The Coat

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine gave me a coat that doesn't fit her anymore.  It's a funny thing about being a small grown-up; I still get hand-me-downs.  My friend was emotionally attached to this coat, and sad to be giving it away.  She didn't want to simply donate it to charity.  She wanted to give it to a Good Home.  I accepted the responsibility.

The coat looks a lot like this:

However, for reasons unknown, it has no buttons.  It has button holes, but nothing to put in them, nor any sign that it ever had buttons attached.

The first thing I did was take it to be dry cleaned.  (And to have the shoulder pads removed, because I have relatively broad shoulders already so the shoulder pads were total overkill.  It made me think of a quote from What Not to Wear, when Stacey said something like "Foxy lady?  More like boxy lady."  Anyway...)

When I went to pick the coat up, the lady behind the counter gave me a funny look.  I didn't understand why, until she started apologizing for the fact that the dry-cleaning facility had unaccountably lost all the buttons off my coat.  She told me that she was going to call the facility tomorrow about the problem, and offered to fix it for me, clearly trying to defend herself from my fearsome customer's temper, when I started to laugh.  

I explained the situation: that the coat had no buttons to begin with.  She was visibly relieved.  I told her I was sorry for not pointing out the state of the coat when I dropped it off.  I think it nearly gave her a heart attack.  She explained to me in broken English how astonished and confused she was when she realized that the coat had come back to her buttonless.

"Why?"  She asked me pleadingly, gesturing towards the coat, "Why no buttons?  How lose buttons?"

Good grief.

This coat has become quite the drama magnet.  In my determination to successfully rehabilitate it, I went shopping online for buttons, and ordered a style that I thought would be just right.  Six little buttons, for a grand total of $3.19 CAD, before shipping.  I figured they'd show up in my mailbox in a couple of weeks.

Well, it couldn't be that simple.  Firstly, the button vendor sent me e-mail updates at every stage of the process.  My order was received!  My payment was received!  The buttons are packed!  The buttons are shipped!  I have never received so many status updates for any online purchase.  Still, they seemed to take an awfully long time to get here.  I wasn't sure why, because most things ship to Toronto from just over the American border.

Finally, on November 10th, I received a notice that Canada Post had tried to deliver a package but I wasn't at home.  I had to go pick it up at the post office.  The little sticky note they left me said it would be available "Tomorrow after 13:00 h".  Fine.  No problem.  I stopped into the postal outlet on the way home.  But it was closed.  Whu...  Huh?  Why?  It's open later than that, isn't it?  On weekdays?

Except that it was November 11th.  Remembrance Day.  Right.

So the next day I went back, and showed my official government-issued photo I.D. and signed my signature on the dotted line in order to take possession of this precious little envelope of buttons.  Which could easily have fit into my mailbox.  Silliest shipping overkill ever!  At least I found out why they had taken so long to get to me.  The envelope was postmarked "Hong Kong".

The coat has gone back to the nice Asian lady to have the buttons attached.  I have every confidence that it will come out looking great.  (After all this, it had better.)

Royal Winter Fair

The Royal Winter Fair crippled me.  Seriously, I can barely walk.  I think I pulled a hip flexor running for the streetcar on the way there.

This would not have happened if the Fair had not printed incorrect transit instructions right onto my ticket.

The ticket offered several routes to the fairgrounds on public transit.  Normally I would have taken the Bathurst streetcar, but the ticket said I could catch a 509 shuttle bus from Union station, and I thought that would be faster.

I exited Union station, and waited around for a little while for the bus, but there was a lot of construction on the road, and I had a feeling that this was not the place for a bus stop.  Sure enough, after a little searching, I found a well-hidden bus-stop post that was marked with an out-of-service sign.  Scrawled onto the sign was a barely legible message about an in-service bus stop a few blocks south at Front Street.

I walked down to the Front Street bus stop.  I saw a few #6 buses going past in the wrong direction, but no #509s.  When a #6 bus pulled up, I asked if the 509 would be along soon.  "Oh no, ma'am.  The 509 shuttle bus was temporary while track construction was being completed.  It's no longer in service.  Go around the corner to the streetcar stop to get the 509 streetcar."

Right.  Fine.  Off I went around the corner.  Pretty soon a streetcar pulled up.  I have to admit that I did not look at the route sign on it because 1) it didn't occur to me that other streetcars might stop there, and 2) it was my first sighting of a brand-new, low-floor, all-the-fancy-bells-and-whistles streetcar that has just been introduced to the city.

It was a very nice, smooth ride.  I got as far as Spadina, and at that point we turned north.  It was a 510.  No no no!  Dammit.  Got off the streetcar.  Walked back to Front Street.  Walked west about half a mile looking for a streetcar stop.  Finally saw a 509 - passing me at speed, just as the stop loomed into sight.  I waved to the driver and ran for it.  I caught the streetcar.  I made it to the fair.  I ignored the steadily increasing pain in my right hip for hours because after all that I was going to enjoy the fair even if it killed me.  Getting home was not so good.  I am now effectively crippled.  But.

It was worth it!

Disapproving hen disapproves.

This six-month-old cow was totally into licking my coat sleeve.  It couldn't be all that tasty... or is there something I've been missing?  *Licks coat sleeve*  Nope, that cow was just crazy.

Jade the goat (above) was a snuggle-muffin.  All she wanted to do was hang out and get scratchy-scratches and neck rubs.  I could have spent all evening with her.  I only left because her owners showed up and wanted to take some of the goats out for a shower and shampoo.

"I am a hungry goat.  I will stick my head all the way inside this delicious bag."

Pig bums are silly.

There were auctions happening.  The one in the main arena was for cattle, but there was a smaller one for pigs.

The Fair was selling alcoholic beverages at its refreshment stands.  I had to wonder if any city people ever show up, get drunk, and buy a pig for their tiny condo.  That would be interesting.

The Horse Palace was very dark, so I didn't get a lot of great photos there.

"I haz fancy sox."

I found a few sociable horses who wanted to hang out with me.  Of course the best part is their velvety noses, but there was one pretty pony who was into getting a full rubdown.  She was all "Yeah, yeah, a little to the right.  No, lower.  Yeah.  There.  Okay, now the other side."  (Pause for more rubbing and scritchy-scratching.)  "Okay, now the other other side."

Sheep strikes a pose.

This little cow (still relatively a baby) had a fancy halter with bling on it.

The Beef Team.  "Does this straw make my butt look big?"

I also met a cow called "Destiny Overload So Fancy".  Wow.  So Name.  Very Emphasis.  I am now considering changing my own name to something equally glamorous.  How about "Sparkling Crimson Fancy-Pants So Classy"?

Halloween etc.

First, a photo by request.

DarcKnyt wanted to see the infinity scarf arm-knitted for me by my sister, so here it is.  I like it so much I have assigned it a permanent place hanging from this doorknob, so that I can appreciate its warm colours and cozy texture every day.

Second, a photo brag.

I picked this pumpkin at the store, hauled it home in my granny buggy, designed it, and carved it; all by my very own self.  I don't think I've ever done a whole pumpkin from start to finish before.  (Usually I design and Ken carves, but he was too busy/tired this year.)

*Pats self on back for trendy owl accomplishment.*

Third, me in a panda suit.

This was an impulse buy.  As I was in a streetcar, rolling along downtown, en route to meet a friend, I spotted some amazing onesies in the window of an Ardene.  I was so taken by them that I made a point of going back after my coffee date.  Selection was limited (the elephant suit, complete with trunk, was no longer available in my size) but I was completely satisfied with this panda option.

I wore it while handing out candy to the neighbourhood kids, although it hardly seemed to register with them.  They were too busy trying to peer into my candy bowl to see what goodies they were about to score.  However, I did get some appreciation from the accompanying adults.

The fleece onesie is so comfortable; I can totally see myself lounging around the house in it on cold winter weekends.  It was so warm that I would only flip the hood up when answering the door.  If my furnace ever fails on a very cold day, this is what the furnace repair technician will find me wearing.

I have more leftover candy than I wanted.  I should have given all the kids two treats, instead of just the older ones.  Oh well.  Extra chocolate in the house isn't an insoluble problem.  I'm sure I can figure out some way of getting rid of it.  (Like this hole in my face. *om nom*)

Autumnal Glories

How can you tell that the weather has turned?

1)  EVERYONE on my RSS reader list has updated their blog this week.  That's the first time I can say that since the last snow melted in the spring.  Good show, people!

2)  I am grateful for a birthday gift knitted for me by my sister: an extremely fluffy infinity scarf in beautiful, warm fall-leaf colours.  When wound twice around my neck it covers me almost up to my nose, which is much-appreciated when I have to stand for half an hour in a cold wind at the bus stop because traffic is horrible.  (I.e. frequently.)  An interesting fact about this scarf is that my sister did not use knitting needles.  She knit it on her arms, like this:

Neat trick!  What's next - leg knitting?  Whole-human knitting?  Where does it end?

Speaking of that side of my family, I forgot to warn you about Pickle-ball.  Yes, Pickle-ball.  Do you think I might be kidding?  Maybe silly, whimsical Spark is imagining things?  I don't blame you, but Pickle-ball is real.  It's a sport somewhere in between badminton and table tennis, played with equipment and rules that are supposed to make it less strenuous than other racket sports.

Warning: Don't be fooled!  Pickle-ball is supposed to be easy on middle-aged bodies, but my dad and step-mom were both suffering from pickle-ball injuries when I visited them on Thanksgiving weekend.  Soon there will probably be an exposé: "Study shows epidemic of pickle-ball problems.  FDA investigation to follow."  You heard it here first.

What else is new?  Nothing, and it's great.

Thanksgiving in Bloomfield

I went to Bloomfield to stay with relatives for Thanksgiving.  The weather was mostly like this:

Wow, right?  At least for us city slickers who almost never get to see a horizon free from concrete clutter.  Some of you are probably saying "Pshaw, I see views like that every day of my life, in my rural paradise."  (I'm looking at you, Granny Annie.)  In my experience, however, this view is outstanding.

So is this one:

We went for a walk on an almost-deserted beach, crossing paths only with a handful of other humans, and some very happy dogs.  The sand was covered in little shells.

If you walked down by the waterline, it felt like you were crunching along an endless field of potato chips.

My family's house in Bloomfield is a new purchase, and they have only just finished decorating it.  I think it looks great.

My step-mom's art graces the walls.  She's a talented painter.  I like these bathing ladies.

As one does on Thanksgiving, we fed our faces.  Thanksgiving dinner was cooked at home, however I was treated to meals out at a variety of local eateries.  This squirrel sat next to me at The Regent, jealously guarding his nut.

We also did sight-seeing.  This is the view from Lake on the Mountain road.  That's Quinte Bay down there, with ferries gliding serenely back and forth.

Quinte Bay again, much improved by my sister's enthusiastic presentation.

Right across the road, literally steps away, is the Lake on the Mountain.  Maybe it's not exactly on a mountain, but it's clearly several hundred feet above the bay.  According to the signs by the water, geologists have not yet figured out how the lake formed up there.

Much is made of the mystery.

We could have gone shopping in a number of local businesses, which were all open for the long weekend, hoping to suck dollars out of tourists' pockets.  However, if there's one thing I get more than enough of in Toronto, it's opportunities to shop.  We skipped all the retail except for this one place: Surfer Girl.  It sells hella big ornamental doodads, things that no one in Toronto would have space for.  Here you can buy something at an appropriate scale for your multi-acre front lawn.

Like this set of five-foot-tall Tiki masks.

Seriously, you have to click on that photo and take a good look at the dog statue in the lower right corner.  That pooch totally looks like it's on crack.

Our last Hurrah was at Drake By the Lake, for brunch.  I went all out and ordered the Fried Chicken on a Pecan Waffle with Chile-Spiced Maple Syrup.  It was one of the best things I've ever eaten, no word of a lie.  The weather was a little cloudier by then, but the view from the dining room window was still amazing.  Picture the tree branches blowing in the wind, and frilly, white waves rolling in onto the shore.

Only a few hours after brunch, I was getting off a train in Toronto, navigating crowds at Union station, and wondering if I'd have time to do a load of laundry before setting my alarm for work the next day.  Long weekends are never long enough.

Thought Processes

I figured out why Canadian Thanksgiving comes 6 weeks earlier than American Thanksgiving.  It's a harvest festival, right?  And Canada is (on average) further north, therefore the harvest occurs earlier.  *checks Wikipedia*  Yes, got it in one!  Happy Canadian Thanksgiving.

I'm always pleased when I can figure things out.  Neurological science has shown that learning new things or figuring things out actually boosts the dopamine (reward/happy chemical) level in our brains.  So, there: if you didn't already know that, I just made you happier.  You're welcome.

I have not been able to figure out what to write on my parents' anniversary card.  It's been ambiguous ever since they split up for four years, starting in 2008, and then reconciled.  My mom says that she doesn't know how to count which anniversary it is anymore.  Are you supposed to count the separated years, when they almost got divorced?  Are you supposed to start from scratch on the date that they moved back in together?  Is it acceptable to write "Happy Anniversary!  Can't believe you've been together for (n + 1) years!  Way to go!"?

I also get confused by the etiquette of waiting for a bus.  In downtown Toronto, in my experience, people mill around in a chaotic herd by a bus stop, and when the bus arrives they approach the door in as aggressive a manner as possible without actual shoving or making threatening eye contact.

Let's take King and Bay as the epicentre of Toronto's nasty, money-grubbing, type-A-personality workforce.  The further one goes from that centre, the more courteous people are.  One you're into the far suburbs, it's like being in a different country.  (Sweden, perhaps.)

I live in a grey area.  It's at the city limits. Thirty years ago it was a suburb, but it's gotten busier and is now more of a mid-urb.

The people I commute with operate with conditional courtesy.  They queue up at the bus stop, and if the bus pulls to a halt with the front doors in the correct spot, at the head of the queue, they will file into the vehicle like well-behaved schoolchildren.  However, if traffic is backed up, and the bus does not pull up right to the stop, but opens the doors one car-length back, the queue dissolves.  You might think that, like a snake, the line would move to the doorway in an orderly fashion, but no.  In this case, all bets are off, and everyone from every part of the line makes a run for the door at once.  I don't understand why this happens.  Can someone explain it to me?

(One more thing I do understand: a piece of dark lint on the floor that looks like a bug will "run away from you" as you walk towards it because of the breeze created by your moving feet.  It's not actually a bug, but you'll have to lean way down to double-check that because its insectoid appearance is so freaky.)

A Variety of Treats

Two weeks ago, I went out for a walk on a sunny afternoon.  I chased this butterfly around for 10 minutes before I managed to capture it in a photo.  (Click on the photo for a bigger version, so you can see the pretty spots on the butterfly's wings.  I wish that it had been a wee bit less shy, because I would have loved a closer-up snapshot.) 

It was warm out. I got so sweaty running around after this butterfly that I stopped to get water from a public drinking fountain.

I present to you these triumphantly phallic plants, basking in the sunshine.

On that hot, late September day, it seemed like summer would last forever.

Unfortunately, that was an illusion.  Yesterday, fall temperatures blew in on the wind.  When I went downtown to the Annex (a Toronto neighbourhood) to meet a girlfriend, I was sad to see that the ice cream store had shut down for the year.

I waited for my friend at Future Bakery.  I love their big windows that let in tons of natural light.  They also make a tasty decaf latte.

I perused the goodies display case.  A cute little girl-toddler approached alongside me, and was so excited by all the treats that she starting yelling and beating her hands on the plexiglass.  I feel you, sister.

There was pie.

There was cake.

There was even pie-cake!

After 20 minutes of waiting, I texted my girlfriend.  Turns out she had forgotten about our date.  :-(  Or not exactly; she knew we were supposed to meet on Saturday, but she didn't clue in that "today" = "Saturday".  Oh well.

Since I was already downtown, I took the opportunity to go see the Alex Colville exhibition at the Art Gallery of Ontario.  I spent over an hour there, taking it in, and I loved it.  Here's an example of his work:

 When I was done with the gallery, I went into a nearby Chinatown bakery for a snack.  Their selection wasn't as appealing as the options at Future Bakery.

No, I don't know what a meat cookie is, and I didn't ask.  I bought a small walnut butter cake for $1 and got crumbs all over my chin.  It may not have gone as planned, but it was still a very good day.