the way to my waist before I chickened out too. But this summer…surely this summer has been so hot that the water would be hot too, right?

On Friday, with temperatures in the 30’s, we decided to try our luck at Sunnyside Beach. Well in truth, I wore my bathing suit and Peter said he would be in charge of the camera. We got a parking spot, overcoming our first hurdle, and then walked to the beach. There were a lot of people sun bathing but nobody was actually swimming. The lifeguard told us why – unsafe levels of e-coli. Well readers, I was not ready to poison myself for you, so we left.

Now what? Somebody told us that, further west on another beach, the e-coli levels were low. We went searching and found the beach. Once again we saw sun-bathers and even paddlers, but no swimmers. Plus the lake was rough! And the bottom was rocky! Really, how much sacrifice am I supposed to make for this blog anyway? So we went home, and sat inside with the air-conditioner going full blast.

Through a window I spotted the garden hose in the back yard. Would a run through the sprinkler count as swimming? I’d have to invite some grand children over so I wouldn’t look silly. Or maybe I could go with them to a splash pad…..

Then I decided that maybe it was just easiest to go back to the outdoor pool. So, after I finish writing this, I’m going to sneak out the back door and race up the street, ready to capture spot number 6. Don’t anybody tell Peter!

Sue

Ever since the provincial government allowed cleaning services to resume, my husband Peter and I have been avoiding Lucy. She comes in the front door to clean the house, and we go out the back to…basically keep ourselves occupied for 5 hours.

This is not easy during a pandemic. There are no seating areas in shopping centres where you can have a coffee and read. Few museums or art galleries are open and only then with advanced bookings. Movie theatres are shuttered. We are reduced to walking but, since March 13, we figure we have walked at least twice the distance around Lake Ontario. We are running out of walking enthusiasm, and ideas.

But last week I had one. I have been taking an architecture course online where the focus is on Toronto neighbourhoods. One day we were discussing Lawrence Park, and the Alexander Muir Gardens came up. Muir was that patriotic Canadian poet, teacher and musician who wrote The Maple Leaf Forever back in 1867 to celebrate Canadian confederation. I knew of several schools that are named after him, but I didn’t know about his garden.

Peter and I covered ourselves in sun screen and packed a lunch with lots of water so we could handle the 33-degree temperature that was forecast. We drove across town and easily found the entrance. We followed a shady trail leading to stairs into the garden. At the bottom of the stairs we turned around and saw that the stairs were supporting a monument to Muir, etched with a description of his life’s work.

The garden itself was an oasis. Although the grass was a little brown in spots, the flowers were in full bloom. Begonias, marigolds, astilbe, and petunias adorned the sunny areas, while hostas and various hues of pink and white coleus filled the shady borders. Then we noticed the wooded path ahead. It called out to us. We followed it as it wound through the trees beside a stream – Burke Brook.

We were not alone. There were several families with little kids, who had escaped from the confinement of their homes. And there were dogs, plenty of dogs, heading to an off-leash dog park. One dog walker had even trained her 2-year-old to hold a leash. And there were plaques; to Willy and other prized family pets.

Further along the path we came to Sherwood Park and a splash pad full of kids. It was so hot that we wanted to jump in too. In the background stood a building housing the public washrooms. The outside wall was decorated with a painting, The West Wind, by (Group of Seven) artist A.J. Casson. I don’t know if Casson gave his permission to have his iconic work adorning washrooms or not.

We found an empty picnic table near the splash pad, and set out our lunch. We were not too far away from a group of little campers and a counsellor, taking a break while the park maintenance crew gave the splash pad its hourly cleaning. The kids were getting a little restless and they began climbing onto the picnic tables and giving each other “massages” aka play fighting. The counsellor was clearly losing his patience as he waited for the splash pad to re-open.

It was time for us to go home. After a lifetime of sorting out kids’ squabbles, as parents and as teachers, we were ready to leave the counsellor to his job, and saunter back down the leafy trail of tranquility. Besides, Lucy would be finished cleaning by now.

Sue

PS In future summer posts I will be writing about other outdoor pathways that provide a respite from the heat and the stress of living with Covid 19. If you have suggestions, pass them on!

Dear readers, did you miss me last Tuesday? Well I missed you! But, after over 100 days of covid confinement, my husband Peter and I were able to escape.

We had been looking forward to our annual family summer holiday for several months but, with the arrival of the pandemic, the opportunity to enjoy the outdoors with our children and grandchildren seemed doomed. We were beyond delighted when the owners of the resort decided to open to returning guests only, and we learned that we would be the only ones there for the week.

At first, this new freedom was hard to grasp. We had been well-trained over the past 3 months. We were armed with our masks, a large container of hand sanitizer, and several tubs of disinfecting wipes. But we still felt a bit like criminals and kept checking the rear-view mirror for signs of Dr. Da Villa chasing us as we drove north.

We finally arrived at the resort and unpacked the other necessary ingredients for the week: junk food, drinks, bathing suits – only the essentials! Then, because the weather was already hot, we were lured into the lake. The kids swam out to the raft, climbed on, and tried out the water slide. Our grand daughter Agnes immediately started counting: 1..2…3… She announced her goal for the week: 100 times down the slide. Meanwhile the adults, not quite so ambitious, swam leisurely or floated around on noodles. Slowly all of us felt our Covid 19 concerns sinking to the bottom of the lake.

Our daily routine evolved: breakfast, swimming, lunch, swimming, snacks, more swimming, drinks, dinner, maybe another swim, bed. This leisurely schedule was punctuated by a few exciting moments, such as when both family dogs, who were thought to be non-swimmers, jumped into the lake too. Or when Nana and Nonno decided to take 2 grand children on a tour in the 4-seat paddle boat. Then a third grand child jumped on and swamped the boat, tossing Nonno into the water. Meanwhile, all week, Agnes continued to announce her slide score: 78…79…80…

Occasionally we emerged from the lake for an outing. One day we drove to a nearby park with hiking trails. There were very few other people on the trails but there were lots and lots of mosquitoes. They seemed not to know about Covid 19 and they got WAY too close and personal. That night we did a lot of scratching as we sat around a campfire retelling our adventures.

On another day the kids felt the need for the all-time summer treat – ice cream. We debated about this. Should we take a chance and go back to civilization, even briefly? Hesitantly we piled into cars and headed for the ice cream store in the local town. And there we found people wearing masks and lining up 2 meters apart; stark evidence that yes, Covid 19 was still around. We located a table away from other families, and nervously licked at our strawberry, hazelnut and butterscotch ripple. Then we sanitized our hands and headed back to the safety of our germ-free retreat.

In the middle of the week we put up a big flag and dug our red shirts out of our suitcases. It was Canada Day. The kids decorated each other with temporary tattoos: beavers, flags, male leaves, and “I Heart Canada” emblems. The adults shared news of Covid 19 spreading out of control in the US and so many other places. We couldn’t think of a better year to celebrate this great country we live in.

All too soon Agnes announced her final slide tally -259, (an over-achiever for sure!) and we knew it was time to go home. We reluctantly gathered up our worn-out bathing suits, and scarfed the few leftover snacks. After some final hugs, we piled into our separate cars and drove back to our lives of isolation in the city.

Sue

The other night, while watching TV and eating a snack, I tasted something strange in my mouth. I spit it out and there was an entire front tooth sitting in my hand. Now dear readers, I will go to almost any length to get an interesting story for you, but this, this tooth story, it definitely was not planned.

The next day I took a chance and called my dentist. Yes the office was open! But only for emergencies. I was not in any pain, but one look in the mirror and I knew this was definitely an emergency. The receptionist thought so too and she began the screening process. She ran down a list of possible covid symptoms: headache, fever, coughing, and a few I hadn’t heard of before, like loss of taste and difficulty swallowing. Well, without my tooth, food tasted strange for sure, and every time I tried to swallow, my tongue got caught in the empty space. The receptionist didn’t seem to think that these were covid symptoms and she booked an appointment.

The dental office was empty and eerily quiet; all the doors were closed and people were speaking in hushed voices behind their masks. Nobody laughed at my plight – it was all business. The dentist looked around in my mouth and, while she stuck the broken tooth back in with some crazy glue, she gave me the long-term treatment options: cheap but basic, or the high-end special. Since the high-end choice required several appointments, I went for cheap with only 2 appointments needed. I hoped it wouldn’t be too basic.

The next appointment came all too soon, and I endured an hour and a half of freezing, probing, drilling, more probing, fitting and gluing. Then the dentist brought up another issue: since this was a front tooth, the colour of the new one needed to match the other front tooth. A trip to a denturist was in order. Well I know colour is important when my hairdresser is covering up my unfashionable grey hair. And my decorator friend has often pointed out the different shades of white paint for woodwork. But a tooth? Wasn’t this going overboard?

Besides, the very word “denturist’ conjured up visions of a serial-killing denturist in Nova Scotia. Then, when I called to make an appointment, this one told me that his lab was in his private home, in the basement, on a street I had never heard of. Maybe I would need to take my husband with me as protection. I didn’t want to go from having a broken tooth to being a murder victim. The night before the appointment I had a few bad dreams.

The next day, when Peter was too busy to be a body-guard, I used my GPS to find the denturist’s house. It was Not on a dead-end street in the middle of nowhere. The house had No ghostly creaking porches, no secret turret windows. Instead it appeared to be a family home in a pleasant subdivision. Still cautious, I went around to the side door where there was a dental lab sign. But there was no answer when I knocked. This was my last chance to back out….Finally, I gathered up my courage and opened the door.

The denturist welcomed me with a smile peeking out from behind his mask and some questions about covid symptoms. He didn’t look menacing at all! His lab was sun-filled and the walls were painted a soft grey, maybe antique silver or misty fog. Then the wall behind his work table caught my eye – children’s drawings of cartoons, hearts, unicorns, rainbows, all in shades of pink; created by Mia, Anna and Una. This denturist was a family man!

It only took about ten minutes for the denturist/family man to touch up the paint on my new tooth. And today, after I finish my post to you, I will go and get it cemented in. No headlines, no drama, no dead body, no covid germs; just a new-tooth story with a boring ending. Sorry! I tried my best.

Sue

During these covid 19 days parents are struggling to keep their kids busy and involved. After three months inside, just about all the entertainment ideas have dried up. Board games, lego-building, painting, playdough; all of them are losing their allure. The situation seemed desperate; until recently.

Summer is here and everyone with a back yard has moved outside. When my husband Peter and I lived in the country, all our neighbours were miles away, well almost. We didn’t see people out in their back yards unless we had our binoculars handy. But here in the city, our back yard abuts two houses with young children, so we can watch them as they spend time playing outdoors.

The two families have little boys, Hudson and Thomas, both about 4 years old. Because of the pandemic germs, neither family is comfortable having the boys play together. Instead, they play side by side, watching and often copying each other’s games. At first little athletes emerged. Hudson fancied himself another José Bautista as he swung his small bat at a rubber ball, trying to hit it “out of the park.” He also showed some Tiger Woods promise with his little set of golf clubs. Thomas, on the other hand, ran around tossing balls into his short basketball hoop and yelling “I am Kyle Lowry!”

After a couple of weeks of sports heroism, the little athletes grew tired of summer training camp and began to whine. It was time for something new. Hudson got a bright green climbing gym, backyard size. After a few jealous tears, Thomas found a large box in his back yard. The anticipation was high as Daddy slowly opened the box and pulled out the pieces. He assembled a round platform, then sat down for a rest. The next day some poles were erected, followed by a roof and netting sides. Gradually the form emerged – a trampoline! Thomas jumped for joy. When he noticed me watching, he explained that there was a lock on the netting doorway – to keep out any stray squirrels that might be tempted to sneak in for a quick somersault.

When the weather warmed up, both families felt the need for water features. They bought small plastic pools and filled them from their hoses. The kids splashed around, playing with tiny boats and squealing with delight. Then they noticed small puddles forming around the pools. Out came the dump trucks, and backyard construction sites emerged. A few riding toys were added to the fleets.

Then the parents got into the act. Thomas’s parents bought new outdoor furniture – comfy chairs and a coffee table. Hudson’s parents went for the natural look and ordered cedar trees, and a couple of decorative hydrangea bushes. They added a wooden bench for seating and some small pots of impatiens for a splash of colour.

By now both back yards were getting pretty full! There was barely space to move. Maybe the buying spree would be over. I started listening in on some of the conversations. (Yes, during the pandemic I have sunk to a new low – eavesdropping on little kids). “Tickle me some more Daddy!” “I’m hiding now. When are you coming to find me?” “Mommy can you help me make some mud pies?”

I realized that, no matter how many toys parents buy, the best entertainment for kids is still time spent with mom and dad. It’s a valuable pandemic lesson.

Sue

PS Happy Fathers’ Day to all those dedicated dads.

For the entire month of April, folks were salivating about getting out on the GOLF course. We women especially were anxious to escape from our expanded Covid kitchen duties. A day off from kneading bread dough. Yea!

Chasing a little ball along some fairways, over a few hills, through a couple of sand traps, and around a few water hazards seems like FUN! We can easily get in our 10,000 steps as we enjoy the outdoors. Even physical distancing still allows us to chat, exchange family news and gossip, share a few jokes, as we walk. We can admire the landscaping too and get some planting ideas for our gardens.

We also have lunch together in the new Covid style. Since there’s no restaurant service in the clubhouse, we bring along food; bananas and granola bars are the best because they don’t require plates or forks. As for the “dining room,” it’s standing room only while we wait for our turn to hit the ball on the 10th tee. It’s only half-way through the game, but we are starving because at home we would have eaten several entire meals by now as we puttered around in the kitchen.

The actual game of golf is a little easier these days with the new Covid rules. There are no rakes in the sand traps for people to touch and inadvertently share germs. No raking required. And the hole on the green is filled with a pool noodle so that it’s not necessary to remove the flag, another way to prevent the spread of germs. All a player has to do is hit the noodle with the ball and Pretend it went into the hole!

One thing players are definitely Not supposed to do is go searching in the bushes for lost balls; first of all because our stalling will allow other players to catch up and breathe on us. But more important, there might be Covid germs on the lost ball from its original owner. But just tell that to a man. Really, did you ever see a man walk by a patch of rough grass without looking in there for lost balls? Never. Except Alan Shepard. When he went to the moon to play golf in 1971, he took two balls with him so he didn’t have to hunt for his lost one.

You don’t need to know too much terminology to play golf. “Fore” is a handy word you can yell if your ball decides to take a short-cut to another fairway with people on it. Golf balls seem to have minds of their own. Just try yelling “Stop!” or “Slow down!” or “Don’t Go Into That sand Trap!” and see if your ball pays any attention.

You do need to know your avian creatures to keep score in golf. You might be lucky to score a birdie or an eagle, but you will hardly ever get an albatross. Golf books also talk about ostriches and condors but they are rare birds indeed. Sometimes, even on a city course, you might get a goose. You just load it onto your cart and take it home to cook for dinner. After a short break in the outdoors, it’s back to the kitchen again.

Sue

My mother, who lived through two world wars and a depression, used to tell me that often. Now that we are living through a pandemic, these words ring just as true today.

We see creative solutions everywhere these days. Many businesses like GM have re-tooled from making cars and trucks to constructing surgical face shields. Clothing manufacturers are switching from pants and tops to couture face masks. Distilleries have moved from single malt scotch to hand sanitizer. Restaurants are re-opening with tables two meters apart and patio spaces expanded onto sidewalks. One creative restaurateur seats mannequins at empty tables, mannequins dressed in high-end fashions which are, of course, for sale. Eat and shop at the same time.

Performance companies are working hard to find audiences through live-streamed performances. We can watch performers dancing around their dining room table, or playing an instrument on the basement couch beside their dog. David Mirvish posts a weekly newsletter with trivia quizzes and contests. Patrons are asked to create new songs for the times. Last week’s winner was a song from the musical Hamilton with new words to “I Am Not Throwing Away My (Vaccine) Shot!

Sports teams like hockey, basketball and baseball are considering televised games with cardboard cutout people in the stands and canned cheering. Outdoor venues, like the zoo, are figuring out how to keep people safe and separate in their cars while doing a zoo safari. Arts patrons can see several different Van Gogh paintings digitally presented on the walls of a large factory-like setting while sitting in the comfort of their cars.

Closer to home, my husband Peter and I were faced with figuring out how to celebrate a family milestone, my brother’s 70th birthday. Not only that but his partner also has the same birthday on the same day. This was an event not to be ignored just because of some virus. But how to celebrate safely? After discovering that the birthday couple did not want to meet us in a park somewhere, we decided to take our little party to them.

First we had to come up with a menu from ingredients we already had on hand at home. I found a simple brunch recipe with eggs and ham, and a cake recipe with fresh rhubarb from the garden. As the cake came out of the oven I suddenly remembered: “Oops, my brother doesn’t even Like rhubarb!” Quickly I covered up the cake with an icing that masked the rhubarb taste. Then we found a bottle of old, I mean well-aged, champagne in the basement that would go well with some orange juice we had in the fridge.

Next we needed a gift. Since there are no malls open yet, our shopping venues are limited. But the drug store always welcomes us. So we picked up a few goodies the birthday folks might find useful in their eighth decade: polident, arthritis cream, a laxative; things like that. A very thoughtful gift, don’t you think? We were almost ready to go. Except for one last little issue….

The drive to my brother’s house takes about 2 hours so we were going to need a bathroom stop. Hmmm…..First I thought about buying a box of Depends. But really, did I want to buy a big box of diapers just to have one? Besides, where was I going to hide the box? Heaven help me if the grandchildren spotted it in a cupboard while they were playing hide and seek. I could just hear them chanting: “Nana wears diapers!” all around the neighbourhood.

Then we remembered that there was a Tim Horton’s on the route. We we all set. We packed up the car and headed off to the makeshift party. But when we got to the Timmy’s, the bathrooms were closed. Oh oh…I crossed my legs and began scanning the horizon. Further down the road we spotted a forest. Peter stood guard while I hopped over a ditch and ran into a clump of trees. Unfortunately the trees had prickly needles and some got stuck in my underwear.

All in all, the impromptu backyard party was a big success. We exchanged stories and hugs from a distance. My brother didn’t notice the rhubarb in the cake. Neither did he seem to notice as I squirmed around, trying to get comfortable while sitting on prickly needles for two hours.

Sue

Even now that the pandemic curve is slowly flattening, physical distancing is strongly encouraged. Walking outside is good, but walking in our own neighbourhoods is best. For my husband Peter and me, our neighbourly Humber River has become a lifesaver.

We are not the first travellers to stroll along the banks of the Humber River. In fact this river has been a pathway for First Nations people and explorers for more than Twelve Thousand Years! Archaeological evidence shows that Paleo-Indian nomads first wandered along its banks from 10,000 BC, followed by the Archaic People and then woodland farmers, who used the river to set up farming sites from around 1,000 BC until the 1500’s.

In 1615 Etienne Brulé became the first European to walk the valleys of the Humber River, from Lake Simcoe to Lake Ontario. Soon other Europeans followed this route, which became known as the Carrying Place Trail. Another well-known European, my husband, has been following this trail too, ever since he immigrated from Italy in 1958.

Peter’s first house, where he lived with his mother and his older brother, was near Black Creek, a tributary of the West Humber. He says that, when his mom wanted him to do chores, he used to sneak away on his bike and ride along the river. When he got married, his first house was near the West Humber and he took his kids for nature walks there. Then the family moved to King City where a branch of the East Humber was almost in their back yard.

My first acquaintance with the Humber River was when I met Peter. On one of our early “dates” he took me wandering through the snowy forest near his King City house. Not watching where I was going, I suddenly plunged through the snow into water, soaking my boot and pant-leg. “Well,” he said, “there you are in a branch of the mighty Humber River!” I was not impressed at the time.

Our new house in the city is located south of where the many branches of the Humber merge into one, and the river flows resolutely towards Lake Ontario. We can walk the riverside trail south from near our house, and under the iconic Humber Bridge, until we reach the lake. Or we can walk north, across the heritage-designated Etienne Brulé bridge and past several waterfalls where salmon jump upstream during October. The river path carries on to highway 401, and all the way north past the McMichael Gallery in Kleinberg. We haven’t walked that far…yet.

We have also paddled on the Humber; once a few years ago going north from Sunnyside beach, and again last fall on the 20th anniversary of the river being designated a Heritage River. The TRCA hosted a paddling celebration for the public. We joined in and went south from the Old Mill to the lake. With old people, teenagers, dogs and kids, it was a paddling party!

The Humber River hasn’t always been so accommodating. Back in October, 1954, Hurricane Hazel swept furiously down the river, flooding its banks, destroying bridges and homes, and killing 81 people. But these days, as we search for somewhere outside where we can briefly escape from our home to enjoy the outdoors, the Humber River, keeping a safe distance away, is our companion.

Stay safe and keep walking.

Sue

For many of us this past weekend marked the beginning of summer. What? You are surprised because we had snow last week, restaurant patios aren’t serving yet, large public fireworks displays are not allowed, the Blue Jays aren’t swinging their bats, and there are no campgrounds open? Well this is the new normal for us: a summer like no other. We have to make do.

On the Friday of the Victoria Day weekend we invited our son Daniel and his family to come over for a BBQ lunch on disposable plates, in the back yard, two meters apart. We woke up to rain, and it rained all morning. Since we can’t have people in the house, we began planning curbside pick-up for the food. But suddenly it stopped raining. We wiped the outdoor furniture and started the BBQ. It was a May 2-4 Miracle. When the guests arrived we enjoyed our lunch outside, the first burgers of the season. Just as we swallowed our last bites, it started to rain again, and the guests ran to their car.

On the second day of the weekend the weather turned beautiful and we went for a walk on the nearby path along the river. We invited another son to join us because they have a dog and nobody goes for a walk in this neighbourhood without a dog. The path was pretty crowded with other families and dogs out for a dose of sun and freedom, so we cut our walk short and went home for a beer instead.

On the next day of the weekend our grand daughter invited us to visit her back yard and share her Victoria Day projects. She and her mom served us a delicious Victorian sponge cake and, from a distance, she sang us a song with lyrics which included the names of all the Kings and Queens of England. How patriotic. How ambitious! Clearly her home-schooling is working out alright.

At home again in the evening we heard the sound of fire crackers. We put on our raincoats and walked around the neighbourhood until we found several folks gathered, socially distanced on the street and sidewalk, watching an impromptu display of fire works donated by a neighbour. At the end we all clapped. But what I really wanted to do was give this man a hug for bringing us together, for this traditional celebration, as close as we were allowed.

Yesterday I was wondering how to cap off this iconic weekend with something exciting, a suitable ending for my blog post today. I checked with my editor, Peter, to see if he had any suggestions. “Well,” he said, “there’s a chipmunk in the garage and he’s trying to get into the house. Will that do?”

I abandoned my laptop and went running out to see. This could be the ending I needed! “Oh Chippy,” I begged, “come on out from your hiding place!” Instead he hid in one corner after another, leading us around the garage in circles, and ignoring the open garage door. Next Peter started banging loudly on some old pots and pans while I tried to direct Chippy outside with a broom. No deal. Then Peter got the car keys and began honking the horn. The sound echoing in the garage was deafening. Chippy stayed out of sight, but some neighbours dropped in to see if we were OK. “Yes” we told them. “Just having a little May 2-4 fun!” As we chatted, I noticed the chipmunk sneaking by, headed for the river.

Looking back, I can say that the weekend was just like any other Victoria Day weekend: burgers, sun, beer, family gatherings, fireworks, chipmunks…Well maybe it wasn’t exactly the same, but we made do.

Sue

PS Here’s a sign of hope: our bougainvillea plant just after Christmas, and again yesterday.