For a short time I was thinking about going back to work. This job as writer is very low-paying. And these days, with high inflation…well you know how it is.

It started a few weeks ago when a friend asked me to dog-sit for her while she and her husband went to an appointment. I have spent time with this small dog on a few occasions and he is a cute little guy, and very playful. His name is Dash, and he loves to cuddle. So I said yes.

Dash met me at the door and began dashing around, jumping up and down, licking my glasses, stealing my outdoor shoes before I was able to hide them. After the parents left we spent some time playing with Mr. Squishy, (who is a toy – just to clarify), and snuggling on the couch. Pretty soon Dash yawned and flopped down beside me, asleep in seconds. I checked my email messages. I started to read a novel I had brought. I drank my coffee. Dash snored on happily. And I thought – this could be a pretty good second career for an old person.

Dash

As readers know, I have had lots of experience with dogs. I look after Venus quite often when her parents go on vacation. She is old and obliging, and Peter even lets her sleep in our bedroom. I have looked after another son’s dog, Tobie, a few times. He is old too and crawls under the couch to sleep, realizing whe he wakes up, that he can’t crawl back out. Fortunately, I have enough arm muscles left to hoist up one end of the couch and let him out.

Venus. (Tobie was under the couch, unavailable for photos).

So I decided to research my new possible career. First of all, I would need some new toys. Our old dog balls and chew toys are beyond repair. A visit to Petsmart revealed that dog toys are not cheap these days. And there are lots of health warnings. Certain kinds of plastic are toxic if chewed. The popular squeaky toys are a choking hazard if the squeaker is swallowed. And of course there is the decor. Any toys must be turquoise to match my new sun room.

I’d need to get some new dog treats too. Our leftover treats are stale. I know this because Peter tried one by mistake, thinking it was a new kind of cookie for him, and he spat it out in the garbage – not even good enough for the worms in his compost bin! In my dog-treat research I discovered homemade dog-treat recipes. Well for heavens sake, I don’t even bake treats for people! I was starting to get cold feet. This new job might be more than I could handle.

Then a third son asked if I would look after their family dog, Finn, for a week while the family went on vacation. I wanted to help. But I hesitated. Finn is not old. He is not even middle-aged. He has passed the stage of eating kitchen tables, but he is still full of energy. And he is big. Twice a day he goes for long walks with his owner. Sometimes the owner rides a bike as Finn trots alongside. Sometimes Finn races ahead while the biker tries to keep up.

I hesitated some more. I began to imagine myself being pulled, dragged along the road, into ditches, through potholes, over speed bumps, whimpering “Stop! please!!. stop!!!” OK maybe I am exaggerating just a bit. Sorry Finn.

But I am definitely giving up my plans for a second career. If you are looking for a dog-sitter, you might consider Oro Dog Companion, a robot that throws balls all morning, opens up a food tray at lunch, and sings little lullabies so doggie can have an afternoon nap. Just like me.

Sue

Finn, catching a few winks when he thinks nobody’s looking.

Today, Tuesday May 14, marks the 5th anniversary of my first post on Seventy In the City. So I thught I would write about some highlights and experiences that we have had together.

Looking back over those last 250 or so posts, I see a few tupos, I mean typos. I must explain that I am a fast reader and tend to skip ahead, reading only what I think should be on the page. Readers have been very kind not to point out all these errors. And I have found a way to correct most of them before they get published, by reading word for word, with a magnifying glass. There have also been some errors in content. The most obvious was when I wrote that the Blue Jays won the World Series in the 1970’s. Of course, the Rogers Centre wasn’t even built then!

Reading back through the posts, I notice a definite change in tone during the pandemic. The topics I wrote about were pretty banal – countless stories about decorating the garage for parties, and walking walking walking. I made enough mentions of Sunnyland, Peter’s favourite fruit and vegetable market, that one reader actually drove to our neighbourhood to see it.

Over the years I have tried my best not to be too political, but I did write 2 posts; one about Trump and another about Ford. It was the least I could do. Recently Peter and I ran into another politician working the room at a Liberal party event. There was only hand-shaking and photos, no political message to pass on, but it was fun to meet him in person.

Most places that Peter and I have visited on our Friday adventures have been worthwhile, but about a year ago I wrote about The Well, an up-and-coming lifestye village near Spadina and Wellington, and I told readers it was not worth visiting. Well, we did go back recently and found a big change. There is now a large shopping area surrounded by buildings, (but no roof) where a number of interesting boutique stores and restaurants are popping up. The big draw is Arcadia Earth, an “immersive multi-sensory journey” about our planet. It’s very high tech and you need to take somebody young with you to help navigate.

One of the posts that got a big response was the one about losing my wedding ring. Several people wrote to ask what I was wishing for my ring if I could not have it back. I hoped for a special person to find it: a single mom with 2 kids and no job, an immigrant unable to find housing, a disabled person living on government subsidy. I just hope that an addict didn’t smoke or drink it. There are so many needy people in this large metropolis.

Another widely-read post was the one about the book club meeting in my house, where a guest fell on a tiny step and sprained her ankle badly. I am glad to say she has recovered, although it did take time. We had a family council meeting afterwards, where we heard suggestions about dealing with this nasty step: installing a hospital ramp, ripping up the entire floor and laying a new one, 3 centimeters higher, or the most practical: just close the da– door and direct guests to enter the sun room through the dining room, where the step is visible.

The most common question I hear by far is “Where do you get your ideas?” I read the Toronto Star, I follow Blog TO, and I browse through local magazines. But most of my ideas come from wandering about, going on adventures with Peter, taking strolls in the neighbourhood. In short – just by being out in the world where things are always happening.

As for carrying on with this blog, one thing is sure: when I turn 80, then I definitely can’t be writing Seventy In the City. Unitl then, I sincerely thank you, dear readers, for your ongoing support.

Sue

PS The photo under the title was taken on May 14, 2019

Last week Peter and I decided we owed it to readers to report on the cherry blossoms. High Park was too crowded so we headed east to the John Robarts library at U of T. Unfortunately we were a bit late.

Friday was a beautiful sunny day. We hopped on the GO train and then the subway north to St. George station, all for one price, return, of $1.97 (for seniors). We sauntered along, enjoying the company of students, listening to their playful banter and philosophic debates. There is something invigorating about spending time in the presence of “youngsters.”

We took time to admire the halls of learning, old juxtaposed with new. Peter proudly pointed out all the buildings where his daughter, Andrea, had studied, eaten and slept when she attended as a student. We saw buildings devoted to faculties we hadn’t even heard of in our university days. In the 1960’s there were 3 faculties: Arts and Science, Engineering, and Medicine. On our Friday visit we came across the Faculty of Cellular and Biomolecular Research, the Magnetic and Meteorological Observatory, the Faculty of Information aka iSchool.

Eventually we found ourselves at the Robarts Library, built in 1973 in the brutalist architectural style, which means there are a lot of triangles in the design. The library has been nick-named The Turkey by students. You can see the similarity if you look at its triangular beak and the wings spread out to the sides.

Tucked in behind the library is a walkway lined with cherry trees. As you’ll notice, the blossoms on Friday were turning from soft pink to a kind of over-done shade of brown. But there were still a lot of visitors, one dressed for the occasion, her beautiful kimonno somewhat overshadowed by the food truck in the background.

Learning at U of T is not new to us. When we moved to Toronto, Peter and I enrolled in a Friday morning lecture series focusing on Current Events. We went with another couple and would sometimes go for coffee or lunch afterwards, so we could discuss the lecture. It was informative and energizing.

Next I took a risk and signed up for some creative writing courses. I soon discovered that students were required to read our writing Out Loud. At first we were all nervous, but after the first victim read, we relaxed. I learned a lot from listening to these other would-be writers. Then I enrolled in a course about the various architectural styles one can find on Toronto streets. There were no exams. And the instructor took us for walks to show us in person what she had been describing. I took a second course – about the architecture of small towns in Ontario, and Peter joined me on some excursions based on my notes. I only stopped taking those classes when the instructor retired.

After that I took a big leap and signed up for Italian classes. I started at the beginner level and slowly made my way to intermediate. I was a litte stressed by the pace – most of the other students had goals like moving to Italy for work, but I was only taking the classs so I wouldn’t miss any gossip when Peter’s relatives came to visit. Then the pandemic hit and we switched to classes on Zoom. This was another roadblock for me, especially when the instructor sent us worksheets hidden on an app, and then we had to import them to a split screen. This was worse than reading out loud! Mamma Mia!

But walking along St. George St. on Friday, I was reminded of all the advice we older folks are constantly hearing, about keeping our minds active, learning something new every day. So, one day soon we should all have a look at the School of Continuing Studies calendar. We could meet for coffee after our class.

Sue

Last summer our beloved Japanese Maple tree lost a limb. Then another limb began shedding leaves much too early in the fall. The remaining branches seemed noncommittal. As the first snow fell, we said good bye to the tree and waited for Spring, the season when life begins again, the season of hope.

By early April we knew the tree’s end was in signt. Peter oiled his chainsaw, and we went looking for hope elsewere. We glanced towards the flower garden near the front door. And there we found a lone tulip gazing back at us in its orange and yellow dress. It was all the more glorious becauuse it had outlived the other bulbs by somehow evading the deer who visit our street in the evenings. Then we found a second one, partially hidden by fallen leaves, but still standing.

Fuelled by anticipation, we rushed into the back garden to search. We discovered that our periwinkle border, which we had been coaxing along for a couple of years, was in full bloom, rising above other intruders. Garlic mustard had been the most invasive. At first Peter was on its side, intigued by the name. How could two of his favourite spices be bad? Surely we could cook them up into a nice little side dish of greens! But this year even this intruder was overtaken by the periwinkle.

Then we started looking for other things to eat. The rhubarb was doing well and our mouths began to water as we thought of rhubarb muffins, and rhubarb sauce over ice cream. The raspberry plants looked healthy too. But there was no sign of tomatoes, zucchini or cucumbers. So Peter rushed to the store for seeds, potting soil and tiny pots. He began planting.

Some of Peter’s babies

Peter has babied them for a couple of weeks, spraying them with water, moving them from place to place so they could follow the sun, and transporting them inside and out, depending on the temperature. Meanwhile I sit by myself, ignored and lonely. Oops… off topic.

Elsewhere in Toronto this week people are getting their fill of the season of hope. In High Park the forsythia and cherry blossoms are at their peak. Crowds of visitors find unique ways to travel there, by subway or on foot, or by playing hide and seek for parking spots on back streets.

However, as anyone knows, the quintessential sign of the season is right in your own back yard: the golden goddess, defying weedkillers and diggers, surviving in all conditions, resiliant to a fault. Presenting:

I wish you signs of hope in your life this spring.

Sue

Often in the afternoon, Peter and I stop what we’re doing and have tea together. I boil the kettle, plop a tea bag into one mug, let it steep for a bit, and then I do the same with the used bag and the other mug. I grab 2 store-bought cookies, one each, and we sit down together for half an hour. It’s a nice break.

When our daughter and grand daughter invited me for afternoon tea as a birthday gift, I envisioned a slightly more upscale venue and maybe cups and saucers instead of mugs. Then they said we were going to the Ritz. I was taken aback – surely they didn’t mean we were going to New York City? No, they said, there was a Ritz in Toronto, just a short walk from the GO train. And we were going to High Tea. Oh my!

As the event got closer, I worried about what to wear. I have long ago given away my white gloves. Andrea suggested a fascinator might be appropriate, but luckily I realized she was joking. Finally I settled on a dressy top wiith a shawl. On the day of the adventure, it was windy, cold and wet. Not only was my outfit too Springlike, my shoes would not make it through all the puddles.

I set out in my winter coat and some black water-resistant flats I hoped nobody would notice. The GO train was on time. The Ritz was indeed ritzy and I was greeted by a doorman, then a guide who showed me to the restaurant, and then the coat-check girl who led me to the table. So far – so good!

At the table, Andrea and Agnes were choosing their tea from a box of little bottles filled with tea leaves, available for sniffing. I chose chocolate mint, Andrea decided on a distinctive oolong, and Agnes went for hot chocolate. Then we settled back into our comfy chairs and chatted until the tea came. We each got our own little pot with a strainer inside holding the tea leaves. And there were 3 small hour glasses so we could each steep our tea for just the right amount of time.

Next the waitress brought a three-tiered cake plate filled wth decadence, and 3 pairs of tiny tongs. We were advised to eat from the bottom up. We nibbled sandwiches on the lower level: chicken, smoked salmon, egg salad and cucumber, all crustless of course. Then we went up – to the scones with jam and clotted cream. Are you getting hungry yet?

The top tier of the plate was, shall I say, over the top. We munched on delicate cupcakes with elaborate icing, little layered strawberry cakes, chocolate squares with a thin layer of crunchy chocolate on the outside and chocolate mousse on the inside. And the best – passionfruit tarts. I was so entranced that I got my phone out when nobody was looking and took another photo:

That little leaf is made of whihte chocolate, and the tiny blob with the green bits is a meringue.

It was all very extravagant and lovely. But the best part was that we 3 generations of “girls” got to talk, uninterrupted by the outside world. The waitress stayed discreetly in the background, and the cute little baby at the next table did not cry at all. We caught up on family news, recent travels, (that was mostly them), various aches and pains, (that was mostly me), and plans for upcoming events. Our allotted time flew by. Then we thanked the staff and walked back through the elegant lobby and outside to our normal lives.

When I got home, there was Peter, waiting in his chair with his mug of tea and his store-bought cookie. He seemed relieved that I had been able to pull myself away from my afternoon at the Ritz.

Sue

The sun is the most influential other-worldly orb in our lives. Without it, we would freeze to death in no time. Is it any wonder that there was so much hype about losing the sun’s rays for even a few minutes yesterday?

And there was definitely hype. Peter and I first noticed it when the schools in the path of the eclipse began talking about switching their PA day in April so that students could have yesterday off. As former administrators, we understood. Young kids would be in danger as they walked home during unexpected darkness, and they’d likely sneak unprotected peeks at the sun. Teens would search for hiding place in the bushes where they could entertain themselves with more earthly pleasures. Safer to leave all this responsibility at home.

Besides, this did not have to be a teachable moment – that work was being covered by the media. Magazines, newspapers, podcasts, tv specials, youtube, all contributed to our collective knowledge of what was about to happen. Zoomer magazie did a piece on how to photograph the eclipse: getting the best shot while saving the photographer’s eyesignt. Our university news magazine, the Queen’s Review, did an article covering the history of eclipses, which began in the first millennium BC, when the Babylonians were the first scientists to recognize that lunar eclipses follow a pattern.

The Toronto Star also had articles about where to get the best view, how to use the special glasses, what to watch for in the animal kingdom. And eye-catching front page headlines:

Like our friends, Peter and I were excited. This might be our last chance to see a total eclipse. The next one will not be visible in North America until 2044, which would put us in our late 90’s, well-past our “best-before” date. So we went all in and bought glasses from Amazon for $21.00. Then we discovered that the local library was giving them away for free. Now we even had back-ups!

Yesterday the excitement in the air was palpable. Traffic started building up on the westbound routes early. Th QEW and the 403 were jammed well before noon. When I made a quick trip to the bank on Bloor St, the pedestrians were strangely silent, eveyone looking down or up, focused on the big event ahead. In the afternoon, television stations began showing us amazing views from Mexico and then Texas and finally Arkansas where several newly-married couples were toasting this double event.

In Toronto the clouds began to gather and it felt like rain. Undaunted, we took a bottle of champagne from the fridge and went next door to be with our neighbours. Then we waited… And waited. The kids started to get fidgety. “When is the sun going to hide?”

Suddenly someone yelled “There it is!” We grabbed our viewing glasses as the darkness eerily descended. Slowly the sky revealed a tiny sliver-like fingernail of brightness. It grew wider and turned orange against the darkened background. It was beautiful. It was strangely peaceful. Then it was over.

After experiencing the eclipse, it’s easy to understand our enthusiasm for this natural phenomenon. In these uncertain times, it confirms for us that there is something bigger than we are, a powerful constant in our lives. No mattter how many wars we fight, how many earthquakes we endure, how much disease we suffer, the sun is always up there. Even when it disappears for a few moments, we know it’s coming back.

Sue

Easter is a rather convoluted holiday in the 21st century. For some it is considered the most important Christian event of the year, commemorating sacrifice and salvation. For kids it is a secular holiday where bunnies hop through the front door with thier baskets, and leave eggs behind. For many adults it is a reason to share a meal with family, and eat chocolate.

For some Christians Easter was not celebrated last weekend. I found this out as I prepared to organize kids’ Easter books on the table at my local food bank. Someone reminded me that our regular clients are largely Ukrainian and their Easter is not until later in the Spring. I quickly sorted out the books into 2 piles – one with stories about bunnies for the display, and another with egg themes which I put away until May 5th.

This year our family decided on brunch for our Easter gathering. The timing worked best for some guests recovering from jet lag after a recent trip, and for others who had to work on Monday. It also worked best for Peter and me because we like to have our nap around 4:00 pm. Brunch food is easier too: mimosas followed by pre-cooked ham from COSTCO and quiche from a bakery. Peter wanted to have pannetone, which is an Italian tradition, but we couldn’t find any and had to settle for hot cross buns. He declared them unworthy and ate chocolate instead.

After brunch we sent the kids on a trickier and longer version of an Easter egg hunt. They had to find various household items, which they then traded in for Easter eggs. They could not find our tooth paste and decided we must have very dirty teeth. The adults didn’t get off lightly – we had to play a modern version of trivial pursuit for our eggs. Did you know that the name for a large group of pandas is an “embarrassment”?

Around 4 pm, after everyone had gone home, I gave up my nap just for you, dear readers. I went for a walk around the neighbourhood to see how other celebrations were going. Compared to Hallowe’en and Christmas, the decorations were pathetic:

There were large groups of cars in lots of driveways. The name for that group is not an “embarrassment” – it’s a party! Relatives were gathering on their front lawns to re-connect. “Wow, Amy, how you’ve grown since Christmas.” “Look at Joshua catch that ball now -he’s heading for the big leagues for sure.” “Marianne, I just love your new hair colour!” And so on.

A one-sided conversation caught my attention. An eldery man arrived at a house in a taxi. He got out of the car with his suitcase and was greeted by the family dog sitting alone on the porch. He stooped down. “Oh my little poochie poo, how are you? You’re Grandad’s most favourite little cutie-pie in the whole world, yes you are! I’m so happy to see you, my sweetie face. Give Grandad a kissy kissy!”

He obviously didn’t realize anybody else was listening to him. And he definitely didn’t know that, in a couple of days, he would be quoted on a public blog.

Sue

No dear readers, this is not Tuesday; it’s a day whe I sometimes add to my blog if something important comes up.

Last Tuesday’s post, Paving Paradise, prompted a lot of positive comments from readers. Many suggested that I forward the post to newspapers such as the Toronto Star. Unfortunately, publishers usually have a caveat to any material they print: it must not have been previously published elsewhere. They want New material only.

However, one reader wrote with information about a lobby group that are working to save or re-create whatever parts of Ontario Place they can. The website includes pictures and memories, petitions to sign, letters of support to write, and, as you would expect, a place for donations.

Of special interest to me is a portal where readers can learn more about the Great Lakes and their environmental impact. I’m including the website for your information:

ontarioplaceforall.com

And thanks again for your ongoing support of my blog.

Sue

As many readers know from a previous post, Lake Ontario is very special to me. I have spent most of my life on its shores: as a child in Niagara, a teenager in Rochester, a university student in Kingston, and an adult in Toronto. Now that Peter and I live so close, we walk along the shores in all weather, we kayak there in the spring and fall, and we even try to swim there when it’s warm. So, although this is not a political blog, when Doug Ford announced he was going to pave over MY Lake, I got a little bit angry.

This man has done no end of wrong to us and our province. He created new blue licence plates that quickly faded, and then he gave us back our plate fees so he could demand more in other taxes. Before he was caught, he intended to sell part of our green belt to developers. He plans to destroy Raymond Moriyama’s beautiful Science Centre and move the contents into a tiny space somewhere else. He is trying to construct a highway that we don’t need, on valuable farmland that we do. Isn’t that enough?

Now Ford intends to pour dubiously-sourced landfill into a freshwater lake to create 25 acres of new property – so he can build a casino or spa for his wealthy buddies. Too much of our Toronto lakefront has already been stolen by condo developers and industries. Other world-class cities treat their waterfront as a gem, a place to attract visitors from around the world. Think of Halifax and Pier 21, Vancouver’s English Bay, or San Francisco’s Fisherman’s Wharf, to name a few. Travel a little farther and discover Stockholm’s harbourfront canal system, Australia’s Great Ocean Road, or Italy’s stunning Amalfi Coast:

While Toronto has lost out on much tourist business, Lake Ontario is still crucial in the fight against climate change. We need the breezes from the lake to moderate summer and winter temperatures. Fish, birds and small mammals find their homes in the lake and on the Islands. People drink the water! In anticipation of Ford’s plan to destroy Ontario Place’s West Island by paving over Brigantine Cove, absolutely NO environmental assessment has been done.

Our lake and its sisters in the Great Lakes are the envy of the world. Together they contain over 20% of the world’s fresh water. There is no bigger source of drinking water anywhere else on earth. Compared to life in drought-plagued locations like Africa or the Middle East, we live in paradise. Kind of makes you want to hum that Joni Mitchell song, doesn’t it?

Sue

Lake Ontario on March 25, 2024