After living in the city for just 10 months, Peter and I feel we know a lot about the future of Canada. How did we learn so much at our advanced age, just by moving to the city?

When we planned our move we decided, what the heck, let’s make some other changes in our lives at the same time! So we gave up our newspaper subscription and went rogue – to the Globe and Mail. After only a short while, (and a couple of letters to the editor), we were invited to join the “Globe Insiders.” Soon we began getting surveys about various newspaper topics. And then came a biggie – an invitation to the Globe and Mail’s 175th anniversary event. There was to be an all-day conference on the future of Canada at the new Globe office downtown. We were as excited as little kids going to a theme park. We dusted off our business clothes and set out, on the subway of course.

Arriving at the new Globe and Mail building, we were greeted with breakfast. The food, along with the lunch and the snack breaks, was all supplied by a local organic caterer. We were served delicacies such as BC smoked salmon, lentil burgers, couscous salad, organic nuts arranged in tiny bamboo cups. When time allowed, we were able to eat our food out on the 17th floor patio, with a spectacular view of Lake Ontario. This was a first-class event for sure.

But the food and the view were surpassed – by the content. The keynote speaker, Jim Balsillie, inspired us with facts about Canada’s accomplishments on the world stage. He spoke about the Trans Canada Highway, the St. Lawrence River and Great Lakes canal systems, the CBC national news network, Canadarm, labour laws, health care, pension plans. He gave so many examples that I could barely keep up, feeling a great sense of pride as I tried to write them all down.

This overview of accomplishments was followed by several panel members outlining and discussing our collective fears for the future. There was a lot of talk about climate change in terms of Canada’s wealth of natural resources: the damage caused by the tar sands and our reliance on fossil fuels, the overuse of plastics and the much-needed ban on single-use items, the need to change our eating habits and lessen food waste. We were left admitting that, as individuals, we could, and should do more to protect all that we have.

Then a different panel dealt with technology and the problems it has created: the decline of quality public information, the increase in social divisions, the loss of personal privacy, and above all, the vulnerability of democracy. The upside to this story is our outstanding education system and the growth of talent in the technology field. We need to support our tech workers better and encourage them to stay in Canada.

The closing presentations showcased ways in which we in Canada are being successful in the eyes of the world. Several speakers, many of them refugees, described how they have made a big difference in our society. We heard from Esi Edugyan, writer and two-time winner of the Giller prize, Zita Cobb, founder of Fogo Inn and re-builder of the Fogo Island economy, Vishal Vijay, CEO of Every Child Now. Our tradition of accepting and integrating immigrants is a shining example for the world to follow.

Despite this inspiring day, Peter and I are certainly not experts on Canada’s future. But we left the conference feeling grateful; grateful for all we have in this country, and grateful that we moved to the city where we had a chance to learn so much, just by taking a short ride on the subway.

Sue

Aha – I caught your attention with that title, didn’t I? And you thought this was going to be a blog about old people!

I love to swing. On my new red swing from Lowe’s. When we moved from the country to the city, we bought some new backyard furniture. Richard, one of our helpful sons, helped us move the swing box from the car to the backyard. But it was raining and he escaped assembly duty. Then another helpful son, Greg, came to visit on a sunny day. He and his wife helped us assemble it, consulting the manual and matching up all the little numbers attached to each part, except that some of the numbers had fallen off and were stuck to other parts. With four university-educated people working on this, we managed to complete it in time for dinner – at midnight.

Life as a swinger is pretty predictable: coffee, a newspaper, and swinging at 8:00 am, wine, a novel, and swinging around 5:00 pm, hot chocolate, star-gazing, and swinging at bedtime. I am pretty good at the swinging life because this is not my first time. I had a brown one when we lived in the country, but it got a little rusty as swings do, after a life of rainstorms and summer heat. So when the moving van got full and we needed to give something up, I kissed the old guy good-bye.

Sometimes I fall asleep on my swing. But I have recently been a little careful because my husband Peter has been taking photos of me fast asleep, and posting them on facebook. At first people thought that my life was one long nap. Then one day he took a photo from the kitchen where he happened to be cooking, and now it’s worse. Now people think that I am napping while he is slaving over a hot stove! What a lazy wife, they say.

Once in a while Peter actually tries swinging too. But he has a different approach. He persuades his three-year-old grandson Ben into going with him and taking on the swing-pushing. Ben seems to love it, unaware that he is the victim of a child labour scam. He and our older granddaughter Agnes both get a kick out of the swing. Ben likes it because the back collapses and the swing turns into a bed. He has spent hours figuring out the mechanics of this and trying to do it in record time. “Now it’s a swing now it’s a bed now it’s a swing now it’s a bed.” Agnes swings with a little more creativity. “Let’s lie on this swing-bed Nana and tell each other stories.”

Occasionally people sit down and begin to tell me their troubles. Somehow the lull of the back-and-forth movement seems to calm them down. I have heard about financial woes, child-rearing, relationship issues and so on. I haven’t started taking notes or creating files yet, but I do occasionally suggest a second appointment. With wine.

Last week we went shopping at Lowe’s where there is still a floor-model of my swing on display. I saw a couple siting there, wondering if they should buy one. I debated about whether to tell them to go for it…this purchase would give their lives new meaning.

Even at seventy, we find life in the city is full of adventure.

Sue

PS: Last Tuesday, when I was taking a short break from city life, it seems the internet in my new location was also taking a break….sorry!

As Peter and I rode the crowded streetcar towards the Taste of Little Italy festival last weekend, we stood beside some older Italian ladies. Peter recognized their Italian dialect from his own province in Italy, and he started chatting with them. The ladies admitted that they had come a long way from a different neighbourhood to attend the festival. With my English ancestry, I thought I was going to be outnumbered.

After we got off the streetcar the first activity that attracted our attention was the Main Stage band. We moved in closer to listen, and we heard the Elton John song, “Crocodile Rock.” The arrangement was lively and Peter had a chance to practise his dance moves. But we kept wondering; how about “O Solé Mio”? Or “Nessun Dorma”? Or even an Italian wedding tarantella? As we ambled along the pedestrian street, we began searching for other things Italian among the street vendors. We didn’t find much.

What we did find, instead, were signs of our city’s diversity. Many cultures were represented in some way. Booths selling clothing items featured Japanese kimonos, East Indian saris, Turkish crystals used in jewellery, American-style beach wear, and motorcycle shirts. Activities for families were pretty generic: basketball hoop games, a kids’ midway with Disney-type rides, mortgage vendors, drag queens – wait a minute! I’m not sure how that show belonged at a family festival. At least there was a large crown of men gathered around, so any children passing by wouldn’t be able to see the barely-covered transvestites.

The food selection showed diversity the best. Visitors were eating Mexican fajitas, French poutine, Korean BBQ, East Asian edemame peas, Japanese ramen noodles, Arabic falafel. In fact, there were some foods that were definitely Not Italian, for example corn on the cob. Nobody in Italy would be caught dead eating corn off a cob. That barn food is fed to cows and pigs. We also imagined Italians would be horrified if they noticed the booth selling chicken-flavoured ice cream for dogs, with no gelato anywhere in sight. And Beer, the drink of choice at this festival, would be passed over in favour of Wine: Chianti, Amarone, or maybe a white Moscato.

Eventually, at the end of the street, we found a small Italian band, outfitted in Italian colours of red, white and green. The men were playing accordions, the women singing, dancing and balancing congé de ramo (metal water jugs) on their heads. Peter recognized their music from his own province of Lazio. Right beside the band was an Italian restaurant. With empty tables! While we waited for our meals of vitello parmesan and linguine al maré, we caved in and ordered craft beer from Ontario. But on the way out we bought the band’s CD. Peter’s Italian heritage was secured.

Our city is resplendent with festivals. Almost everyone has visited the Greek festival on the Danforth in August and tasted the traditional souvlaki or that delicious honey and nut pastry, baklava. The Polish festival is held in Roncesvalles in September. Now if you want polka music, that is the place to visit! The Caribbean festival, Caribana, takes over downtown Toronto in the summer. The highlight is the boundless parade featuring costumes of unparalleled splendor. There’s a little skin showing there too.

The Filipino festival, Taste of Manila, takes place on Bathurst Street in August, but we don’t need to go there. Having two daughters-in-law from the Philippines, we are well-acquainted with chicken adobo, anything made using mango, and many cultural traditions. Diversity is at home n our family. We have a daughter-in-law from China too so we don’t need to take in the Chinese celebrations to learn about the culture. But last winter we decided to celebrate Chinese New Year at a dinner in Chinatown where we ate nine courses and then waddled home. We felt we had truly celebrated the Year of the Pig.

If you have a favourite festival to promote, post a comment below.

Sue

Our decision to move from the country to the city required a choice. Would we want to live in a condo or a house? It didn’t take long for us to realize that we would really miss our back yard if we chose a condo, but we hadn’t thought that a house would provide such novel experiences. Our bungalow has some very unusual idiosyncrasies.

Because our new house is smaller, some areas have taken on extra roles. For example, the sun room doubles as a playroom for the grandkids and, when they want to do some “collaborating,” they retreat to a hiding place they have discovered under the stairs. The garage, which happens to be very large, not only holds both cars but also Peter’s workshop and the wine cellar. Peter used to avoid going into his workshop but now he seems to love it. The third bedroom has become an office space – for both of us. Together. The desk runs out from the centre of a wall, with chairs on either side. This way we can stare each other down, I mean gaze at each other lovingly, as we work.

In the dining room there is one interior concrete wall which doesn’t accommodate nails or hooks to hang any of our travel photos or posters. After some searching, we found our cardboard cut-out relief map of New Zealand and we bought Velcro strips to attach it to this wall. But the first time we went away on vacation, we returned to find the South Island on the floor. As we put it back up, we noticed that we had originally hung it upside down. Apparently Christchurch didn’t like being in the Tasman Sea. It wanted to be back in the Pacific Ocean. While we were away, the South Island had staged a rebellion.

Our new main floor bathroom on the front of the house has some very large windows which let in lots of light. But using the bathroom at night…well that’s a small problem. We found this out one evening when a guest forgot to pull the blinds as he was using the facilities. His daughter was outside waiting for him in the car. She rushed back in, screaming and laughing hysterically. “My dad’s using the toilet and everybody in the neighbourhood can see!” We now post a warning sign when we have visitors.

But the most unique feature of this house is the cacophony of sounds it emits. Along with some creaks coming from the wooden floors, the appliances all talk to us. The stove says: “ding ding the oven is up to temperature.” “Ding ding the cake is baked.” “Ding ding the cleaning cycle is finished.” The fridge speaks too. “Beep beep the door is open.” “Rumble rumble the icemaker is working.” The dishwasher says: “tweet tweet you forgot to turn me on.” “Tweet tweet time to unload.” The washing machine is more talented and hums a little 8-note jingle when the washing is done. The dryer, having no talent of its own, copies the tune.

The alarm system, however, talks so much we think we should start charging her rent. Every time we open a door she says something. “Back door opening.” “Garage door opening.” “Front door opening.” When we go out she takes on a very authoritarian tone as she warns us: “Arming Away! Exit NOW!!” We grab our stuff and hurry out, wondering whether she will ever let us back in.

Last Thursday night the best seat in our house was in the living room. This is where we have our comfy chairs and large-screen TV. And this is where we sat to watch the Raptors win the NBA basketball championship. Their win is a huge thrill; not just for people who are Seventy In the City, but for anybody, any age, any place, all across Canada.

Sue

When my husband Peter and I were thinking of moving to a smaller house we had to choose a location. What would it be – village, town, or city? Every time we head downtown on the Red Rocket to explore a new building, we know we made the right choice.

One place that attracts Peter is the Skydome, aka Rogers Centre. I have to tell you that Peter is a bit of a jock. He still has his 1969 football jacket, for heavens sake. But he was willing to give up Varsity Stadium where he even played once, as long as we could replace it with the Skydome and the main tenants, the Blue Jays. The Skydome is a one-of-a-kind venue. The temperature is always perfect, you can grab the waves as you watch them come around, and your nachos never get rained on.

We also used to visit the Skydome when Peter was aching for a football fix. The building can be repurposed as a football field in just 10-12 hours. It can be rearranged as a concert venue too. Back a few years ago, when I was working on bonding with my youngish daughter, Jennifer,I took her there to see Elton John and Billy Joel from way up high. They were like tiny musical ants down on the stage, but we had binoculars and we knew all the words by heart. I think I earned some “brownie points” with Jennifer that day.

Another building we love visiting is the Royal Alexandra Theatre. When we moved into the city we brought our seasons tickets with us, and now we can get to the shows in jig time and even have lunch first. The Royal Alex, originally built in 1907 with that striking red velvet interior, was bought in 1963 by Ed Mirvish, designated a heritage site in 1986, and refurbished just a couple of years ago. It now has enough leg room for even our knees to fit. Another interesting feature is that there are no elevators or escalators – only stairs. Yes! Stairs!! A chance for exercise and culture at the same time.

Everyone over 65 remembers the Royal Alex because this is where we all went to see Hair! in 1970. Well mostly we went to see nude hippies. Ontsage. Imagine. We’ve seen lots of other well-known works there, such as our very own Canadian superstar, Come From Away. One time a couple of years ago we saw Strictly Ballroom. Following intermission, the actors left the stage to recruit “dancers” from the audience. Well Peter, who happened to be sitting on the aisle, was soon dancing onstage. He spent days afterwards dreaming of a new career. There may be more elaborate theatres in our city, but the Royal Alex holds a special place in our hearts.

Some other buildings that draw our attention are those connected to lifelong learning. Since our university, Queen’s, is 3 hours away by car, we don’t go there very often. But we sometimes have a reason to wander around other university campuses and last week we stumbled upon Victoria College. What a magnificent structure that is! It was built in 1892 in the Romanesque Revival style. Just so you aren’t too impressed, I had to look that up. Then I went back to take a picture.

Another place that interests us is the new (2009) Ryerson Student Learning Centre right on Yonge St. It boasts floors with theme décor. For example, The Garden has furniture all done in shades of greens. The Beach has a sand-coloured floor, turquoise-blue carpets, and chairs like beach lounges. Who wouldn’t want to study there? Or, if you’re older, you can sit down to catch your afternoon nap without contemporaries around to report on you.

There are hundreds more buildings of note in this great city, If you have a special favourite, write a comment below and share your building with other readers.

Sue

When we arrived in our new neighborhood last fall, it was almost 9:00 pm and we had a packed moving van, a rental truck, and 2 very full cars to unload. As we looked at our smallish newish house (well smallish and newish compared to the country home we had left behind),we panicked. Would everything fit?

Almost immediately we were distracted by our new neighbours. People with kids, people with canes, people with dogs, all stopped to welcome us. They told us we wold love it here in this friendly neighbourhood with the mature trees and winding streets. They weren’t wrong.

A couple of days later, just as we drove into our driveway from a shopping trip, we met Greg. Greg lives next door and he dropped by to introduce himself. We said, “Hello Greg can you help us carry this freezer we just bought into our laundry room?” How nervy is that? But we were desperate. After years of living far away from grocery stores, we were attached to the idea of a freezer in our lives. But you can’t use a freezer if it’s in your trunk.

Without grimacing too much, Greg picked up one end of the freezer and my husband Peter picked up the other end. I acted as door opener. We managed to manoeuvre it around several corners and into its place in the laundry room. Greg readjusted his spine and left, rather in a hurry I thought. I didn’t even have a chance to mention the sofa bed siting in the hall.

Our other neighbours have been equally helpful. One couple revealed that they have a snow blower which the husband drives around on snowy days, and he uses it to shove people out. We tried to stay calm as we digested this exciting news. We had left our tractor back in the country and were worried about what to do with snow in the driveway. Maybe in the city they didn’t get any snow? We naively hoped.

One family has been especially nurturing. Every morning they send their cat, Minou, over to see how we are doing. She appears at the back door around 6:30 am to make sure we got through the night alright and, by the way, do we have any treats? She puts a smile on my face as she rubs against my legs and waits for me to open the package. She comes back later in the day if she sees we have company, especially grandchildren who love to give her treats too. If not, she settles for pats instead.

Many other people stop by to chat when we are out gardening or as we walk up the street towards the shopping area. People are very friendly and helpful. No wonder there are very few homes for sale. Who would give this neighbourhood up?

There IS one set of neighbours who have been a disappointment. In fact, they have left a gaping hole in our lives. Right beside us. These neighbours abandoned a perfectly good house to move somewhere else, turning the building over to destruction by machine. Soon a new neighbour will rise from the depths. The house will be more than big enough to hold all their furniture, and ours too.

This may not be the neighbor we had hoped for. But it Will be a chance for some lifelong learning. As the doctors always remind us, we oldies have to keep those synapses firing. So, if we ever wanted to study architecture or foundations or brick-laying or plumbing or drywalling or electricity, now is our chance! We’ll have our very own window on this learning opportunity.

But, most of all, this could be a rich source of material for many future posts. Thanks, neighbour!

Sue

From our new home in the city, we have several options for getting to the subway station: taking the bus, walking through the park, or driving a few blocks. The only problem with the last two options is the 60-step staircase up to the subway platform. We consider ourselves fit, or at least eager to be fit and so we approach the staircase with great gusto. “Yes! The stairs!! Let’s go!!”

We jog up to the first landing; only 45 steps to do! We climb upwards to step number 30. We plod along to the third landing, stop to look at the view, and catch our breath. Slowly we put one foot in front of the other, huffing and puffing, up to step umber 60. We did it! Only a short walk around the corner to the subway. Then we stop and ask ourselves: “Did we remember to lock the car?”

One of the delights of living in the city is our proximity to the red rocket. No waiting in traffic jams. No snow storms or slippery roads to contend with. No worries about finding an expensive or elusive parking spot. No night driving on busy streets where the roads reflect headlights and the view is not clear. Nope, we can leave our car behind and take the subway almost anywhere.

Once inside the station we pull out or Presto cards. (Well OK, first we search frantically through purse and pockets until we find them. THEN we pull them out). Such a great invention these are -no line-ups for tickets, no counting change, no smartass young clerk asking our age. Just a swipe and we are done. And the ride is usually pleasant enough. If it’s crowded many people offer us their seats. Actually, TOO many people offer us their seats. Do we really look That Old? Should we turn down their kind offer just so we can feel young?

After we gratefully take their seats, we try not to stare as we sneak glances at a pungent-smelling thing the teenager beside us is eating; or a heavy-set man wearing a conservative leather jacket and a pink straw hat with bows and ribbons. We study the woman who appears to be petting a ferret in her purse. But mostly we try to coax smiles the babies and toddlers, pretending they are our grandchildren.

When the survey of riders is done, we look at the ads. Sometimes one company, for example Starbucks, will buy up an entire car of ad space; posters everywhere telling us to “say yes to mornings!” Who are they kidding? Most people do love mornings – for sleeping! Other ads are impactful, like the blue ones highlighting disabilities one might find on the subway. But all the ads are eye-catching and keep us from nodding off and missing our stop. We should have gone to Starbucks after all.

The trip is usually uneventful, with only occasional minor delays for shift changes or medical alerts. Which is why we were shocked one day not long ago when our plan was thwarted. We drove towards “our” parking area underneath the subway station, preparing to head up the long staircase, when suddenly we were stopped – by water – a huge torrent of water, flowing out of the Humber River, and flooding our parking lot. Two cars were partly submerged and the staircase was underwater up to the 5th step. Climate change had come to the subway.

We backed up pretty darned fast and looked around. Not having anticipated this delay, we had not given ourselves any extra time. Where could we park that was nearby? Uphill on a side street we found an empty spot. The spot was not expensive but it sure was elusive – parallel parking required! After only a few tries, we managed to manoeuverer into the spot. We sprinted over to the subway station and got to our appointment just in time.

Living in the city has benefits. Not having to drive everywhere is definitely one of them. Riding the subway with our 7-year-old grand daughter is another. Did I tell you about the time she…..? Ah, but that’s a post for another day.

Sue

Lately my husband, Peter, has been sneaking out of the house, armed with a canvas bag and a pocket full of change. Wherever could he be going? I think I know.

When we moved from a large country home on 3/4 acre to our bungalow in the city Peter had to give up a few things, but the most serious was his large vegetable garden He left his zucchini runners, tomato vines, beans, cucumbers and blackberry plants all behind. Much as he wanted to give up the work of growing them, it almost broke his heart to walk away from his thriving green treasures. So I wasn’t surprised when, on our very first morning in our new home, Peter wanted to gulp down his coffee and go up the street to the shopping area in search of produce.

Well he did wait for me to change out of my pyjamas, and then we were off. We stopped for breakfast in the nearby bakery, and then we walked a little further along the main street. I noticed a high-end consignment store with some elegant outfits in the window. I turned to go in, but Peter was nowhere in sight. He had spotted something else:

Sunnyland!

He hurried over to the outside shelves and picked up some items. “Look at this!” he exclaimed. “Six tomatoes for only $1! A big bunch of bananas for just 50 cents!” The tomatoes had a few spots on them and the bananas were a little green, but Peter was in heaven. He filled his arms with beets, onions, apples; in fact all he could carry, and then he began handing me stuff as well. Then we went inside to pay the clerk. She smiled lovingly as Peter produced some bags from home and paid with exact change from his pocket. The perfect customer!

We struggled down the street with our produce, back towards our house. I teased him: “You know, people our age shouldn’t be buying green bananas.” But he didn’t even hear me. He was already running up the steps to the front door. He managed to get the key into the lock without dropping anything, and he rushed into the kitchen. Fortunately the fridge was a large model and it was still empty. But not for long. Soon the crispers, the meat drawer, even the butter compartment, were all full. The farmer was satisfied.

A few days later, after Peter had come home from a visit to the bank, I found green beans on the counter. Not just a small bag of beans, or a little basket; no! A whole lot of beans, maybe even hundreds, covered the counter. Peter was standing at the sink, looking sheepish. “I got all these for only $2. Can you believe it? I’ll clean them, honest!” he said. He got out all our pots, filled the sink with cold water, and began the long process of cleaning and blanching the beans, and putting them in the freezer.

I was wracked with guilt. Should I help him? If I helped him, would there be even more beans in my future? I quietly retreated to the living room to read. But I wasn’t really reading; I was thinking. How could it be that we had moved into the city and yet we had even more beans than in the country?

These days I am no longer surprised when I find our fridge filled with beets, zucchini, and more beans, and my breakfast cereal served with slightly green bananas. I just smile to myself, knowing that Peter has been sneaking off to visit his girlfriend at Sunnyland! again.

See you next Tuesday.

Sue

Not long ago, when my husband and I moved from the country to a large metropolis, I decided to write about our new experiences as seniors in the city. A blog sounded like fun. In my ignorance I expected I would just sit down I front of my laptop and type away. Several early problems cured me of that notion, but the spider was the most insidious.

First there were the logistical details of choosing a platform for my blog. Since this writing genre is increasingly popular there are a number of sites to consider. Once I had chosen wordpress.com I had to make some creative decisions such as title, username, and so on. I meticulously worked my way through the questions until I came to “logo.”

It seemed that some kind of illustration or photo was in order. I checked other blogs and saw that pictures are highly seductive. I thought about what kind of image would convey the intent of my writing: to show that it is possible to live an exciting life as a mature adult in the city. After careful thought I decided that my image needed to show me posed with my usual device for writing, but it also needed to display the city in the background. Since Toronto is my home, what better logo than the CN Tower? I put on some comfortable clothes, grabbed my laptop and my husband (who is always willing to help), and headed down to the waterfront.

First of all, it was a lovely day so all the parking places were full. Finally we scored a spot, unloaded our equipment and walked down to the shoreline. We found a rock for me to sit on, with the CN Tower in the background. How perfect this would be! I carefully climbed up, arranged my laptop, and the photographer began clicking. The first round of photos showed mostly rock with me in the centre and the CN Tower a tiny speck behind. I cautiously moved to a higher rock, and a better view was snapped. I handed over my laptop and stepped down.

On the last step I teetered, nearly losing my balance. I envisioned my immediate future, my face hitting a rock, my leg bending sideways, a trip to the nearest hospital on the way home. Somehow I willed myself to lunge forward onto safer ground, shrieking in fear but managing to stay upright as I landed on the pathway. I scratched away the bugs and leaves that had attached themselves to my jeans, and headed for the car. I hadn’t realized that a blog might cause me serious injury before I had even posted my first entry.

When we got home, I reviewed the pictures that had been taken. Oh no -a photographer’s thumb image in the lower right corner! How could we not have noticed this when we were at the park? It must have been hidden in our shadows as we swiped through the pictures. “No worry,” I thought. I’d just edit the photo; crop it or air-brush the corner. Well I haven’t done much photographic editing and it was all rather mystifying. I finally gave up and tilted the whole picture sideways. I convinced myself that it looked kind of avant-garde that way, but I realized that maybe my technical skills were going to need some upgrading for this project.

Then I sat down with a glass of wine, reviewing with mixed feelings all that I had accomplished so far. Suddenly I noticed an itch on the back of my right calf. I reached down and felt a large bump, I lifted up my pantleg. The bump was quite red, very hot, and spreading quickly. I thought back to my time on the rock when a cunning spider had likely crawled under my jeans as I was absorbed in the art of posing. Would I be going to the emergency room after all? Would a spider be the downfall of my not-yet-even-published blog?

As I frantically searched through the medicine cabinet for a topical cream to relieve the burning itch I decided that, although living in the city was fun, writing about it was going to be exhausting. Nevertheless, as long as my leg is still a part of me, I plan to write again next Tuesday.

Sue

humb image in the lower righ corner! How could we not have noticed this at the park?

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton