A Walk In the Woods

This past weekend Donald J. Trump got the entire world involved in a war, without anybody’s permission and for no obvious reason. Iran does not have intercontinental ballistic missiles, and there is no plan for how to help the Iranian people move forward after the bombing stops. The underlying reasons could be several: his payback to Saudi Arabia for his new jet and other monetary obligations, an attempt to distract the public from the Epstein files, his hankering for the Nobel Peace Prize, or his anger with the Supreme Court over knocking down his tariff walls. Maybe it’s all of them, revealing an enfeebled old man wanting to ensure some sort of sick legacy.

To get away from the news on Sunday, Peter and I decided to take a walk we normally do in the summer. It meanders through the woods and along the Humber River. What is it like in the winter? I’ll show you:

Bundled up in heavy coats, mitts, tuques, and scarves, we walked through the neighbourhood to the path in the woods. The first thing we saw was this abandoned swing. Soon a little child will be smiling and screeching as he goes higher and higher.

It was a little icy so we held onto each other as we made our way down to the river. Attached to one of the trees was some advertising for a dental office. It seemed to be a strange place for clients to stop and read. Could the woods be full of hidden candies?

Then we walked past the Humber River Yacht Club, definitely closed for the winter:

Even the snowmobile had been deserted.

The dog park was empty too:

Peter decided to go the extra mile for you, dear readers. He stepped out onto the ice, while I held my breath, and my phone, ready to call 911:

The ice held, and the river, usually full of geese, was silent.

Then we trudged up the hill back to civilization.

We stopped to do some shopping on the way home, avoiding the inevitable CNN news feed for a little while longer.

Sue

Health Span, not Life Span

Ever since Peter had his 80th birthday and I had my hospital vacation, we seem to have encountered conversations about our age everywhere we go. The topic is not about getting older; it’s about staying healthy. And that’s such a useful topic, because who wants to live to 95 if we’re stuck in a wheelchair, drooling and mumbling?

What we want is quality of life, not quantity! ln order to do this, alterations may be necessary. Some of us may need new knees or hips. Some require hearing aids or stronger glasses. Perhaps we need a couple of tooth implants or a night guard. Maybe a new organ is required, like a kidney. Or a more technical device like my new pacemaker.

Once we are put back together and plugged in, we can move on to staying healthy by keeping up with our drug supply and intake. A container will help us sort this out.

Then we need to stay in shape by exercising everything at a gym. At least twice a week. And don’t forget those arthritic fingers or sagging core. Then find some nice loose-fitting pants, a sweater to hide turkey neck, and some concealer for those wrinkly faces. We are all set to party. Oh wait – first we need a nap!

For entertainment we need to choose something earlier in the day, preferably accessible by public transit. We hope for a loud speaker system and comfy chairs. If there is food, it should be easy to chew and not too spicey. And lots of washrooms nearby.

Peter and I attended an activity last week that fit the bill perfectly. On Tuesday we took a day trip on a bus with a washroom, to St. Jacobs. We went with friends we have known for over 40 years. Along the way we enjoyed a delicious and chewable roast beef dinner with melt-in-your mouth cheesecake for dessert. We remembered to take our medications. Then we saw a show in a theatre in an old schoolhouse, the kind we might have attended ourselves. The singers replicated the Four Plaids of 1950s fame and belted out lots of music that we knew! We sang along in our off-key voices.

On the way back in the bus, the snoring was loud and comforting. And we got home well before our bedtime. It was a perfect event. With days like this, we could happily live to 95.

Sue

Billy Bishop Airport

Many of us take flying for granted. Go to the airport and climb aboard. But it wasn’t always so.

In the early 1930’s, less that 100 years ago, there were no airports in Toronto. The 2 facilities were built almost simultaneously at the end of the 30’s: an airport on Toronto Island and another one in a field to the north. Billy Bishop on the island, which opened in 1937, got first choice of codes and became YTZ, while Malton/Pearson had to settle for YYZ. Both airports have evolved to serve different purposes in the city.

Billy Bishop welcomed its first incoming flight in 1939. Tommy Dorsey and his swing band flew in from New York City to great fanfare. King George VI attended the opening ceremonies. After that the airport was utilized for WWI training exercises by forces from Norway. When the soldiers and their planes returned home, they left behind a memorial stone on a plot of land that is now known as Little Norway Park.

After the Norwegian troops left, Canadian forces took over the airport in 1942. This is where flying ace Billy Bishop called home. Here he met William Barker and the 2 men became close friends, flying and fighting in WWI and most of WWII.

Billy Bishop on the right

The airport went through many iterations during those early years: civil flights, regional airlines, even ORNGE Air helicopters used for medical support. Then in 2006 Porter Airlines became the main tenant and the airport flourished. In 2015 a 250-foot underwater tunnel was constructed, making pedestrian travel from the mainland quite simple. As the airport capacity and convenience grew, Air Canada began to utilize this facility too.

Peter and I joined a Heritage Tour last weekend to get a closer glimpse of the airport. On our walk from Little Norway Park to the terminal, we passed the creation of a colourful wedding photography spot. Then we walked by a park where statues honour the Irish Immigrants who came to Canada to escape the potato famine. It was a heartbreaking contrast of happiness and despair.

Finally we approached the terminal, situated on the Island. But how to get there? First we rode elevators down to the lower level. Next we we took a moving sidewalk through the tunnel under Lake Ontario to the island. Occasionally we looked up, checking for leaks. Then we got on the escalator, apparently the highest one in the world, over 100 feet up. Unfortunately, the escalator went on strike when we were half-way up and we had to walk the rest of the way.

Dear readers I gave up on you at that point. I had to sit down to catch my breath. But Peter carried on and said the view up there on the island looking back towards the mainland was a perfect way to observe this unique achievement from above. Go and see for yourself.

Sue

The Bridge Group

Four couples met one evening many years ago in a private home. We were handed drinks, introduced to each other, and asked to sit at card tables arranged in the living room. We quickly realized that our bridge skills ranged from novice player to card shark. There were a lot of mistakes and laughing. Gradually the focus of the conversations switched from the bridge game and towards families and travel. We discovered we had a lot in common.

At our next “game night” we didn’t even pretend to play bridge. We just ate and drank and talked. Soon we began planning more elaborate outings, to restaurants for example. We tried a pub in Unionville, an Italian restaurant with a band in Weston, and the Sultan’s Tent with belly dancing downtown. If I remember correctly, the last one was the men’s favorite.

Then we went farther afield. We tried some overnight stays at cottages of the couples: in Huntsville, Lakefield, and Minden. It seemed we were as congenial in the morning as at night. We loved having our morning coffee together. Walking in the forest followed by brunch became part of our routine. We hated to say good-bye on Sunday afternoons.

So we planned longer weekends. We seemed to share an interest in slot machines so we organized a long weekend in Las Vegas. We toured the themed hotels: the Luxor with its pyramid entrance, the MGM Grand with the lions, the Venetian where we rode in a gondola along the (indoor) canal. One couple even won some money, enough to buy everyone a drink at the bar.

Then we tried New Orleans. It has lots of slot machines and even some culture. We wandered along Bourbon Street admiring the unique architecture and the colourful beads the young women were wearing. This too was a favourite of the men. At night we visited casinos and at one point we took a horse and buggy down the street. We might have been singing too.

Then I met Peter and we upped the ante even more – Peter suggested Italy. First we hosted everyone at our house for a pasta cook-off. Three of the couples were intrigued so we flew to Rome. With Peter’s nephew driving us in a big van, we saw Peter’s home town, the Amalfi Coast, and Rome. Then we took the train to Verona and spent some time exploring that area too. It was “eccellente!”

After that trip, reality caught up with us. The husband of one of the couples died of cancer and his wife, totally bereft, became depressed. The six of us muddled along for a while. Then we hooked up with another couple who seemed to fit right in – they didn’t want to play bridge either! And by then, we were all older and had different requirements.

Now our get-togethers are different. We meet at one another’s houses for lunch so we can drive home before dark. Sometimes we have a theme like Mexican or Chinese. In the good weather we play bean bag toss in the backyard. At Christmas we exchange goofy gifts. Once in a while we talk about our aches and pains. And, when we long for a casino we play Rumoli, a board game where betting takes place using dimes and quarters. Just our speed.

This group has only played bridge once. What began as a simple invitation, from one mom to another mom on a day-care playground, has grown into lasting friendships that have sustained us in many other ways.

Sue