While most kids are getting ready for their first day of school (parents cheering I’m sure) many are watching the weather channel for updates on Dorian. For some reason this storm has been on my mind. I’m not sure if that’s because we live on the water and we can imagine the devastation and fear around a wicked storm or if our winter haven (Florida) is at risk. Or because my sister flies each week.

Today I woke up to a brilliant orange red sky. I don’t think that bodes well for our forecast for today. But that’s ok. I will be happily situated in my kitchen with our dear friends Zoe and Del. We are going to pickle the planet! Del has a green thumb and the fruits of his labour is on my counter awaiting preservation. We plan to do beets and pickles. Maybe garlic. Who knows?!

They brought their little Yorkie rescue, Eddie. Molly is tolerant but Otto wonders who this mini canine is and why he’s in our space. Eddie is missing an eye. His tiny face is completely adorable and when he glances up at Zoe and Del it’s pure love. This is one lucky little dude.

Zoe and Del just celebrated their 50th anniversary. I can’t imagine getting married at 17 years of age. But 3 kids and a pile of grandkids later they are still showing everyone what love and commitment are all about. Rudy and I will be 31 years tomorrow. It’s inspiring to see what 50 looks like.

So glad to spend time with old friends. Even if there’s a sailors warning.

Godspeed to those in the path of Dorian.

There’s something about this time of year that ignites a deep rooted excitement in my blood. I simply love back to school. The whole idea of a fresh new school year makes me tingle. In fact, I can’t remember one single negative thing about going back to school. I loved school.

Don’t get me wrong. Summer is definitely the best season for long sunny days and warm evening breezes. I can’t get motivated to do anything indoors over the summer months. But this time of year the days get shorter, golden rod is everywhere, the evenings and early mornings are brisk, and the CNE is winding down. Back to school fever is in the air.

Here’s my top ten favourite things about back to school:

1. New beginning. A brand new chance to be great at something. Academics. Sports. Music. Pick your passion and go for it.

2. People. Who will you be randomly associated with? Not all teachers seat you alphabetically! You could be sitting next to Ferris Beuller in typing class.

3. Fashion. No uniforms here! Who cobbled the best outfits together from the astounding possibilities in Stratford?? Hmmmm. Woolworths or Towers??

4. French Fries. I can still taste the fries at the cafeteria. And if that wasn’t enough you could walk downtown and hit Kens.

5. Extra curricular. Can you say “joiner”? Yup. That was me. Busy from early morning to evening. Can’t think of a club I didn’t try.

6. Social. What did everyone do over the summer?? There’s 9 months of school lunches to find out.

7. Supplies. Is there anything better than new sharp pencil crayons? I don’t think so. Well maybe a spiffy pencil case or funky binder.

8. Autumn. Best season of the year hands down. Amazing colours and perfect weather.

9. Schedules. Picking courses. Meeting teachers. Finding the classroom.

10. Lockers. By far the entire back to school experience rolled into one slim metal box. First there’s locker location – a key to meaningful social interaction. Decor – bringing HGTV to the hallway the possibilities were infinite! Privacy – stash anything as long as no one knows your combo! And open the door .. poof! A nice little wall for a secret conversation or flirt.

I’m sure I could go on. I could easily do top 100. I didn’t even touch on field trips, french exchanges, cheerleading pep rallies, school dances, debates, group projects, field days, snow days ….. whew! There’s so much more.

It was a simple uncomplicated fabulous space and time.

I think I’ll go back to school …. in my daydreams.

Molly and I made the trek to Stratford the other day. As usual I let the folks know in advance (like a week) at the previous visit. Then everyday when I call I remind them again. And everyday during the call they ask at least once when I’m coming next. It’s a routine. On the day before I come it’s key for them to know what time and for lunch arrangements to be made. Unless there’s a morning medical or other appointment I arrive at noon. If I bring Molly then we eat at their place so Molly doesn’t have to wait in the car.

The household roles have changed (almost a 180) at my folks place. Now it’s dad who cooks and grocery shops. Unfortunately my dad has never had cooking experience before other than frying eggs. So it’s an adventure. Everything is pan fried or indoor grilled (my sister bought him a smokeless grill and showed him how to use it). There’s an aversion to using the oven and I’m not sure if it’s vision related or technology that’s the barrier. Mom uses a toaster oven for everything. She knows how to push the start button and there’s a long bell to indicate it’s done.

So the other day dad excitedly prepares lunch. Mom does the prep as her memory and vision loss makes it dangerous for her to cook at the stove. Dad puts on his Liaison College apron and fires up his cooking area. The grill is red hot (he’s making steak) and his frying pan is awaiting the chopped veg from moms cutting board. The table is set.

I sit down at the table to alleviate the congestion in their tiny kitchen. It’s a bustle of activity as the two of them perform their duties. Of course Molly is in there too because it’s my moms mission to feed the dog first. It’s the only room without carpet so Molly’s food is in the middle of the action on the kitchen floor. I don’t even look to see what crazy leftover mess my mother has assembled for Molly to eat. At a quick glance it’s a mashup of everything they’ve eaten in the last week.

Since I’m staying the night there’s wine for me at the table. I would prefer mineral water but I indulge to appease my folks. Having s drink at lunch (which is their dinner) is not only acceptable, it’s expected. Usually I’m driving back same day or taking them to an appointment so I abstain entirely from alcohol. My dad has carefully selected a bottle of wine that he hopes I will like. In the past I’ve mentioned that drinking my moms boxed vintage is not appealing. My dad is the host with the most and wants to ensure that I’m a satisfied guest. I think Frank helped him pick wines at the store. My dad was a bit appalled at the prices but Frank assured him it was the right call. Today, in the midst of a cooking frenzy, dad comes to the table where I’m sitting to make sure the wine is ok. I emphatically reassure him that it’s perfect.

Ok. Lunch is ready. Dad brings the steaks over. Then the frying pan with his concoction of veg (peppers, onions, garlic and potatoes) prepped by my mom. And mom brings the salad. Dad sits down ready to devour his creation. But mom realizes that the table wasn’t fully set. I have disrupted their routine. There’s no salt and pepper. Oh, the ketchups missing. Darn, the napkins were forgotten. Mom sits then hopes up again realizing her wine is still in the kitchen. Does anyone want bread? Dad and I are already half way through our meat. How’s the steak? Great dad! Good job! He beams like a kid. Cheers mom says. Cheers. Great lunch. Well, we have the same everyday … your dad does the shopping; we eat what he buys. Do you like sweet cream cheese? (A random question out of left field that’s got s hidden meaning; that’s how mom rolls). What kind of sweet cream cheese? My dad, knowing exactly the hidden meaning chimes in, I didn’t read the label and bought sweet cream cheese by mistake. Oh. Sure, we can use it on bagels. Great you can take it home! Ok. But my moms not done chiding (in her hidden way that’s not so hidden anymore) … you know, I don’t know why your dad would buy sweet cream cheese? We never had that before. Dad tries to end the topic: I made a mistake and bought the wrong one. Wow. Dad usually never owns up to a booboo and would normally say: I thought I would try it. Mom is not rebuffed easily. I didn’t even know they had such a thing as sweet cream cheese; who would buy it? Somehow she’s found her dig of the moment and won’t let go.

I start talking about Molly. That’s an instant cure. However I’m certain the cream cheese isn’t dead for good yet.

Does anyone want bread? No mom. Thanks. Mom? Are you putting ketchup on your salad? Yes. I like it sometimes. Oh ok. Would you like dad to add some salad dressing to his shopping list? Oh no. He doesn’t make a list anymore. Dad: I don’t need one.

Oh boy. New thread of digs.

Hey! I’m picking you up next week to come to Collingwood. Oh. Ok. Dad: no. I drive myself. Yes dad. I’m taking mom and you’re driving behind in your car. Yes.

Lunch is finished. Mom lets us know it’s her job to clear and tidy the kitchen. Dad and I can play cards. It’s too windy outside so we rearrange the table. Dads lucky at first but then the cards go cold. Lady luck is in my corner. My mom knows when dads winning or losing depending on his table talk.

I let dad know we have to take a break to walk Molly. He welcomes the diversion. We all get ready to go out. It’s a lovely day for a walk and since they live in the park it’s an easy manoeuvre. Molly enjoys the new smells and finds a spot to leave a 318. Dad wants to take the shortcut home on the grass through the back. Mom and I and Molly stick to the sidewalk. I’m not sure if dads tired or sore or what but he doesn’t say.

Back at their apartment I ask dad what’s happening at the US Open. He gets his tv flicker. I get mom organized on her prep for our next project: zucchini muffins. Rudy had the great idea for me to bake them with my folks at their place. Perfect. Mom can grate the zucchini. Right after the news. You know I can’t read anymore and I need to know what’s happening in the world….

After our final card game ( dad is totally frustrated at the turn of events) we move into the kitchen and I supervise their baking duties. Dad is the mixer. Trying to tell him that over-mixing the dough will result in hard pucks instead of muffins is futile. All he heard was MIX. Mom is measuring zucchini. How many of these? Oh. Where do I put them? Is the bowl big enough? We never made these before. Is there enough room in the bowl? Mom. It’s all good. Dad? Do you want raisins or walnuts or both? Both. Ok. Here’s the stuff. Don’t over mix it …..

Ok. The dough is done. Dad you can fill the cups. Here’s the first one. Now you do the rest. Ok. We are ready to bake. Timing is perfect: muffins will bake while we solve the puzzles on Wheel of Fortune. Then there’s Family Feud with “I’m your man” Steve Harvey. It’s s daily ritual and dad knows the prizes and the games like the back of his hand.

Molly settles on the couch between me and dad. Front row for the action.

In a survey of 100 people, “where do guys go to have fun?” …. Dad: the beach. There are five answers on the board: the bar, friends place, sporting event, strip club … dad is now shouting … the beach! The beach! When the final answer is revealed and it’s “the beach” dad is delighted and smiling from ear to ear. Mom: did dad get it right? Too cute.

The US Open is disappointing. Sharipova is manhandled by Williams. Dad: there’s a you g girl from Latvia. Do think Leo watches her play? I’m sure he does dad.

The muffins are ready. Dad wants to try one. They are slightly puckish. But he is pleased with his creation. It was a good job.

Mom heads for bed at 9 pm. It’s past her usual time. Dad follows behind. I finish my wine.

Good night. Sweet dreams.

We’ve had lots of cats over the years. It started with Simon from the US. He was clever and lived most of his life with my folks. Then there was Bill. He was a “I need a loving home ” from my step daughters parent teacher night. He also lived mostly with my folks since they could provide the best loving home; they were devastated when they put him down. Bill has a good life. Little did he know he was almost named Jenny.

Living in the country for over 20 years allowed us to house a few cats but their lives were precarious due to predators, mostly coyotes. We had Chester; a gift from Rudy’s son for our anniversary. On his way to visit he passed a sign that said free kittens. We called Chester the gift that keeps on giving. Then there was Fritz. He was a timid and smallish cat that was also sickly. The others protected him.

One of our staff members in St Catharines needed to unload the last cat of the litter so Rudy caved. I was excited when he called to say he had picked up the cat. When I asked if he was cute Rudy said no; his tail and neck were oddly long and disproportionate. Oh. What will we call him? Rudy tells me his name is Marvin and we can’t change it because he comes when he’s called. Oh. Great. An unfortunate looking cate with a unfortunate name. When Rudy brought him home our friends came over;they asked if they could borrow Marvin to enter him into the longest tail contest at the fall fair. Seriously.

Then came Karl and Dieter. Twin brothers, identical except for one white tipped tail, from the vets office. Rudy couldn’t bear the thought that they would be euthanized if not adopted. Ok. Now we have 4 cats. It’s getting weird. My sister dubbed Karl the cat baby since he loved to snuggle and liked being man-handled. Very un-cattish.

Fritz, Marvin and the twins made the move to the farm in 1999. They endured a year in the trailer while the house was built. Troopers. Imagine: a thirty foot trailer in the woods with two dogs and four cats. Cuckoo! The cats would line up to eat and then head out for adventure. Not a litter box in sight.

Once we moved into the new house there was more space and mice to kill – all indoors. Rudy was happy that we had a team of hunters.

But nature intervened and we said goodbye to the twins and Fritz due to health issues. And hello to Heidi. Our dog found a box of abandoned kittens and two were still alive. One went to friends and Heidi stayed with us. But she was a wild thing and came and went for months then finally just went. Max and Morris (aka swamp thing) were a short-lived pair. They didn’t adjust to the country way and the coyotes.

Rudy picked up Mimi and Otto from the Canadian Tire hot dog vendor. Mimi was another wild child. She roamed far and wide only to return smelling like barn and needing a good meal. Otto was loyal. He thought he was a dog. So Marvin and Mimi and Otto endured Duke. And sometimes not well. Everyone else got along.

At the ripe age of 19 we had to say a sad so long to Marvin. Mimi vanished for good.

Our pet population was down to two. Molly and Otto. They make the move with us to Collingwood.

It turns out that Otto is a genuinely cool cat. He likes cuddles on his terms. He eats on his schedule. He hangs out with the pack. Or not. But the funniest thing is his sense of adventure. He lurks by the door waiting for his moment to bust a move. Since he’s a very big boy in cat terms, it’s amazing to watch him charge around at a smaller cats pace. His yen for the outside is comical. Since our house has no basement there’s a hollow space with infinite investigative options. Otto is in his glory.

There’s one thing for sure: he won’t miss a meal. So he never lets his investigations take him too far afield. You shake the treats and he appears. Magic.

He’s a cool cat.

Otherwise known as zucchini. We have a glut of them in our kitchen at the moment. Every day I see them I know I have to do something. My procrastination is causing stress.

I glance at recipes thinking I’m ready to pounce on the giant green submarines lurking on the counter. But I have every excuse under the sun not to get busy. This week’s excuse is that my baking gear is (for the most part) left behind at the townhouse. After all, who the heck bakes in the summers heat? Right?

We joined a CSA earlier this year and for the past three weeks we have picked up more zucchini in the bundle. There’s also been peppers and potatoes and Swiss chars and lettuce. But it’s the zucchini that’s giving me grief. Just the sight of it overflowing the bowl on the counter is making me sweat.

Tomorrow is the day. Our friends staying at the townhouse are leaving. So I can slip in before the open house and pick up my baking needs. Rudy is away for a few days so I won’t be distracted by an impromptu bike ride or hike. I’m going to hunker down and get busy. Plus I’m seeing my folks on Monday so I can pawn off some of the spoils of the bakeathon … dad loves muffins (if they have raisins) with his afternoon coffee.

So it’s settled then. Zucchini, your fate is sealed. Tomorrow your are meeting your baker.

Hump day in Georgian Bay is synonymous with dancing. One of our favourite haunts is The Beacon. It’s a bit of an infamous ramshackle rundown old time dive bars in Wasaga Beach. Every Wednesday their house band (The Freakin Band) takes “the stage” – not a stage per se but,rather, a smallish area carved out of the eating area in the dining room. So on Hump Day we go Freakin at the Beacon.

Last night a few friends joined us for the fun. It was a table of 7. The Beacon serves pretty good food (if you can overcome the dodgy ambience) and their juilienne salad is a big of a masterpiece. The thing is, the band starts st 7 pm and if you want a decent table you have to show up by 6 pm. I know. It seems early but that’s how seniors roll around here.

We get our table and order. The service on these nights is sluggish since the place gets packed all at once. There’s a minimal cover charge of $5 which is collected by a loyal groupie at the door. I think she’s a fixture that’s been proudly doing her duty since the gig started some 5 years ago. I think she gets a free supper for her efforts since she always had a plate of food at her table. Grabbing hurried bites in between collecting dough and stamping hands.

Once the band starts the dance floor fills up. They perform a set of favourite oldies from the 60’s and 70’s. The lead singer, Virgil Scott, tells witty stories in between songs and he and the drummer kibitz back and forth. The guitar players are both seated which is fitting for the band since they are a mashup of retired somethings who love to jam.

Each week they feature a special guest in the second set. Last night was Sil Simone. This guy is mesmerizingly talented. He plays the guitar and a mandolin. He never sits down up play. In fact he uses chairs as a prop to elevate himself giving the crowd a good view. He is something. And he sings. The dance floor is jammed. And hot and sweaty.

Our friend Sandy is particularly engaged in the evening. It’s something that is unique. Dancing your heart out on hump day. I love her energy and it’s contagious. We are bopping along carried away by the music and the electric vibe in the room. We always marvel at the age group and chuckle when we realize we are among peers. There’s not a soul under 50 in the place. But aches and pains aside, the dance floor is like a teleporter back to younger years. We boogie with abandon like no ones watching. We are Freakin at the Beacon.

No. Not the movie. The reality show happening on our deck at the moment. Just after our delicious bbq of ribs, fresh corn on the cob, salad from the CSA, and a potato/mushroom/onion mixture, the clouds began to gather in the distance. It’s been hot and muggy all day and the forecast showed some isolated showers. But the sun stayed out until we finished dinner.

As I cleared and packaged some TV dinners for my folks, Rudy lit a stogie and we watched the light show. Spectacular. Mother Nature at her finest.

A breeze picked up. The clouds formed an angry dark blob and then the sound effects of crashing thunder and the blitz kreig of lightening began the storms symphony. Such a show of force and might. Complete with cascading showers and eerily calm bay. Too cool for words.

The epic finale including rainbow 🌈 and vino. The perfect storm.

For me one of best parts of summer is the outdoor living. Sun rising early and sinking late giving so much day time to enjoy. The possibilities are endless.

Since we moved recently the outdoor time has increased dramatically. We now have a private back deck oasis. It’s perfect.

I should be clear about the outdoors. We are finicky. We aren’t gardeners and don’t get excited about landscaping and planting. Those days are gone. We aren’t big on sand. (I’m going to digress and tell you about a bbq we attended last weekend. Our friends hosted and they are babysitting their daughters dog. They live on the beach near us. Their backyard is entirely sand. When we got to their place I sat in a beach chaise and immediately the dog, a boxer of about 40 lbs, hopped onto my lap. I spent the rest of the event in a personal sandbox). We like low maintenance. Our new deck ticks all the boxes: spacious, sitting area, eating area, hot tub.

I used to love the sand. Beach trips were frequent as a teenager and for family outings. I lived in Virginia Beach for a year and loved it. Then started boating and spending summers in the Muskokas; no beaches there. Followed by boating in Lake Ontario for many fun years. Over time we realized that living in a lakefront home was the perfect combination of everything we enjoyed with none of the inconveniences. Home and vacation all in one!

At our farm we had outdoor space galore. But the bugs were intolerable. We ended up meshing in a tiny section of our covered wrap around porch so that we could enjoy the outdoors at dusk. It was a section built for two. Small. At the townhouse we had a small patio so we had to choose between sitting or eating. And the strip of grass between the patio and water was a walkway for our neighbours. No privacy. Now we have the ideal medium: space and privacy and no bugs.

This time of year is the best. Hot sunny days followed by crisper starry nights. You can practically live outside.

Meanwhile the CNE is on. That’s my signal that summer is waning. Days are slowly getting shorter. Outdoor time is even more precious as summer slips away. Funny how the flora changes (golden rod bursts into every area) and mums are a plenty in the stores. Back to school supplies are everywhere.

Another summer is winding down in the history books.

A dear friend said goodbye to her dad today. He crossed the rainbow bridge after a lengthy illness. She told me yesterday that they were administering morphine. That’s the end of the road.

Death. It’s a concept that I grapple with a lot from time to time. It comes in waves. You file it on the top shelf and then suddenly it falls into your lap like an unwelcome jolt. And I immediately think of how I would feel if it were me. My dad or husband or friend. It’s not pleasant at first. But then the logical rational voice in my head gets a grip. We all have to go through it. It’s the circle of life.

The pain is real. Anyone who’s said goodbye to a beloved pet knows the acute ache of loss. The sorrow knowing that you’ll never touch or see them on earth again. That’s where the faith takes over. The firm belief that there’s a hereafter. A utopian resort where we get to hang out with our tribe (human and animal) for eternity. There’s a comfort in believing that such a paradise is waiting for us and our entry is met by all those who have travelled before us.

A few years ago we lost my husbands best friend suddenly. No time to prepare for the shock and crater in our life he left behind. His girlfriend was devastated; he was the love of her life and they were robbed of many happy years together. Poof. It was over. And she was desperate to have final words and a goodbye. Every time she found a dime or feather or some other object that convinced her it was a sign; a communication from beyond. It gave her comfort to know that the flesh was gone but the spirit remained.

I’ve told my mom that I know she will haunt me. She will rattle the windows and flicker the lights. We joke about it. But when the time comes I do really hope there’s a way to communicate and feel the presence. I think about Rudy’s parents every day. And it helps to talk out loud about them and remember the funny things. Just last night we passed a vintage Cadillac and Rudy said: that’s a Fast Eddie car (his uncle Eddie always drove big flashy cars). And we reminisced about Eddies car trunk filled with stolen goods he was fencing. Rudy’s dad would look out the front window of the house and see Eddies car parked. “Goddam it Eddie! I’ve told you not to park your goddam car in front of the house!” We laughed our heads off at the memory.

The memories we treasure reassure us that our loved ones are always in our hearts. Until we meet again.

Safe travels Nutsy. You will he missed. ❤️

Beautiful summer day ✔️

Fast machine ✔️

Open road ✔️

Great stereo ✔️

Perfect recipe for a road trip.

At least once a week I trek to Stratford from Collingwood. It’s about a 2 hour jaunt. There’s no direct route via highway so the journey is a winding path through the Beaver Valley then over the escarpment and onto farmland and Mennonite country dotted with hick towns. Traffic is sparse except for a few farm vehicles and horses and buggies around Millbank. A heck of a change from my old commuting days on the 400 series raceways.

On a perfect sunny day the trip is spectacular. I love the chance to rev my engine and let my car perform on the open roads. Scenery is floating by while my mind goes down memory lane thanks to 70’s and 80’s music on Sirius. It’s amazing how a song can teleport you back in time to a school gym or favourite hang out or beach. I love these solo flights!

Once I reach my destination my mind is clear and fresh. I’m ready to switch gears and handle a new circumstance with my parents. I brought some blueberry pie with me for dad. Rudy loves blueberry pie but didn’t want to get the full size pie just for himself. So I told him I would take some to my dad. They both loved it.

Dads cataract surgery was a success. But it changed his vision and now he needs updated glasses. We have an appointment to see the eye doctor. As we are waiting for the eye drops to enlarge dads pupils he tells me he’s hopeful that the new glasses will help him read again. Since mom can’t read much at all anymore dad has become the reader. He reads her articles in the papers. But since his surgery his reading is not possible. He doesn’t complain. He takes it as it comes.

While we chat I apply lotion to his lower legs. He’s wearing shorts and the skin on his shins is so dry it’s flaking. I have hand lotion in my purse. Once I’m done he says it feels nice. Better. And he tells me how he puts lotion on mom’s back every time she comes out of the shower. Their water is hard from chemical treatments and makes their skin dry. They just go with the flow. A team. Independent yet helpless.

Back at their apartment dad enjoys the card games. He won. Bad eyesight and all. Mom sits at the table with us and I plays oldie music on their stereo using the Sirius app on my phone. It’s mind boggling to them how I can manipulate their stereo with my phone. And when do I have time to record all those old songs!? The generation gap is the size of the Grand Canyon.

After the game it’s time for me to journey back. As I hop in the car and pull out, my parents are at the door waving goodbye. Like I’m heading back to school or off for the weekend. I crank the tunes and welcome a whole new series of flashbacks. Back to the days when parents were parents and kids were kids. The role reversal is confusing. Yet it’s also as it should be somehow.

Life is the long and winding road after all.