During the last couple of weeks I’ve been mostly stuck at home, seated by the front window, unable to go out. The suspense has been riveting.

Our neighbours across the street when we moved in were a couple in their 90’s, with a single daughter looking after them. We rarely saw them, except when the daughter escorted them into the car and off to a doctor’s appointment, or when an ambulance siren ended in the driveway. Occasionally the daughter shovelled the driveway or, even less occasionally, cut the grass. Then, in the fall of 2022, the parents died and the daughter moved out. The house became eerily quiet; there were no lights on and the tall grass was covered with snow.

Six months later things began to happen. Construction crews came into the scene. A dumpster was delivered and soon replaced by another and another. Garden tools, toilets, and outdoor furniture lined the boulevard. A rusty car was towed from the driveway. New windows were installed. The house was painted. We were delighted – new neighbours were on the way.

Then abruptly, everythig stopped. There were no moving vans, or “for sale” signs. The grass started growing again and the new windows began to get dusty. We speculated about what was going on. Had the owners run out of money to finish the inside? Were interest rates too high for a quick sale? Had the daughter fought with the other relatives and demanded a larger share of the profit?

Meanwhile the house beside us had undergone a similar transformation. The old house that had been next door when we moved in had been demolished and replaced by a huge modern behemoth. It was just beginning to look like a house when the construction crews disappeared. The siding was not finished. There was no garage. And the front yard was several meters high with weeds. Then, about 2 years ago, the new family moved in.

They were a lovely couple with 3 small children. They apologized for the look of their house, and promised to plant grass very soon. We waited and waited. They built a playhouse for the kids, but no sign of a garage. The tools, tires, wheelbarrow, and garbage cans all waited on the front patio. The weeds grew higher and higher. Was grass seed so expensive due to inflation? Was there no contractor who could build a simple garage in front of a house?

The unappealing view from our front window was: a deserted house across the street and an unfinished one beside us. We were embarrassed to invite visitors.

Two weeks ago things began to change. A strange car pulled into the driveway across the street and, in a few hours, a “for sale” sign appeared on the front lawn. We rushed to look it up on google and found out the price was 2.5 million! The next day I sauntered over to the Open House, trying to look like an interested buyer. Admit it, you would have done the same thing.

On my way back across the street to report to Peter, I met the owner of the unfinished house next door. He was headed on a similar mission. But he stopped to update me on his own house. He said that he was going to finish the garage in the upcoming week and then he would seed the front lawn. I was skeptical, but a few days later bull dozers and steel workers and electricians appeared. They broke up the concrete patio floor and lined the cavity down to the basement with steel beams. This was not your usual garage – it was a car elevator designed to transport expensive cars from the front of the house to the basement storage room.

Now, as I sit by the window, I find myself evaluating potential wealthy neighbours across the street, watching the construction of an elevator for classic cars next door, and wondering which of our friends we will invite to our exclusive neighbourhood.

Sue

A fun outing during the good weather is to attend a theatre production. There are lots of summer festivals around Ontario, but the 2 best-known have made themselves easily available for older folks who don’t like to drive.

Both the Shakespeare Festival in Stratford and the Shaw Festival in Niagara now have express bus service. The busses depart and arrive at convenient times and a reasonable cost. The seats are comfy, candy is passed around during the trip, and there is a bathroom at the back! You have no expensive visits to the gas station and no stressful driving on the QEW or the 401. Just sit back and enjoy the gossip from the couple behind. Oops I mean the scenery. Or the nap!

I made such a visit to Stratford in early July and met my daughter Jennifer there for an afternoon show. She lives in Orangeville so she drove there directly, and I took the bus from Union Station. We met at a local patio for lunch. We shared an appetizer, a main course, sticky toffee pudding for dessert and lots of talking in between. When the patrons began to arrive at the theatre across the street, we paid our bill and joined them.

You may have seen the show La Cage Aux Folles, which was first staged on Broadway in 1983, followed by a Robin Williams film, The Bird Cage. In this production the costumes are outstanding, partly because of the eye-catching quick changes, but also becanse the ruffles, feathers, and sequins are worn by burly men. We grow to love the modern family – 2 men, and their adult son who wants them to lie about their sexual identities. The “wife” does try, with exaggerated costuming and hilarious results. Jen and I laughed out loud on several occasions, imagining our own husbands, both burly men, flirting and prancing in these sexy feminine outfits.

Encouraged by my positive comments, Peter agreed to join me the next time, on a trip to the Shaw Festival in Niagara. This was a slightly different trip because it was the day of the big rain storm in Toronto. The torrential downpour began as soon as we had boarded the bus. After our driver had rounded the corner at Hamilton, the rain slowed down and by the time we were in Niagara, it had stopped. We were able to enjoy lunch at the Niagara Golf Club with a view of the river, and then we walked down the main street to the theatre while eating ice cream cones.

This show, My Fair Lady, echoes the theme of La Cage Aux Folles: identity. A lower class flower girl has an opportunity to try life as part of the upper class, by changing her accent as well as her costume. Unlike the wife in La Cage, this character does a good job with her identity change, but then what? Her acting is brilliant and we began to feel great empathy for her predicament. The ending left us speculating as we went to board the bus for home.

It was good to have something to think about because the return bus had broken down. We waited for over an hour for a replacement to appear. Then the driver changed his identity into Mario Andretti in order to make up time. When we arrived at Union Station, it was flooded and there was more waiting for the GO train to take us home. When we did get home it was dark and the power was out.

Now dear readers, this is not meant to discourage you! Both shows were excellent and the bus service, under normal circumstances, is efficient and smooth. As climate change continues to take hold of the world, we need to be flexible. So, as you head out to the bus, just be sure to pack an umbrella and some reading material.

Sue

Last summer Peter and I attended a large family reunion at another family’s home. It was so much fun that we impulsively offered to host the “second annual” reunion at our place this year. I didn’t start worrying until about May.

In June things were coming together. We figured out general seating arrangements for either sun or rain. We planned a rough outline of a menu: punch for the kids and wine or beer for the adults, Costco pre-cooked chicken shish-ke-babs that could be heated in the oven, and an ice cream buffet for dessert; finishing off with coffee or tea. We hoped that our guests would contribute salads and appetizers. It all sounded like it would work out perfectly. We started to relax.

In early July, the LCBO announced their strike plans. Peter and I assessed our supplies and tried to figure out what drink would be most popular. Before the party, the negotiators were still bargaining, so we went to the grocery store where we were able to top up on beer and wine. A crisis was averted. Surely nothing else would go wrong.

The day of the party was gorgeous – sun and a light breeze. The clouds were wispy and the humidity was low. We worked all morning sweeping the patio and setting up all the chairs and tables. We arranged serving dishes, cutlery and plates. We filled the coffee maker and the sugar bowls. We checked on toilet paper. We even had time for a quick nap. We figured we had thought of everything.

The guests began to arrive and mingle. The appetizers and salads appeared. The young kids played together with the babysitter we had hired. The older kids played soccer. The adults shared a year’s worth of gossip. All was going well.

Then the power went off.

Peter and I had an emergency meeting where we chose one lucky son, who happened to be standing beside the BBQ. He fired it up to heat the chicken, which he did in batches while he warmed up the bread on a top rack at the same time. We lined the salads up on the kitchen counter under a window, so people could see well enough to serve themselves.

Meanwhile we kept the freezer door closed tightly so the ice cream wouldn’t melt too much. As for the coffee: people were going to have to make do with wine and beer instead. Then a guest mentioned that, at the first reunion, everybody ended the evening with shooters. We quickly produced a bottle of Limoncello and some shooter glasses. The coffee was mostly forgotten. Another crisis was averted.

But there was more to come.

As we sat talking and sipping, there was a sudden loud “rrriiippp” and we looked towards the swing – where a mom and her daughter had been sitting. Where were they now? They and the mattress had fallen through a hole in the canvas seat and were sitting on the concrete patio blocks below. Several guests rushed to pull them up. We didn’t think to take a picture at the time but we saw that the victims were laughing and there was no bood anywhere in sight. So we all went back to drinking our Limoncello.

But by this time Peter and I were feeling a bit nervous. What else was in store for us? We didn’t have to wait long to find out. As we sat down again to finish the bottle and our conversation, we were joined by buzzing and blood-sucking sounds. Some unwelcome guests had decided to join the party. We had not thought of everything after all – we had forgotten the bug spray.

Sue

The swing seat waiting for repairs.

When Peter and I first explored the neighbourhood of our new city home, we were surprised to discover an area called Baby Point. Aside from imagining little crying bodies in diapers, we were stumped. What was this area? Last Sunday we went on a Heritage Toronto tour and found out.

The area above the east banks of the Humber River north of Bloor Street West was first explored by the Seneca tribe as they navigated the Carrying Place trail. The trail led the Indigenous and their furs from northern Ontraio into the waters of the great lake. A big part of the trip was on the Humber River. This river was called lots of other names, including “Leave the Canoe and Go Back” river. The route was treacherous indeed.

In the 1670’s, according to archaeological finds, a village sprang up, likely the result of tired Seneca voyagers leaving their canoes behind and climbing the banks of the river. They built longhouses and settled down. Their village was safe due to the vantage point, and there was lots of food below. Salmon swam down the river in the spring and back up to spawn in the fall. The Seneca tribe named their village Teiaiagon which means “crossing the river.” The village stood until 1805 when the British bought the land from the Mississaugas Of the Credit as part of the Toronto Purchase.

A few years later the British gave 1500 acres of the land to James Baby (pronounced Babby) in a pretty sweet real estate deal. Baby was a member of parliament as a result of his influence in the Family Compact. He called his new estate Baby Point. He and his descendants lived there for almost 100 years. Eventually the home was demolished and the land sold. There are 2 reminders of that era: Baby’s reputation as a slave owner, and a black oak tree believed to be about 200 years old.

The 200-year-old black oak tree stands behind this more recent house

Robert Home Smith bought the land in the early 1900’s and began to develop it into a new concept – a subdivision! He envisioned a neighbourhood of elegance: winding streets surrounded by stately trees, single detached homes, made of stone or brick, set back from the streets. The entrance to this neighbourhood was marked by gates, still standing at the corner of Baby Point Road and Jane Street. Smith also dedicated 100 acres of the land along the river to be developed as a public park. And he began building what is now known as the Old Mill Hotel and Restaurant.

Baby Point Gates

Some of the edicts of the Home Smith subdivision have become bylaws and the area is still filled with mature trees and winding streets. The community is grounded at the centre by a social athletic club for residents. The only question about the future of this lovely community is the name: Baby Point. Just like Egerton Ryerson and Henry Dundas, James Baby’s history (as a slave owner) is following him. It may not be long before the name Baby Point is eradicated. Home Smith Point might be a good replacement.

Sue

The Home Smith Estate still standing on Jane St.

On Friday Peter and I discovered the perfect activity for a summer day. We suffered great hardship to get this story. OK, it wasn’t quite as bad as the explorers of the 1500’s, but it was close: we forgot our water bottles and our umbrellas.

The venue is at the CNE grounds, accessible by car, off the Lakeshore Road across from Ontario Place. Or, like us, you can take public transit. The GO train has a stop at the exhibition grounds. There is construction on the platform, so the only exit is at the west end of the station, which is of course the opposite end from where we exited the train. And there were ominous dark clouds gathering overhead.

We had some clues as to the actual spot we wanted to visit, The Garden Of the Greek Gods, near the bandshell and the rose garden. After asking several groundskeepers, we found the place. It’s a lovely park, across from the lake and near a fountain surrounded by fragrant roses in all shades of pinks and reds. There are benches too!

The park is filled with 20 limestone sculptures by E. B. Cox, 1914-2003, an internationally-known sculptor. He created these figures in the 1960’s and they were on display at the CNE for several years, until their location unfortunately became the back yard of the MuZik Nightclub, a somewhat sleazy club where even shootings have taken place. Cox’s daughter battled with CNE personnel to have the sculptures relocated. Finally, in 2022, they were moved.

The stately Greek Gods seem to enjoy their new location; there are smiles on many of their limestone faces. We were met by Hercules, the tallest of the figures. Following the path, we found the snake-headed Medusa, Pan with his reed pipes, the bird-women Harpies and many other famous Gods and Goddesses. I especially loved the irony of Narcissus because how could anybody so misshapen contine to admire his reflection?

About this time the dark clouds let loose and we ran for any covered space we could find. It was a hidden service door behind a restaurant, and it had a bench. And a cardboard box! We chatted about the sculptures and their lovely setting as we waited for the rain to let up. Then we checked out the restaurant. It was not open, not even for drinks.

By this time we were wet and thirsty. The Gods didn’t seem to be smiling on us, so we headed back towards the GO station, splashing through deep puddles and hopping over muddy ditches. And we found the grounds of the CNE strange, almost eerie, without crowds of people eating cotton candy, carrying their prize stuffies, and lining up for rides.

But we might go back. It would be nice to smell the roses on a sunny day. The godly statues deserve a closer look. And the restaurant serves Italian food.

Sue

Just over a week ago we got an exciting notice in our mailbox. Instead of the usual flyers and bills, there was something interesting to read. It was a notification of a filming that was going to happen on our street.

Peter’s first thoughts were of Sophia Loren, but I reminded him that she is 88 and not likely to be travelling this far for work. Then he focused on action-packed chases through our back yard, the actors nearly stepping on his zucchini and tomato plants. Or maybe a moose snorting along the sidewalk. A Hollywood aura; the perfect topic for a blog post. Yea!

On Monday when we looked out the window, there were no moose, but the street was lined with orange cones. Then, in the pouring rain, the trucks began to arrive. There were hundreds, well at least 25. I grabbed my phone and tried to saunter down the street, looking disinterested. I noticed a truck set up as an office, another one for wardrobe changes, and a food truck with a serving table, for food breaks. But I didn’t see much action.

The next day I decided that I needed to act more like a reporter so I could dig up the story for you, dear readers. I saw a guy standing at the food truck having a coffee. He was quite sexy and movie star-ish. I approached him, my hand on a pen in my pocket, ready for autographs. In my best reporter voice I asked him what his role was. He told me he was with wardrobe. Darn.

The next people I saw were a young couple – maybe the romantic leads in the movie? No. They said they were “gophers.”Undaunted, I asked what the movie was about. They replied, “Oh, it’s just a commercial.” Double Darn! But wait… who was the commercial’s sponsor? Maybe a big name like Molson’s or Tim Horton’s … with free samples? Actually the couple wasn’t sure. It might be a wellness product like a Fitbit or something.

I moved on to 2 business-looking men. Could they be discussing million-dollar contracts? No, they weren’t. They were discussing the number of complaints they had already had from our neighbours about the nuisance the filming was causing. The only real nuisance I could see was the occasional car driving down our street, which had to slow down. Did these neighbours have no sense of adventure?

I was getting annoyed. Where was the story here? What was I going to write about for the next blog post?

I went home and started researching on my laptop. First I discovered that this film company, radioaktivefilm, is based in Kyiv, Ukraine. Since their beginning in 1993 they have done business in Poland, Lithuania, and Georgia, and so far the original studio has not been bombed by Russia. They have produced commercials for Aleve, VRBO, Jack Daniels, and been involved in the production of one feature film, Chernobyl, 2019. Then Toronto’s “Hollywood North” reputation led them here for this commercial.

But what was the commercial? I discovered the word ‘oura’ at the bottom of the mailbox flyer. Maybe this was a clue. After more searching, I found it – a ring. It comes in several styles. And it has a purpose: as a “smart ring.” It keeps track of more than 20 biometrics: heart rate, calories, stress levels, activity, sleep habits and more. The best feature seems to be that you can wear it 24/7. No need to take it off when you sleep or shower.

As older adults we might like to have a health device that we didn’t misplace on a regular basis, like we do with our cell phone or keys. But I have to tell you that the buttons the ring uses for setting or changing screens are Tiny. We definitely need our glasses to manipulate them. And no arthritis in our fingers either. Besides, the ring style is very modern. Somehow the Oura does not create the right aura for older folks.

Meanwhile, we are still waiting for the blockbuster movie to set up on our street.

Sue