The Indomitable Bubbe

My sister is awesome.  I met her for lunch at a restaurant yesterday.  When it was time to pay, this is what she took out of her pocket:

I asked her:  "Who's Andrew, and won't he be missing his wallet?"

Her reply was:  "Andrew is my wallet."  As in, her wallet has a name, and that name is Andrew.  When I burst out laughing, she told me that once she also had a toothbrush named George.  So yes, for the record, everyone in my family is weird.

For instance, take my 99-year-old grandmother, a.k.a. Bubbe.  Her mind is in great shape, but her body, not so much anymore.  She gets around with a cane and a walker, and she tires quickly.  She doesn't do more than one or two stairs at a time.  So when she decided that she wanted to travel out to West Lake to see my father and step-mom's new house, and was insistent that she would take the train by herself, we were all a bit dubious.

Eventually it was arranged that she would bum a ride out to the house with someone else who was making the journey, and on the way back she would take the train with my sister.  I let her know that if she called ahead, Via Rail would arrange to have whatever assistance she needed ready for her.  I had previously seen a wheelchair-bound passenger lifted off the train on a little scissor lift.  Sure enough, that was how they got her onto the train in Belleville.

My Bubbe was very pleased to have two hours to chat with my sister on the train.  When they arrived at Union station in Toronto, the last stop, the Via staff wanted to clear out all the passengers and luggage before they dealt with Bubbe.  Even my sister was asked to wait on the platform.  So Bubbe ended up waiting by herself in the train for quite some time while everyone else disembarked and the scissor lift was rolled into place.  

When the staff were finally ready to move their special passenger, they got back onto the train... and she wasn't there.  They walked all up and down the car looking for her.  She wasn't in any of the seats, or in the washroom, or (thank goodness) on the floor.  Finally they figured out that while they were taking their sweet time getting the lift set up, she ran out of patience and somehow got herself down the stairs out the back door, at the far end of the car.  She was waiting for my sister just down the platform.  

As my sister said, that is so Bubbe!

P.S. I said last time that I would tell you all about my birthday, so here goes:  It was great.  I got lots of love and cake; plenty of gifts and cards.  Thanks for all your good wishes!  :-)

Birthday Time

Hi kids!  I hope that you are all doing well and having a good weekend.  I'm having a great time with all my birthday celebrations.  For that reason, I am taking the week off from blogging.  I'll catch up with all y'all next week.

Love,
Spark.

Mall Walk

When in doubt regarding what to do on the weekend, Ken and I go for a mall walk.  It's too hot in the summer?  Rainy in the spring or fall?  Snowy and freezing in the winter?  A walk in the mall is just what the doctor ordered.

Vaughan Mills mall, large and suburban, gives us plenty of room to stretch our legs and lots of good people-watching.  We usually park by the Bass Pro shop, and walk through the hunting and fishing sections on our way to the main mall.  The sign at the entrance is held up by a couple of bears.

One of them is proud and happy because he has a fish.

The other one looks grouchy.

I hate this stupid job.  My paws are tired, my back is killing me... this sign weighs a ton.  I complained to the bear union, but they're not doing a damn thing for me.  They probably spend all my hard-earned dues on honey for their meetings.

Mom was right.  I never should have moved to the big city to get a job.  I thought I could make a career for myself, but I couldn't overcome all the anti-bearism.  I should have stayed in the woods, scratching my belly and eating lumberjacks with maple syrup.  *sigh*

So, what's on trend for fall?  Black, grey, and other dark colours, for starters.  Like every fall.  Bah.  How boring is that?

Also, sack-like tops meant to be worn with leggings by tall, skinny girls.  I mean, some of the tops literally look like two rectangles of cloth sewn together, like a big pillowcase, with holes for a head and arms.  This is the type of fashion that makes it easy for me to keep my money in my wallet.

However, there was some interesting footwear on display.  In case you didn't know, Dr. Martens are back in style.

Now that's what I call colour!  The boots on the left are post-modernistically self-referential.

It's a boot with a print of a boot on it!  If you've ever wanted boots on your boots, your wish has been granted.

There were also ice-cream cone shoes.  On sale from the summer collection, of course.

We didn't end up buying anything except a snack.  But that's okay.  I can enjoy a good mall walk even if I don't make any purchases.  Window shopping is fine with me.

How I Spent My Long Weekend

A friend of mine whom I've known since first grade was in town this weekend (from the west coast, where she now lives in a beautiful, small town in the Rocky Mountains #MissHer #Jealous).  It was so good to see her for the first time since last summer.

It made sense to meet downtown, but neither of us could think of a decent restaurant, so she asked another friend for a recommendation.  Hence, our first experience at Lola's Kitchen.  It's located on Church St. in an old Victorian home.  

Would you believe that we are literally in the heart of Toronto, surrounded by towering high rises?  I mean, look at this view from the patio!

There were birds twittering away, and a tree behind the fence was loaded down with ripening apples.  It was surprisingly pastoral.

Besides being scenic, Lola's offers excellent eats, and can accommodate just about any dietary restriction you'd care to throw at them.  I had a vegetarian burger (made of mushrooms, black beans, and walnuts) topped with guac, pickled red onions, and shredded cheddar cheese on a soft bun, which was at least as tasty as any decent beef burger.  And the gluten-free, vegan coconut cream cupcake that I wolfed down for dessert was to die for.  I forgot to offer to share it with my girlfriend.  Oops.

The following day, I met my Mom at the Royal Ontario Museum, where she volunteers.  We took a brief walk through some of the galleries she's been studying, and she gave me my own personal tour.  For example, I had never visited the Judaica collection, despite this being something I should take a personal interest in.  

This silver spice box was used in a Havdalah ceremony, which marks the end of Shabbat.  It would hold cloves, cinnamon or some other sweetly fragrant spice, and would be handed around for everyone present to have a sniff.  A special prayer would be said upon smelling the spices.  My mother's mother's father had one made of olive wood.  My mother remembers this ceremony being performed every Saturday evening in her home (which was also her grandparents'  home) when she was a child.

We took a peek at the Islamic arts in another gallery.  There are some gorgeous Qurans on parchment from the 15th and 16th centuries, shining with intricate adornments in gold leaf.  I was wearing what I consider to be a cute sundress for this outing, on account of it being 30 degrees out.  It has short sleeves, is not low-cut in the front, and has a fingertip-length skirt, and I feel that it is quite proper... until I'm standing in front of a case full of Qurans, next to a couple of observant Muslim families.  Then I suddenly felt that I looked like a shameless hussy.  I have never before been so conscious of my hair being naked.

We exited through the gift shop, in proper tourist fashion.  I was pleased to see that you could buy a Frida Kahlo doll, featuring her charismatic eyebrow.  I can't say that I wasn't tempted.

We completed our visit with a stop for refreshments in a coffee shop which had an unusual display case for their to-go cookies.

If I offered them enough money, do you think they'd give me the keys and let me drive the whole thing home, just like that?  I'd roll down the driver's side window and stick out my head to see around the hood.  No problem.

It was too hot for tea or coffee, but just about right for a strawberry granita.

As you can see, my weekend has been quite proper and cultured so far.  I hope to remedy that tonight at a BBQ with a bunch of friends.  We'll see what kind of trouble we can cook up before the long weekend is over.  

CNE Time Again

The end of summer is nigh.  All the signs are there.  Back-to-school sales, planning for my upcoming FORTY-THIRD birthday (I am so old), and the Canadian National Exhibition.  As per tradition, I went with my aunt.  Since we are both crazy cat ladies, our first stop was the cat show.

Meow, I am a momma cat.  I'm hanging out in this small cage with my kittens.  I really wish that I could send them outside to play.

Mew!  I'm a kitten!  I want to pounce upon and bite all of the things!  What's that moving outside the cage?

Look to the left of the photo above to see the amazing markings on these cats, like leopard spots.  I'm sorry I didn't get a better photo of one of their beautiful coats.

Most of the cats were napping.  Typical.

My blankie is warm and fuzzy.  Snzzzzz.

After the cat show, we browsed the International Marketplace.  The "Magic Lantern" stall was quite enchanting.

We happened across an exhibit of vehicles and other military equipment from WWI.  Although it was interesting, I didn't take many photos because the light was terrible, and almost everything was khaki green on a khaki green background.  However, I did like this poster:

You can tell that this is sponsored by the federal government because the descriptive text is in both official languages, English and Français.

Then we went to the farm building.  The alpacas were adorable, as usual.

There was a momma Clydesdale with her four-month-old twin daughters, shown here flopped out on the straw:

A moment later, the babies got up and started grooming each other.  Cutie-pies!

We met a friendly cow.  Her name is Charlotte.  Here she is getting her neck skritchy-scratched by an admirer.

Yeah, that's the spot.  

When we had had our fill of furry creatures (and the aroma of their warm poop, which was being blown around the farm building abundantly by dozens of whirring fans), we headed off to the midway for ice-cream waffle sandwiches.  However, our plans were foiled by the end of a soccer game at BMO stadium that exact moment.  Approximately 30,000 red-shirted fans (that's the stadium's capacity) poured out into the fairgrounds.  The midway, which was just ahead of us, became so jammed with humans that walking traffic was almost at a standstill.

Neither of us like crowds, so at that point we called it a day.  Next year, our first stop will be the ice-cream waffle stand!

Living a Life of Luxury

I am NO LONGER a disgusting germ-bucket.  The cold that I thought would last forever is finally gone!

It sure was a long one.  Who expects a cold to last for five weeks?  For the first four weeks I kept telling myself to be patient.  "You just have to be patient, Spark.  This too shall pass."  At the fifth week, I lost patience, and that's when my immune system started winning.  Lesson learned: the way to make a cold go away is to be impatient.  Next time I'm going to start out intolerant and stay that way.

It's lucky for me that my will to live returned just as I was heading into a difficult work week.  I had to cover the desk of a hard-working woman who was on vacation.  I would liken the experience to being a 16-year-old student driver who finds herself in speeding traffic on an 8-lane highway.  It's not that it's an impossible task, it's just overwhelming if you're not used to it.  It was a challenge, but I got through it.  I don't think I would have had a chance if I were still sick.

To cap off the week, on Friday we had some plumbing excitement.  Regular readers will know that my workplace has a history of exploding toilets.  Fortunately, this time the toilets did not actually explode.  They just gave us a geyser show, kind of like at the Bellagio.

Ken and I went for some retail therapy at Yorkdale, the fancy mall.  This is where the super-rich go to pick up their designer everything, from Jimmy Choo shoes to Pink Tartan fringed jumpsuits.  I have a history of feeling decidedly out of place in these stores, as though the sales staff could probably smell my middle-class background and hated me for it.  Ken used to almost forcibly walk me in, and then I would trail around after him anxiously, not touching anything in case I got my immigrant-family-low-self-esteem cooties on it.

After a few years of window shopping, and a couple of decadent purchases (a Kate Spade raffia handbag, a silver Tiffany ring), I got more comfortable in those stores.  I figured out that the sales staff don't hate me, and in fact they size me up as a decent potential customer.  I can stroke the chinchilla fur coats in Holt Renfrew without getting kicked out of the store.

(If you have never patted a chinchilla, alive or on a garment rack, you owe it to yourself to do this.  It is the most delightful sensation.  Their fur is like no other fur; it's so soft that it feels like running your fingers through slightly cool whipped cream that's not at all sticky.  Put it on your bucket list.)

Now that we're official Cartier customers, we have transitioned into dangerous territory.  I thought spending $200 on a handbag was living the high life, but there's a whole other level that we have barely begun to explore.  We stopped in to visit with our friend, the Cartier salesman, who was glad to see us.  He tried to tempt me with a watch named after a French bathtub. (I tried it on and it was awfully pretty).  The price tag was $10,000 CAD.  I mean, wow.  I would be terrified to wear it out of the house.

We also perused handbags.    I had plunked my purse down on the glass countertop while I tried on La Baignoire, thinking that this would be at least slightly impressive.  But the Cartier bags start at 10 times the cost of my little Kate Spade.  There's no comparison.  The salesman leaned forward and asked, with complete sincerity, in a hushed tone of voice, "You mean, you don't have any luxury handbags in your collection?"  He seemed concerned for us, the way a friend might if you admitted that you weren't sleeping well.  How can we say that we're experiencing a proper quality of life under these circumstances?

I have no burning desire to expand my "collection", nor do I feel a need to own a handbag that costs more than the total on one of my paycheques.  However, just for fun, after that, we went to the Louis Vuitton boutique and "tried on" their $ 4,000 handbag with the clever, LV twisting clasp.  You turn the L so that it lines up with the V and when it clicks into place you can open the bag.  Turning the clasp was almost as much fun as patting a chinchilla coat.  The "click" that you could feel more than hear at both extremities of rotation was the most satisfying mechanical sensation I can imagine.

Is there a luxury handbag in my future?  We'll see.  I have a feeling that Ken might have taken this up as a challenge.  Maybe one day.  Or maybe not.  Either way is okay with me.

The Phlegm Report

I am still a disgusting germ-bucket.

In case you forgot, because it's been so darn long, I still have this cold.  At least, I think it's the same cold, with a relapse.  Alternately, it could be a fresh cold which has taken over just as the dregs of the old cold were wearing off.  How can I even tell?  I'm not sure.

When you get a cold, does it follow a predictable sequence?  Mine always start with a sore throat, followed by sinus yuck, and finishing up with a nice, crunchy chest cough.  Is that just me, or is it the same for all y'all?

Evidence supporting the "new cold" hypothesis: My symptoms had dwindled to evening-time asthma coughing by four weeks into the old cold, and then I started out with a fresh sore throat last weekend.  The last couple of days have been sinus city.  Today is the first day in a while that I can breathe without feeling like I'm sucking every breath through one of these coffee stir sticks.

(This is something of an exaggeration.  It's not quite that bad.  Only almost.)

I'm hoping to skip the chesty phase this time around.  Because, OMG, I have coughed enough in the past month to last a lifetime.  My abs are ripped.  At this point I deserve to have a turtle-shell six-pack.  (I don't.)

Confession time: I went to game night last night even though I might have been carrying fresh cold germs.  I sincerely hope that I didn't make anyone else sick.  My only justification is that I desperately needed to have a fun evening, for my own mental health, which is not much of a justification at all.  If anyone gets sick from my germs I will feel suitably guilty.  Then again, none of us live in a bubble, and people can pass along viruses before they even start displaying symptoms, so we're all taking a necessary risk every time we go out and socialize, right?  Is that a better rationalization?  Maybe slightly...

I have plenty of tissues.  Ken went to Costco and bought a shrink-wrapped pack of 20 boxes a couple of months ago.  I recall seeing it come in the door and thinking "Overkill!  It's going to take us years to get through all that."  LOL nope.  I am making short work of box after box.  Fortunately, used tissues can go into the compost bin in Toronto, so I don't have to feel quite so bad about all the trees my nose is responsible for killing.

I went for a massage on Friday, and while I was face-down on the table my nose dripped non-stop.  I had to ask for a fresh tissue every few minutes.  My RMT offered to put the trash can under the face-hole so that I could "just let it drip".  Ew, gross.  No thanks.  I should have asked if any of her other clients have ever taken her up on that offer.  Or maybe I don't want to  know.

Anyway, I am worn out, cranky, and don't even remember what it feels like to be healthy, at this point.  I have a challenging work week coming up because one of my staff is going to be on vacation, and due to the recent cutbacks I am the only person who can handle her desk while she's away.  I'm not planning to work myself to death; her work is going to get behind, and she'll just have to catch up when she gets back.  

I can't think of a good closer for this post.  Just, everyone stay well and don't let anyone sneeze on you.