One of our favourite go to DVDs is Sweet Home Alabama. In the movie the girls asks the boy why he wants to marry her and he replies so that he can kiss her any time he wants. I love that sentiment. And while kissing is great, just hanging out with your partner is awesome, too.

Doesn’t matter if it’s a movie or an outing or vacation or just chilling in the same room. There’s such a good feeling knowing that you have a date for life. It’s a gift we often take for granted.

Yesterday the local electrician, Wilhelm (so you know he’s a perfectionist), was over to do a few things. He apologized for wearing his ball cap inside the house. It’s lined with a hard plastic shell to protect him from future injuries. He rammed his head into a wooden beam working on an old home basement. His concussion was severe and he couldn’t work for several months.

The other day Rudy ran into an old hockey team mate from Guelph. He and his wife were taking a few days to enjoy the Georgian Triangle. A bit of golf and lakeside relaxing. He had a massive heart attack on the weekend and died. He was 67.

A friend from St Catharines was up to visit and spread the ashes of her husband on the anniversary of his death.

We are so lucky to have the time to enjoy the people we love. It’s one of the things you have more time to ponder when retired. If we are in the home stretch do our priorities realign?

My mom and dad celebrated their 60th anniversary this year. They are a team. It’s like two halves of a whole; yin and yang. That makes me happy. I enjoyed watching Rudy’s parents have the same kind of relationship. They were married for 73 years when Rudy’s mom died. What a journey!

On Sunday we enjoyed an evening of live music by the bay. We sat in our chairs. Sipping a beer. Next to the blue waters. In the sunshine. With my date for life.

Life is good.

… is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call the Twilight Zone. ~ Rod Serling

One of the things we really enjoy about the Georgian Triangle is the variety and frequency of live music events. It’s one of our favourite outings.

Last night we took our guest to a local venue that offers live entertainment every week. The thing about this area is that kick off is early. Like 7 pm. So we arrive after 8 and the place is hopping. People eating, drinking, mingling and dancing. We find a shared table near the dance floor with a few familiar regulars. I’m the DD so drinks are ordered but it’s soda for me.

The bar is a midrange place that attracts a mature crowd. Tonight’s band is a blues genre made up of weathered dudes jamming with a passion. All but one are wearing hats … prop or balding disguise?? They have the dance floor filled as they belt out a bluesy mix of vocals and harmonica. Our timing wasn’t great. Arriving after 8 we hear a couple of tunes before the band takes a short break. Good time to converse without the noise.

When the band returns the dance floor fills quickly. In my uber sober state I’m riveted by the heterogeneous human condition. I think I’m the youngest person in the room. Are these my peers? My observation continues.

Out on the dance floor there are a few familiar characters:

The Belly Dancer – dresses in her usual spiffy attire including heels, sexy top and the Collingwood staple blingy glitzy belt, she sways and undulates her hips as she sashays across the floor with her hands overhead wrists and hands twirling sensually; she’s moving to her own beat oblivious to the others or the music.

The Washed Up Running Back (named by Rudy) – a sly smirk under a mop of shaggy greyish hair and generally disheveled overall in appearance this infamous local pops up at most events we attend. He uses crutches to get around and bobs happily to the music. Lately we’ve seen him bobbing with “Elaine”; aptly named for the Seinfeld character who’s jerky dance moves entertained us for years. This Elaine has a hippy spirit and her flowing outfits and frizzy mane move in time with her convulsive dance moves and erratic arm flinging gestures. Elaine and The Running Back are in a tango of bounce and dart movement. Like two cats trapped in a pillow case.

The rest of the dancers are a mixture of shuffle, sway and gyrate. Everyone is moving at a different tempo. I’m sure my wonderment is noticeable. I could be immersed in the dancing throng. Liquid courage is all that’s lacking.

We head out around 10:30 pm. It’s getting late in the twilight zone.

You can’t take the Shakespeare out of a Stratford gal! So last night we rode our bikes into town (Collingwood) to catch an outdoor performance of Comedy of Errors. I know … the title quote is from Hamlet. But Comedy of Errors was The Bards shortest play.

It’s about a 30 min bike ride – approximately 12 km each way. We ride 100% on the Georgian Trail so we don’t have to worry about traffic and distracted tourists driving around. The trail follows Hwy 26 (parallel through the woods) until you get to Cranberry Golf Club where we turn off and cross the Hwy to enter the Harbour St Trail branch. From there we veer off to the park and meander through the arboretum and along the shore to the stage.

There’s a neat wooden stage, simple and tidy, at the bay front just next to the Shipyards. The stage is set backing near the waters edge and there are tiered stone seats nestled into the hillside in front of the stage. There were about 100 people scattered on blankets and chairs and grass to watch the performance. I take a moment before the “curtain ” rises to call my folks. Guess where I am? I don’t think they can even visualize the space.

The show started at 6 pm and was “pay what you can”. The actors were also ushers and program carriers. The programs were printed by the event sponsor. Clearly this was a low budget community event. I’m always impressed by the variety and support of local events in the arts!

It’s a fun performance and the actors are delightful. The play is a joyful story of twins separated by circumstance at a young age and their shenanigans as their paths cross again as love struck young men. Bravo!

And bravo to Rudy who’s not as enamoured with the performing arts as I am. He sat patiently through the show and clapped politely as required. What a trooper. 🥰

On our way out of the theatre area we run into some colleagues from our working life. That seems so long ago and far removed. It’s a pleasant encounter and a gentle reminder of how fortunate we are to be retired.

A quick bike back home concludes our perfect date. Well … perfect for me. Not brief enough for Rudy. Encore??

• Lions are symbols of strength and courage and have been celebrated throughout history for these characteristics. They are also common symbols for royalty and stateliness, hence the phrase ‘king of the jungle’.

(Source: onekindplanet)

My favourite Leo of all time is, without a doubt, my sister. Born August 6. She exudes the qualities of the lioness. Jokingly she has said for years that she’s the lost Romanov …. she’s so earnest that you could almost believe her!

She is fierce. On a mission she is unstoppable. If you cross her beware. Or as she would say: good luck to ya! There’s no one you’d rather have in your corner.

She is tireless and adventurous. I envy her energy and stamina. Going on a hike? Try marathons. She’s game. Rock climbing? Parasailing? Cycling? You name it. She’s up for the challenge. Did I say unstoppable?

She is smart. Not just academically but also wise the kind you want in a heated debate or negotiation. Knowledge is her ammo. And her rapid fire brain on automatic. She emits brain waves. She can lean in. She never forgets a thing.

She is loyal. Never wavers for a moment. She is your champion until the bitter end and she never gives up or gives in. She expects the same of others. All in.

She is beautiful. Inside and out. Her wide hazel eyes are penetrating and mesmerizing. Her heart is open like a deep cavern once she’s let you in. Her giving is generous and untethered. No reasonable request denied. Under her mane of tangled curls is a thoughtfulness that is unsurpassed.

She’s my sister. I’m continuously in awe of her. She makes me proud.

I wish her all that she deserves. And then some.

Grateful that she’s part of my tribe.

Love her. ❤️

Living in a tourism Mecca means that you can have a revolving door of guests. I like it. It’s great to see friends and spend time catching up, eating great meals and just chilling in the sun. Good company is good for the soul.

This past weekend is one great example of that. Our dear friends from Windsor dropped in on their summer getaway. Ottawa to Windsor via Collingwood is a nice route. And to add more fun into the mix another great couple joined in for a wonderful afternoon and evening. Short and sweet.

Good friends are like a favourite shirt. They are comfortable and familiar and always feel good. This was a great treat for Molly too. They brought along their dog. Molly was a good hostess (it helped that her new pal let her be the boss!) and she had a marvellous time. So did we. The guys golfed. We lounged. Gathered together for awesome dinners. (I have to mention the tomahawk steaks …. wow!!) The walks were awesome as well. Such a blessing to have mother nature’s beauty at our doorstep.

One of my favourite things is the conversation. Getting different perspectives and opinions is refreshing. It’s eye opening to hear what others think about current events and hot topics. It’s challenging (in a good way) to debate about issues. And, as someone astutely pointed out, it’s okay to agree to disagree. So true. No hard feelings no name calling no anything. Just a good old fashioned discussion.

Like your favourite shirt the comfortable feeling is heartwarming; no matter how much time has passed, it still feels good to connect.

When guests leave it’s bittersweet. You say so long for another stretch of time not knowing when (or if – god forbid) you’ll see each other again. Grateful for time well spent and deep friendships rekindled. Then you realize you’re in good company everyday. We like each other and our routines. It’s the best old shirt we wear each day. We also like alone time.

Time to regroup and recharge. More company’s coming. Let the good times roll. 💗

Is it or is it not real? What’s clear to me is that the lines are blurry. And depending on your viewpoint, the lines are downright invisible. Has technology finally surpassed our own imaginations and run amok?

Just hearing the headlines makes me wonder. The world we live in is weird. And scary. And wonderful.

Saturday is newspaper day in our house. We get a variety of papers (kind of like watching different network news channels I guess … we generally avoid tv news) Of course front page news is usually geared to attract a buyer for the paper. Lately there’s been a lot of violence. The undertone is that on line gaming is to blame. Really?? Diving into the paper you find economic speculation and blame is directed at the government of the day. Can’t wait for the mud slinging election cycle to start soon. Yikes.

Speaking of elections, it would appear that faint hope is coloured green these days! If folks are really that wound up about climate change then a resounding green victory is a no brainer!! Sure. Dream on. Just the thought is depressing. Oh. That brings us to another tragedy in the Kennedy clan. This time a young Boston College senior. Did she silently suffer from depression?

So here’s my theory. Virtual reality has us disconnected. We know more about the Kardashian’s than we do about our friends and family. We want it and we want it now. Fame. Fortune. Stuff. And as we barrel through life with tunnel vision shaped by fake news we eventually hit a dead end. No more virtual. Just reality.

But plain old reality stripped of the virtualness of media and information overload is actually exceptional. There is beauty in our world. We just have to slow down to capture it. It’s a lush forest. The soulful gaze of your pup. A phone call with family. A starry night with your soulmate. Dinner al fresco with friends. A hot shower. A cool breeze.

I’m not totally sure, but I think the revelation is spurred by retirement. It’s the contentment that flows from leisure time. Time to appreciate the obvious right in front of us.

Grateful and loving it.

No. Not the Noel Coward play. The beauty of privacy in your life. In this day and age of technology and social media, we know way more than we should about friends and even strangers. Who cares what the Kardashian’s are up to?? It’s frightening how some people embrace the invasive intrusion into their private lives.

It’s one of the reasons we moved. While we were happy with the place in its location and layout, we felt invaded on a daily basis. Reading or napping on our back patio, as stellar as the view was, usually included a passing neighbour which set off a series of events: Molly jolts from her nap barking, waking or startling me/Rudy, the intruder(s) apologizing or wanting to socialize, having to summon a cordial response when really all you want to say is f-off and keep moving along. But the damage has been done. The spell broken. Our last week there we simply got up and went inside. Blinds closed. View gone.

Being a summer outdoor water destination, our places are ripe pickings for renters. Our neighbours have their unit rented for the month of July. The renters, while pleasant enough, are taking full advantage of their temporary oasis on the water. First of all, there’s a lot of people in the family. Parents, a few grown kids and at least one baby (grandkid) and they all have water toys. Floaties, kayak, dinghy, etc. For ease, they keep them stacked in their backyard area. It’s a townhouse people. There’s no room. When they are lounging they set up a caravan of chairs and umbrellas spilling into the common back lawn. They are loud in a family way. Ugh. Oh. They have a dog. A small whiny dog. Molly is unimpressed.

This weekend my sister and her friends are staying there. Of course they are delighted to be on the water too. I hope they enjoy every minute. It’s a great place to visit.

We will be relaxing quietly on our private deck. Enjoying the view and the tranquility. I’m looking forward to an uninterrupted nap or a thorough reading of the weekend paper. Retirement is permanent vacation. Love it.

Today’s the day. Moving on from the townhouse we’ve called home for the past 15 months. Although we are moving up the street, it’s still a major adjustment and undertaking. So many details. And so much stuff!

When we downsized last year we really purged and it was liberating. Is there room for more cleansing? Yes. It’s that simple. We collect shit. I know there’s a theory (Japanese?) whereby you hold an object and if there’s no joy you chuck. But the weirdest things force you to recall memories and you are teleported back to a time and place. Like a great song. Wham! You’re a teenager again driving to the beach.

The other day I met up with a friend. She’s going through a similar process. They are in the midst of selling their place and relocating your our neighbourhood. Up until today, had they moved we would have been two doors apart! Us in number 7 and them in 9. She was detailing her packing and purging process (they too filled bins of stuff) and said it took forever because each closet revealed more memories. She found old school texts and fondly thumbed through them sitting in a room surrounded by stuff.

As a kid we watched Planet of the Apes. It was a movie way over our heads in terms of concept. But one thing now makes an impact. All the random stuff we spend our lives accumulating ends up buried in the earth (I cringe st the amount we have added to the dump!!) only to pop up in the future and be discovered by someone (or apes) wondering its history. Consumerism is a phenomenon that I’m now beginning to appreciate. It’s crazy how much effort we put into planning, sourcing, shopping, buying …

and now that we have an elaborate library of dvds, for example, and technology has made them next to pointless, how many more times will I pack them into boxes and ponder how/where to store them before they go the way of the vhs library before them. Bye bye. I’m tempted. Even more silly is that when we do watch a movie it’s always the same ones. Rudy’s go-to is The Replacements. Still funny and cute after a zillion views.

Nesting is a human need. Didn’t Maslow say so? It’s the basis of security. The thing is, when we feather our nest it means shopping and buying. There are tons of places where you can buy someone’s else’s tired junk. What a concept. I remember when everything was reused and recycled. Even my poor brother had to wear girl handmedowns! But the force of “I want it and I want it now” is fierce. I think it was a Willy Wonka lesson.

Is the key to a peaceful retirement lifestyle simplicity? Less stuff? I will think about more after our furniture delivery arrives today.

In the meantime, our neighbours (who are now not next door anymore) are wondering how far they have to walk to come for breakfast. Good question. It’s about 7 minutes. With a new pair of sneakers they could likely do it faster!!

Here’s to a new postal code!

On July 19, 1968 John made his debut on earth. He was the (unplanned) newest member of the Mikler clan. After two girls they were expecting a third. Her name would have been Charlotte. But fate intervened and (Are you sleeping, are you sleeping) brother John joined the pack.

What a happy baby! Content to let his older sisters treat him like a doll. He endured a lot. And he did so with a (mostly) easy going manner that is his hallmark to this day.

Saturday mornings were the best. Three kids piled into the basement family room in front of the tv absorbing everything Scooby Doo and others could tell us. Waiting for mom to bring down the spoils of her trip to the market. Greasy sugar donuts still warm from the Mennonite baking ladies and packed in a brown paper grease-stained bag. John preferred a bag of cheese curds. He munched and squeaked happily until the bag was empty. Mom would appear with a damp cloth to wipe our hands post snack. If she was not perfectly thorough John would touch his fingers together and proclaim: dem dill dicky. Mom knew that meant his fingers were still sticky and she would apply round two of damp cloth.

John loved his soother. We called it “schnully”. Instead of having the outer ring on the top of his lips he liked to keep the bottom part inside his gums. Schnully was always near at hand.

His eyes were brown and soft with happy kindness but they lit up like saucers at special occasions. Not just Christmas or birthdays, but also when mom made his favourite cherry cheese cake. John had a fondness for anything cheesy and we quickly made up silly names for his obsession: Ebenezer Cheeser was one that stuck. To this day “it’s not easy being cheesy” is a go to.

But somewhere along the line, amongst the various names we conjured and concocted, Houndie is the one that endured. There’s a great story in there but I can’t remember the how and why. I’m sure my sister will have the definitive explanation.

John loved to sing. Unfortunately he didn’t inherit tone or pitch. Glee club was not in the stars but loud refrains to his favourite tunes in the shower were a regular feature in our house. Rhinestone Cowboy was a hit.

As the youngest he was the last to start school. Both older sisters were leaving him in the morning. Him and mom were on their own. It was a harsh adjustment. Call me lonely. I’m sure mom had a fun time trying to decipher Johns gibberish; he and my sister Tina developed their own language. They had a close bond and were the greatest playmates. She was in charge and John gleefully acquiesced.

One day, before we could even imagine it, our happy chubby juicy cheesy hound dog suddenly grew tall and lean and smart and athletic. Gone were the days that we could tease and torture. Now there was a girlfriend and The Police (his new favourite jam) and volleyball. And a few encounters with a friends dads wine cellar. I think one of the influencers in John’s life at that time was his chemistry teacher (also coach) Mr Neigh. The seeds of science sprouted.

It was at university that John met some interesting characters that would shape the next few years. A couple from high school ventured to Hamilton too but it was the new pals (Ray, Kasper, Paul) that completed the group. They had a blast and John was the final kid to launch out of the nest.

He loved adventure a lot more than he loved deadlines. But somehow he got things done. Without confrontation or ado. And became a wonderful father and provider in the process. He’s just a cool dude.

Today we celebrate 51. Love you, Houndie.

Five years ago today Stella Florio took her last breath. She was 93. She was a wife, a mom, a grandmother, great-grandmother, aunt, sister and friend to many.

When I first met Rudy he took me to meet his parents. They lived in a humble two bedroom home that Stella’s father (Walter Yanko) built. He built a home for each of his children. He and his bride (Stella’s mother, Agata) immigrated to Canada when Stella was 6. There were 5 children in the family. Their grandchildren called them Baba and Dziadzia – pronounced zsazsa like Gabor). Stella always had something simmering on the stove and grampa put on the coffee; for all of her culinary prowess she totally sucked at making coffee. Their small kitchen was the heart of the home and grandma (everyone called Stella grandma) was the life blood. She could make magic happen in that tiny space with the little stove. And everyone was welcome.

Rudy would sit at the kitchen table with his dad and enjoy whatever was on the menu. When everyone was done Rudy would ask his mom to rub his head. She would stand behind his chair and gently massage his scalp. To this day it’s Rudy’s favourite soother. No one can duplicate his mom’s tender touch.

Stella was not overly educated; she stopped at grade 8 to work in the canning factory with her mother to help support the family. They walked for miles each day to and from the factory. Stella never had a driver license her whole life.

At the age of 14 she met her soul mate, Rudy, st the local dance hall. He was 19. Both were by all accounts terrific dancers and they enjoyed the various local clubs. Their meeting was kismet and they married on Valentines Day when Stella was 19. It was 1942. The middle of WW2. In 1943 Stella had the first of three children. She was a wonderful caring mother who doted on her children.

By the time I met Stella in 1987 she, like most grandparents, had wisdom and perfect hindsight vision. Her education was the school of life. She imparted advice and perspective in a soft and caring way. But there were times she was stern and most definitely in charge.

She loved her garden in particular roses. She could preserve anything in jars. She wore the cutest hats. Her sayings and expressions always bring a smile even today. Her playful blue eyes twinkled.

We miss her dearly.