Little nuggets of wisdom from my brother; he might have been three or four years old at the time. Some of his sayings are now woven tightly into the fabric of the family archives. But yesterday, during a conversation with my sister, the food theme took on another meaning. It’s the evolution of nurturing in our family.

It made me wonder if living through years of near starvation during the war made food such a focal point in their lives. Even my grandmother, when she would visit from Germany, made food her concern. I think one of the very first words in English she learned were “are you hungry”. As though fulfilling this basic need was a key to happiness. Clearly, when there’s little or no food to be had, the comfort of a full belly is a big deal.

My mom carried that tradition and mindset on, too. Over the years food was often the main event. And she strived to ensure our diets were nourishing and delicious. It was a way for her to show caring and love. I totally get it. Food is a pleasurable sensation for us. We live abundantly and enjoy the life of plenty.

I recall as a youngster how our palettes were very different from others. Just like language, food is cultural. While our friends were eating lasagne and sloppy Joe’s, we were eating rouladen and spatzle. School lunches for us were Kaiser buns laden with Black Forest ham while others munched on PB and J. I’m sure it’s a whole new scene out there now especially since peanut butter is verboten.

In grade school we used to walk home for lunch and eat our dinner at noon. Dad would also get a lunch break and come home. That in itself is almost unheard of until covid of course. We would gather around our kitchen table (which had only four chairs as my mom busied herself with serving) and await our meal. One of the best meals was minute steak. A very thin cut of beef that my mom would pan fry in butter (never margarine!) with onions. When the meat was gone mom put the empty frying pan (a big square electric thing) on the table and we took pieces of bread to sop up the bits left in the bottom.

It’s funny that my career revolved around food for the final stages. I recall one of the chef instructors answering the question “who, in your opinion, is the best chef”. His answer (oddly that most chefs in the beginning were men) was: mothers. He explained that mothers took lean budgets (mostly they didn’t work so there was only 1 family income) and limited equipment resources (tiny electric stoves) and had to feed a group three meals a day. There was no such thing as convenience foods like we know them today. If you wanted a snack it was a piece of fruit. I remember going to a friends house and having “hamburger helper” and thinking it was amazing.

Rudy and I reminisce about his mom and her kitchen a lot. Now that I think about it, they had a tiny kitchen with a table and four chairs (they were also a family of 5) and even up to the end of her life, Rudy’s mom had a puny electric stove, one sink (no dishwasher) and a small fridge. Yet she produced the most delicious meals. We try to emulate her recipes frequently. It’s comfort for the soul and enriched with so many good memories.

So yesterday I was talking with my sister. She is the primary babysitter for my mom and dad while I’m away. It’s a decision that still weighs on me heavily as travel is so restricted these days; I’m hopeful that will change sooner than later. I would love to be able to make a visit back to see my folks in person. Alas, it’s a wait and see scenario. My sister is in the same geographical situation; she’s a two hour drive to my parents place. Plus my sister is still very much employed. Her position requires her to work many hours everyday and now she’s doing her work from home. Her office in New York has been shuttered since covid began and won’t reopen until at least May 2021. She’s had to create a home office and zoom in like so many others.

She tried “working from home” at my parents place. As she described it, I could see in my minds eye what the scenario looked like. Mom and dad sleep in our (me and my sisters) old bedroom set up. Two single beds made by our former neighbour, Mr Deiterding, who was a woodworker. Nice pine beds with single foam mattresses. There was also a desk and chair to match. Now it’s the master bedroom suite in their two bedroom condo. And the only place to sit and work other than the dining room table.

My sister has been visiting my parents every other week since I returned from Florida earlier this year (for a while it was weekly! as she did their shopping too). To make it feasible with a two hour drive, she and Frank will stay for a few days at a time. Therefore she has to squish work in there, too.

There she is, set up at our old desk (which was plenty big to hold a binder and pencil case but computer gadgets not so much) with her zoom meeting in full swing. In the middle of the meeting my mother enters the room and in full view of the meeting camera asks if my sister is hungry. “Can I make you a sandwich?” My sister says that some of her colleagues have kids so there’s often a blooper. They view my mom as a kid. They understand.

So in order to accommodate her life situation, my sister has rented an apartment in Stratford from January to May. Juggling and balancing all the moving parts requires ingenuity and will. Sums up my sister pretty well; she’s completely tenacious in problem solving. Don’t whine; fix it. And she’s super smart. No problem too complicated. Luckily Frank is indulgent. Our parents are the only ones he has left, too.

Mom is living a very simple life now. Her daily routine is highlighted by checking the mail. Knowing this we send her cards so there’s something to collect. In her former life she would handle the household finances and the mail was the delivery of bills. Now Frank handles all the bills on line. There’s very little mail. Yesterday she checked the mail three times hoping to find a piece to bring up for my dad to read. Nada. It’s her birthday in a few days and I don’t think my card will make it, but that won’t matter to my mom because whenever it does arrive will be the highlight of that day. Her other mission is feeding everyone. She forgets that we’ve eaten lunch (or any meal for that matter) and slips into her familiar mode of making something to eat. She no longer can cook food but she can prepare sandwiches.

I wondered why there’s often a plate of sandwiches beside my dads seat in the den. It just occurred to me as I type this, that my dad gets tired of telling my mom “no, we just ate … maybe later” and just lets her fiddle in the kitchen to make a sandwich. When I think of how robust their lives were it makes me very sad to imagine their humble, quiet routine. My mom is not able to do much with her disabilities (vision, cognitive, mobility) and my dad is her caregiver; a duty and responsibility he accepts with grace and kindness. He calls her his lamb (in German) as he brushes her hair or puts in her hearing aids. My sister has given her another handle: Evil Baby. There’s definitely a side to mom that’s not very lamb-like. When she hears Evil Baby, mom actually laughs and smiles; she likes it.

It’s hard to say where my moms brain has gone. There are some days that she’s very tuned in. My dad embraces these precious days and savours the company of his “old wife”. He has told me that he likes the conversations with the real mom. Unfortunately those times are fewer and fewer. I think mom knows it too. It must be so frustrating to feel out of control of your own abilities. Especially since she was so in charge her whole life.

I’m so grateful my sister is taking the reins. There’s a fine line for me between living the retired life while my parents are so dependent on help. Even though it’s only a few months, it weighs heavily on me that I’m shirking my responsibility. Luckily Rudy keeps me grounded. I better go now …. he might be hungry.

PS thinking about my brother, I have to chuckle at the memories of him and food. As a toddler he could never resist a puddle to drink from or a metal surface to lick in the winter. Icicles were a special treat! But the thought of him tucking into one of his favourites: cheese curds, captain crunch cereal, potato salad, ice cream pie … all brings a smile to my face. Now that he’s married to a fabulous cook, he’s all set. Love me and feed me. ♥️

Yesterday we rolled into our winter neighbourhood. This is our third year in Florida as snowbirds. But our first year in this home. Our usual place, an investment property for the owners, was sold due to covid; lost incomes and zero tourism made it impossible for them to carry. We knew this in July. They were so apologetic as we had paid a deposit; they not only helped us find another place they also refunded our money. We left a box of this game behind such as a printer, frying pan, beach towels etc and they promised to keep it and meet up with us. Very decent right to the end. Luckily one of their referrals was another home in the same neighborhood.

It was a comforting feeling of familiarity when we turned into the subdivision. It has a boulevard entrance which is beautifully maintained. This time of year they plant copious poinsettias at the front “gates” and light up the palm trees. When I glanced down at my dashboard the temperature outside was 27C. Hot. Love it.

The new house is set much further back from Hwy 27 which makes Rudy very happy. The highway noise never really bothered me before but was an annoyance to Rudy. So much so that last year we started looking at other properties. We pulled into the double drive and I searched for the email from the owner outlining the entry procedure. I get out of the car and step into the coarse grass that is prevalent around here if you water religiously. Most homes here have gardeners who maintain the lawns and sprinkler systems to keep everything lush and green. Our last house the owners kept the yard themselves and told us there was a strict rule about yard maintenance or else you face fines. It’s a pleasure to walk the area and see how nice the curb appeals are. And right now they are decked out for Christmas!

The interlocking walkway leading to the covered front door is tidy and a nice wooden bench sits in front of the entry under the stoop. I unlock the door excitedly. As I enter the home I am blown away! The owners (who bought in June 2020) have beautifully updated the entire place! As you enter there is an open living room and dining area and the master suite is on the left. Beyond the dining area is the kitchen and family room with walkouts to the pool. Beyond the kitchen are two delightful bedrooms with twin beds and a full bath. At the very back of the house is another master suite with an en suite and walk out to the pool. The colour palette is a soothing pale yellow in the walls and the furnishings are new and fitting. But it’s the accents that make it all flow. The owners have chosen colourful art and pillows to highlight pops of colour. And the lamps and other accessories pull the look together. It’s what you see in magazines or flyers for Kirklands.

I was practically squealing in delight. And Rudy began the unloading. It’s the worst part of the process. Pack, stuff into car, unload, sort … luckily we do it twice in the cycle; when we were boaters we did it weekly! It’s draining and tedious. In the heat it’s exhausting. But it’s done. As quickly as Rudy brings boxes in I’m unpacking into closets and cupboards.

By the time we are done molly is ready for her afternoon walk. We tour the neighbourhood and meet some friendly neighbours. The sun is bright and warm. I’m wearing flip flops and shorts. That’s why we are here. Skip the miserable cold.

I leave Rudy and molly while I head to the store for provisions. Coming to the same area means we are familiar with the services nearby. I head to the local Aldi store and pick up staples. When I return Rudy has enjoyed a few beers and he and Molly are chilling. Under the ceiling fan. We prepare our first dinner together and toast the new winter digs. As I look around I think how easy it will be to enjoy a few months here. It’s lovely in every way. Molly eats her meal with us and we settle in the family room for a Christmas movie.

Dolly Partons new musical is just the right choice to entertain me while Rudy and molly snooze. I call my parents to give and receive the daily update. It’s icy at home and I wish they were with us. It’s the only thing from making Florida perfect.

After our adventures on the helicopter we began the road trip taking us to our winter home. Our first night in Erie PA was the start of our highway trek through several states en route to Florida. There was a fabulous Italian eatery that delivered to our room. We shared a celebration snack and wine with our travelling companion.

We left PA and travelled into Ohio for our next night. Generally driving about 4 hours per day is plenty for us. With Molly we have to be mindful of her routine and deviate as little as possible. A morning walk and feeding; an afternoon walk and feeding. Since we are in strange places we don’t walk or drive after dark. This time of year it means being at our destination by 4 pm.

Our second overnight was in Cincinnati. We have discovered the Home2 chain by Hilton. These are large studios with kitchenettes which is perfect for us. We can store food and drink in the fridge and there’s dishes for any food we might eat. The hotel was great! Super clean and perfect for us. We had some leftovers from the night before so hunkered down in our room watching … groan… Christmas movies! (Which I love) The next morning we packed up and headed for our next destination: Nashville.

I guess my geography rather sucks. I had no idea that crossing the Ohio river in Cincinnati ends up in Kentucky! There are a bunch of bridges crossing the wide river and on either bank is the skyline of a big city. Absolutely beautiful. We marvelled at the landmark stadiums (Louisville Slugger for one) and the Derby … so much to see and do if you’re not plowing through (and during covid!). We buzz through Kentucky wishing we could pull over at the countless distilleries and historic sites but unfortunately we have a timeline and many things are still closed.

As we see Nashville appear in the distance the billboards announce the obvious country entertainment Mecca. But again, lots is closed or restricted. We find our hotel in Franklin just south of Nashville. It’s an upscale neighborhood where I feel like we could bump into someone famous at every turn. We stop into a liquor store (of course) and then a grocery store. Everyone is wearing masks. I pick up provisions for the night and the next day. Since it’s Saturday the stores are busy but the hotel is nestled among office buildings which are deserted. Great for walking molly around their park like grounds. The birds were busy chirping up a storm in the surrounding bushes. It felt like spring; 10C and gorgeous sun.

We pack up and rumble to our next destination: Aliceville Alabama. Backwoods is being too kind. It is so remote and off the beaten path we wondered what we were getting into. As we pull into the wooded lane I felt like I was back in Campbellville. A winding driveway (albeit paved unlike our gravel road) going up hill and then suddenly the woods clear to reveal a sprawling cape cod style home. With about seven vehicles in the front. The welcoming committee consisted of 4 of the cutest kids, two dogs (Bella and Ladybird) and a pile of adults carrying drinks. We were ushered to the outdoor gazebo for a welcome drink and a couple more adults arrived – what a lively bunch!! We were treated to a complete southern dinner with ribs, potato and macaroni salads, beans, corn and rolls. What a feast. I’m trying to get the rib recipe. Fall off the bone mouth watering goodness. Yum!! We practically fall into bed (a huge king with a beautiful quilt) pooped, stuffed and a bit tipsy. Even molly was tuckered out from kids giving her tons of love.

We have a long drive on our fifth day from Alabama to Tallahassee. We choose to put in a longer day so that we can arrive at our final destination in Davenport at a reasonable enough time to get provisions and get settled. So today’s drive was 6 hours plus stopping time. Molly is such a wonderful traveller she takes it all as she gets it. We are up early and I walk her down the lane way and it is still damp from the overnight rain. Rudy collects our things. We say a goodbye to our wonderful hosts and we are off at 8 am (central time … so really 9am). Again my geography is lacking. We are literally 20 min from the Mississippi border and have quite a trek through southern Alabama before crossing into Florida.

The highway from Aliceville is a two lane stop and go until we hit the very southeast of the state. Once we cross into Florida the highway widens and you can see a definite economic difference. Alabama (through Troy and Ozark especially) are very depressed with many businesses boarded up. It was a bit sad to see; hopefully they can bounce back. Around Tuscaloosa there’s lots of action and the most gigantic Mercedes plant I have ever seen!

Florida is the sunshine state. The closer we got the more the sun came out. Tallahassee is the capital city and it is bustling. Our Home2 is in the heart of a busy area teeming with shops and restaurants. We are excited for our final leg tomorrow. Home sweet home.

What a day yesterday was. Filled with every emotion and the physical reactions to go with. And it ended with a dream that summed everything up. I’m going to start from the beginning….

One of our retirement dreams was to become snowbirds. This is our third year and covid has thrown a major monkey wrench into the mix. We drive. With both cars. And a pile of stuff. And our dog Molly. But the driving borders are closed; which in our mind makes zero sense since a plane load of people seems far more risky than a private vehicle. Anyway, a month or so ago a friend shared an article about a helicopter pilot who was determined to get his parents and their dog across the border. The article explained how he arranged their car to be shipped to Buffalo NY and he flew them on his chopper to Buffalo airport where they met their car and drove off to Florida. We were working on a bunch of schemes but this one seemed foolproof. So Rudy made the arrangements.

Our winter home rental (yes, we will be living in a private home … not a commune with hundreds of others!!) starts on Dec 15 so we wanted to leave a few days beforehand to allow for the drive. We take a bit longer so we don’t have to drive at night and accommodate Molly’s walking schedule. As it happens, the chopper people were booking up fast. All of November and the first week of December was booked solid. We managed a spot for December 10. Yesterday. Unfortunately the chopper has a strict weight restriction and we were over the limit (Molly is 55.5 kg) so Rudy reserved two flights on Dec 10 (they have a bigger chopper but it was not available).

We breathed a small sigh of relief knowing we were booked. But the stress around travelling during these times is a bit daunting. Even though we know people who have travelled by air internationally without incident it’s still a concern with all the hype. So much that most of our snowbird friends are staying put in the snow. We rent our home out to skiers and they were panicking that we couldn’t leave. So many folks are staying home there’s very few winter chalet rentals available. We have the same family as last year. They were contacting the rental agency weekly to see if we were changing our minds. They even went so far as to offer to drive our car and Molly across (the husband is American) and we could fly to meet them. The hoops were aplenty.

A new development: Rudy’s golf partner (who’s brother lives in Alabama) was turned away from the land border when he attempted to cross by car. So he would chopper with Rudy and ship his car too. The more the merrier.

So we had a month to get organized. Sort. Pack. Leave. It sounds easy enough. We’ve done it a few times and each time we do we marvel at how much s**t we have. Seriously. The stuff is crazy. But there’s also the other tidbits: wrapping and getting pjs to my folks (I ordered pjs for the family so we could take a cute photo … everyone can deliver on time except Canada Post! But that’s another story), parcel for Rudy’s daughter, small gift for our neighbour, gift for friends in Alabama who we are visiting en route (another story), vaccination for Molly (hers expire while we are away), car license stickers (also expire while we are away), mail hold … the list is literally huge.

I made a bunch of medical appointments for my dad for Dec 9 so he was up to date on everything before we left. All he wants to do when we visit is play cards and gab so we have to work the schedule perfectly in order to tick all the boxes.

A week before leaving we get the cars tuned up and checked out. We organize our documents. We pare down our food supplies. Arrange the cleaners to do a full sanitization for the winter renters. Rudy organizes the finances. It’s starting to come together.

Dec 8. We are in full on packing mode. The personal things we are leaving at home get locked into two closets which are off limits to the renters. When we get back in the spring it’s going to be scene from a cartoon when I open the closet… bam! Avalanche of pillows and towels.

Dec 9. It’s happening. Rudy loads the cars (and our bikes on his car) while I pack the remnants and get our travelling provisions in order: coffee to go, waters, granola bars. Plus documentation (there’s tons to export a vehicle) and travel ID. All this before 8 am since we have to be in Stratford by 10:30 for my dads first appointment and Molly also needs a walk (and poop). As we drive away from our house it sinks in that we won’t be back for some time. I will miss the cozy hangout and the endless waters. When we hit the Beaver Valley, the snow increases and on top of the escarpment it’s really snowy and icy. It’s a slow drive which adds to the stress. Timing is everything.

I call my dad just as we enter town so he can meet me at the back entrance. He’s waiting at the door when I pull in. I bring in only Molly’s gear and my toiletries. It’s 10:30 am so we have a few minutes to settle and review the schedule (again). New wrinkle: mom has a wicked bruise, rash, welt on her forearm. When I ask about it I get a riddle. Dad says he tried to call the doctor but they changed their number and he couldn’t understand the message with the new number. Ugh. Moving on. I leave molly with mom knowing that Rudy will arrive any minute. His drive was slowed by the bikes. Dad and I get going in our mission. First stop the pharmacy to pick up his hormones. Then the eye doctor for a full check up. Dad has mentioned his vision is “slimy” on the “Good eye” where he had cataracts removed followed by laser surgery. As it turns out he has macular degeneration. Luckily his vision is still really good so he can drive. Unfortunately his vision isn’t perfect and for an old German, perfection is key. Next stop is the urologist where he gets a biannual hormone for prostate cancer. The doctor tells us that the hormone therapy is no longer effective and the psa levels are rising. He tells us next time we need to also go to the cancer clinic for more aggressive treatment options. When we get back in the car dad wants me translate everything. I realize how imperative it is for him to have an advocate. I explain everything until he understands and suggest he not share the cancer part with mom. She’s too confused and nervous to deal with it and her reaction (countless questions and worrying out loud) will frustrate and anger dad. Dad holds my hand and through tears says thank you. I feel like my heart is going to pop out of my chest as I bravely tell him everything will be fine.

Next stop KFC for lunch. One of dad’s favourites. I’ve texted Rudy to let him know our timing and to help mom set the table. When we get back they are ready and the two Rudys are ravenous. Dads hearing aids need a tuneup and due to covid he won’t be going in the office. We just have to drop them off for a few minutes. Dad is happy to relax at home and let me do the hearing aids since the eye drops from the first appointment of the day are still activated making his vision horrible. Rudy joins me so we can tick off a few more things. Mailing Sarah’s parcel. Getting better tie downs for the bikes.

When we return back, dad is ready for cards. And mom can wash the sheets we stripped from our bed at home that morning when we left. Everyone slips happily into routine. We have a snack and continue cards until well past sundown (at 5:30 ha ha). It’s been a long and busy day so we call it quits around 9:30 pm and hit the hay.

Dec 10. We are all up early (again). Rudy takes Molly for a morning trek while I fumble around with our stuff. We have breakfast with mom and dad and then get ready to go. Rudy leaves first so I can say bye to mom. She’s confused so it’s easier on everyone; she’s not comprehending that I’m going for a few months instead of a few days. Dad wants to walk us down and Rudy’s already in his car. I let molly jump in and turn to hug my dad. He’s crying. It’s gut wrenching to see him like this. I reassure him that we will be fine. I know his biggest fear is our safety (I silently curse CNN and the other evil media for scaring the daylights out of everyone!) I hug him tightly and say I love you. As I get into my car I hold back my tears and wave. I’m so grateful for my sister and that she will be there the next day. I drive away sobbing. Ugly cry. Which makes Molly whine.

The drive to St Catharines, where the helicopter is and we drop our cars for transport, is nice. Clear roads and the odd sunny break. We arrive at the tiny airport as the choppers are loading and taking off with passengers before us. All snowbirds with pets and vehicles. We enter the terminal building which is a neat and tidy 2 storey building with a back wall of all glass. A huge expansive view of the runway (singular) and tarmac for the choppers. We sit in the waiting area where there are groupings of seats and a coffee station. I’m impressed. And more so when I use the facilities. We meet Rudy’s golf partner there and the three of us sit in our grouping of seats. There are three other groupings there in their areas with their pets. After a few minutes some of the others start to wander around and we chat exchanging destination and other information. Everyone with similar stories of wanting to go south with their pets and their cars. Molly of course is the biggest dog by a mile. And then some!

The car transport guy comes in and collects keys and paperwork. He loads the vehicles (about 8) onto his truck and leaves.

We watch others go ahead of us. There are 4 choppers in action and all are within a few minutes of each other. When our turn to leave comes we head out to the chopper where they have set up a ramp for Molly to walk up to the aircraft. No way. She sees me in the chopper and wants to get in. They remove the ramp and Rudy and the attendant lift her in. She sits in the tight seat next to me. When our pilot gets in he pets her and explains the deal. He starts the rotor and we lift off. What a feeling!! Molly is fine. I’m trying to absorb the experience and take photos. It’s a quick 20 minute flight over the Welland Canal and Niagara Falls. We touch down gently in Buffalo and wait for the customs agent. He walks to the chopper and clears us in 40 seconds. Didn’t even ask for Molly’s documents. We walk with the pilot into the small terminal building.

We are told that the vehicles will be there in 5 minutes. Wham bam. We are in the USA in one piece and hop in our cars. First stop Erie PA where we will spend the night.

We order Italian delivery to our room and enjoy a celebration drink and food. Molly is on the bed passed out from exhaustion. I call mom and dad and send the pictures to them. The relief in their voices is a healing balm.

Whew. The hard part is over. Cincinnati here we come.

Most of the time lakeside living is ideal. The sound of gentle waves lapping the shore is tranquil and soothing. In fact it can be mesmerizing like looking into the flames of a fire. You’re captivated as though in a trance.

Sometimes when people come to visit we forget how much pull the water has. Guests are immediately drawn to the water and we are reminded how fortunate we are. It’s true that the water view never fails to amaze. There’s nothing more zen than a good cup of coffee while watching the sun rise over the bay. Since we are in a shallow bay near Northwinds Beach there is little motorized water activity. Except for the d-bag who got a new seadoo and likes to parade along the shore like a peacock. Would that make him a sea-cock?? A fitting handle.

However the waters can turn quickly with the wind. One minute paddlers are peacefully gliding by on glass-like water and the next thing there’s a few ripples. The bay stallion (our neighbours weather vane… I will digress in a post script) starts to swing slowly announcing a weather change. Then the water starts to churn. White caps appear and the tempest arrives. Fasten your seatbelts.

In warm weather watching a storm roll in is a natural wonder. The sky changes colour. The sounds signal a frenzy as waves roll and crash. The wind arouses the scent of precipitation. It’s a sensory overload if you dare to face it.

However, December 1 means colder climes. Last weekend we sat outside on a calm evening enjoying quiet water, libations and music beside the outdoor fireplace. What a difference a week can make! The storm rolled in as predicted last night. Fierce bitter cold winds turned driving rain into frozen lashes that sprayed frosty flurries. The water whipped into a thundering blasting cannon against the shore. The roaring surf and wind letting us know that Mother Nature is on a Rampage. She’s the boss. Take shelter. I wonder what our homeless are doing and where they are taking shelter. Even our dog Molly is frightened by the onslaught.

Rudy braves the elements to tape down some flapping noisy deck thing. When he opens the door I realize how much noisier it actually is without the barrier of windows and doors. It’s howling and snarling like a pack of wild dogs on the hunt. I’m grateful for the cozy warmth of the family room snuggled under a heap of blankets. With the tv playing festive movies. Cue the holiday music and hot cocoa. Sigh.

When we head upstairs to bed on a stormy night the sounds are amplified (and there’s no buffering tv noise). Normally we would open the bedroom window for fresh lake breezes and meditative water melodies. But when the lake is angry and pounding it does not evoke relaxation. It is by its very nature agitated and mean.

Like the line from a famous tv series: winter is coming.

Good. Bring it. We are leaving.

Post script: when we were setting up our internet last year a wifi network popped up as “Bay Stallion” … immediately my thoughts swayed to the lowest common denominator as I assumed the name was for someone who had a Napoleon complex (sea-cock dude??) … I didn’t dwell on it too much at the time. But while at our neighbours house last summer the conversation turned to weather (Canadian predisposed condition) and he mentioned the weather vane fastened to his deck railing. It’s a galloping horse. The Bay Stallion. Apparently it’s an iron work of a famous race horse which my neighbour rescued from atop a chalet being torn down. He rescued the vane not the actual horse from the chalet in case you wondered. So my dirty thoughts were stymied. The stallion is in fact a horse. The end.

The holiday season is in full swing. Things really take on the festive vibe when the temperatures drop and we get a sugary coating of snow. And since it gets dark so early (feels like midnight at 5pm!) we are mesmerized by twinkling lights and candles. Funny how in July you would never consider curling up under cozy blankets with Christmas movies at supper time. Our internal clocks play tricks on us and we succumb to a form of hibernation.

It’s hard to (especially these days with no social activities) motivate yourself you leave the cocoon of comfort. It’s very appealing to snuggle into a comfortable position on the couch and get swept away by Hallmark on demand. However, as I marinate in candlelight and coziness, my mind wants to race with a blurring flurry of to do lists. As the ticker tape reel of chores and details whirs I suddenly stop in mid buzz: I’m not going to be with my family this Christmas for the first time in my life!

This year we are heading south before Christmas. We will be in Florida on December 24. I’m not sure how I really feel about that. Of course in the scheme of pure logic it makes perfect sense: better driving conditions, less packing and unpacking, longer rental periods, more outdoor activities sooner … there’s a lot on the positive side. The negatives are glaring. And that’s the overwhelming impact that jars me out of holiday bliss.

I remind myself that people spend holidays apart from family all the time. My brothers been doing it for years. My husband too. I think men are far more likely to make the concessions in these matters. As well, it’s just a date on the calendar (I tell myself) and we can improvise. Which we plan to do on the weekend. American Thanksgiving is the new Christmas for our small family unit.

In order to keep some traditional semblance, my sister is executing her annual cookie baking extravaganza. This includes putting up a tree and decorating, baking holiday cookies in German style and firing up the mulled wine. https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Feuerzangenbowle

So this year we are crashing that tradition and turning it into full blown Christmas dinner. And we make our exit dash to Florida on December 10. Rudy tries to inject a bit of comic relief into the emotional mix. He watches Christmas movies with his Santa hat on and every time they show (fake) snowy scenes he reminds me that the actors are really sweating. He’s convinced that all holiday movies are filmed in Celebration Florida.

https://orlandoinsidervacations.com/now-snowing-in-celebration-florida/amp/

When we were there before Christmas a few years ago (checking out our first winter rental as newbie snowbirds) we walked through the town of Celebration and marvelled at skating and snow in our shorts. It was exhilarating in a weird way. It occurs to me that no matter where you are, Christmasy thoughts include snow.

So for this year we will be channeling thoughts of snow and ice as we lounge poolside with our eggnog. The only icy cold in sight is the cube in our drinks. I’m making lists of holiday sights to see and do in Florida. Rudy has no idea. I can’t wait to see some of the light installations! I’m a total sucker for magical Christmas decorations. Each year we bundle up and make a “special” drink then take a drive around neighbourhoods to see the lights. We’ve been mostly Ho hum about the efforts but I have a feeling that people have more time at home this year and so putting in the time will result in Wow!

Lesson from the dog: be grateful for everyday and the people in it. Spread joy and kindness. Never miss the opportunity for a good nap.

There’s lots of anxiety around these days. But along with the stress of current events is a glimmer of reality. If we are to believe all that we see and hear in media then we are doomed. But I tend to lean towards things being a bit contrived.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a truther or a dooms day prepper. However, there’s so many things I would like to question. If only there were truthful and reliable answers. Alas. I will continue to skip the “news” and most social media.

Therefore I value the connection I make with the humans in my “bubble”. That is to say we are mostly hermits if you eliminate our three times a week pickleball games and the weekly trip to Stratford. There’s one more thing to add to my gratitude in this vein: daily morning walks in the provincial park (now closed for the season) with my pal Cathie and our dogs. It’s a motley crew to say the least.

My friend Cathie is an enigma. Since we met some 30 years ago she has been an inspiration, confidant, co conspirator and, more of what we need these days, comedian. Over the years she has made me laugh to tears with her stories and just being her.

She is ultra bright and well educated. She is determined and driven. She is loving and kind. But she is also, and arguably her most endearing quality, she is content just to “be”. Today on our walk she told me how great it was to be on her summer house island. No input and interference from the real world. Just canoeing and painting (she’s an artist) and relaxing and contemplating. From my perspective she lives in the moment. She’s real.

We have interesting chats while our dogs frolic and poop. No topic is off limits. A lot of reminiscing takes place too. I remember the first time we met. We were introduced by a mutual business colleague who thought we could benefit each other. When we met for lunch (like a blind date) we talked about our families and the synergy was palpable. Like we’d known each other for ever. Then our husbands met and it was a match, too. We spent many summer vacations together on our boats; we were all novices and had many adventures on the high seas of Lake Ontario. And winter cruises on the Caribbean. To this day Cathie’s husband laughs about our shenanigans poolside as we judge other passengers and give them nicknames and develop stories about their life. We can do this for hours and giggle until we cry. Or pee.

My all time favourite Cathie story. Is her road trip to the woods with her dogs. She takes her husbands pick up truck (he’s a big guy and always drives a huge rig) – an Avalanche I think – and parks in the designated area at the park. She takes her hike and then gets in her truck to leave. When she backs out she feels like she’s hit a fence post or other enclosure. After checking the mirror she pulls out of the lot. The truck seems sluggish at first so she taps the gas. There’s a bit of resistance but in her unfamiliarity she plows on. Until she hears someone yelling and then she sees a man waving frantically behind her. She stops the truck. The man approaches and says: you’re dragging my vehicle behind you; you locked on to my bumper when you backed up.

Maybe my favourite is her doing an impression of her dad; Russell Redmond was a character!! Maybe it’s her tales from the behavioural therapy days? Or her recollections of life at Guelph University. There are too many to count.

We were gathered with a group of lady friends a few years ago and Cathie shared her experience at the mall earlier in the day. She was shopping alone and noticed that people were staring and doing a double take as she walked by. Her confidence was boosted! I must look good, she thought to herself. Then she passed a mirrored storefront and took a glance at her reflection. She realized immediately what was gathering attention: her top was on inside out and backwards. The tag was showing. Classic Cathie!

Today after our walk we hugged. I know: illegal … so sue me. As we disengaged I noticed Cathie’s top. It was on inside out and backwards. She’s blissfully unaware. And it’s so refreshing.

I hope she never changes. My beautiful friend. Thanks for the laughs.

Seriously. I can hear. Loud and clear!

I knew I had an impairment but I didn’t realize to what extent until:

1. Rudy started to leave junk mail on the counter … but only the hearing aids junk.

2. I was startled by a biker on the trail and shouted “how about a warning!” And he turned around and shouted: I signalled! open your ears!

3. The patient registration clerk at the hospital asks me a question (as the “caregiver” for my dad) and he answers.

So I knew long before the frying pan had to hit me in the head. But I was in denial. Hearing aids are for old folks. That was my mentality until I met Stephan. He’s the deaf audiologist at Costco who performed my assessment and recommendation. That’s right. He is a graduate of Western U and he’s deaf. His service dog Brooke is my witness.

Our neighbour is going blind. He’s around 60 years old. He was born with vision … and eyesight. As an engineer, he was a professional married man. Then his eyes betrayed him. A genetic malfunction. Good bye career. Marriage. Drivers license. Independence. Hello new colourless world.

These guys are heros. I don’t doubt that they battle with “why me”. We all have those thoughts on occasion…. but they don’t (or shouldn’t) run our life. Fate is our destiny and we play the hand we are dealt. Sometimes we covet our neighbour. I think it’s a natural phenomenon that we look at the world around us and compare. Sometimes we imagine ourselves in that reality; the one we think is perfect and harmonious. All the cliches pop up here: the grass is always greener… Rose coloured glasses…

I’ve realized that my reality is perfect for me. In fact, there are several times a day that I’m reminded how lucky I am. For example:

1. I can buy hearing aids and have great hearing! I’m not deaf at all.

2. I wear contact lenses that allow me to have great vision.

3. I’m healthy.

4. I have a wonderful husband who is a partner in life.

5. My family is whole. Every night when I call my folks I am grateful.

I could create a list a mile long.

And we could discuss the list. I can hear now.

What happens when you mix up a random euchre night with parental concern? Good question. I have the answer.

So my tooth is gone. Replaced by weird sensations and stitches I can tease with my tongue (until today). Trying to make me feel better my dad launches into a stranger than fiction tale about his father (another Rudi). There’s a birthday. Someone from the factory. After work a group is getting together to celebrate. My grandfather is invited and he decides to go. It’s at a local pub. The names of the establishments are hilarious (Stamm am Lamm; Oxen … as an example). In any event he goes. The celebration includes a few shots; everyone included. Apparently my grandfather is a light weight and can’t handle hard liquor. Oops.

He leaves the party early knowing he’s had his limit and then some …. on the way home he’s walking from the pub to his house. He arrives to his home later than expected and his wife questions him. Where have you been? What happened? My grandfather tries to answer. He’s blotto. My grandmother gasps: where are your teeth???? Between pub and hone his teeth are missing. My grandmother presses for facts. It is clear he’s drunk and now also clear he list his teeth while barfing on the way home.

Grandfather hits the bed. Grandmother and son (my dad) retrace the way home in search of barf containing teeth. Crazily they find the barf and the teeth. Retrieval is a success; disaster averted.

My tooth cannot be found. Ever.

So the other night … completely unrelated…. we are invited to play socially distant euchre with another couple. We know them from pickleball. We arrive with our appetizers and enjoy a pre game cocktail outside on the deck. Our hostess and her boyfriend are very social and talkative. After some benign small talk somehow the conversation turns to his (our hosts boyfriends) wardrobe. Apparently he has somewhat eclectic taste in apparel.

She has tried to sway his preferences for Hawaiian shirts and bought him a brightly coloured linen shirt. He’s definitely able to wear bright hues as his olive toned skin and full head of salt and pepper hair suit pizzazz. However he was cautioned to wash the new shirt gently and hand dry.

Not.

He bundled it with other stuff and let the Maytag go crazy. The result? A shrunken wrinkly mess. Dry cleaner to the rescue. He’s lucky to find a business who understands his plight and offers a solution. Enter the torso.

The shrunken mess of a shirt is dampened and then placed on the torso. The torso is slowly inflated to stretch the shirt to the desired size. Are you kidding me??

For the rest of the evening I giggled about the torso. What a concept. No face. No brain. No voice. Just a torso that grows to the right size and fixes the problem.

I might not need an implant tooth. Just a torso.

As a kid, losing a tooth is a sign of something good. Actually there’s a few good things about losing a tooth: you have the dramatic build up as the tooth wiggles and hangs at odd angles, you know your big teeth are coming in and you get a visit from the tooth fairy. I’m not sure what the going rate is, but back in the day you could get a great haul for ten cents.

As an adult losing a tooth is nothing short of traumatic. Sure, there’s ten million way worse things if you really consider the spectrum. But yesterday I couldn’t think of one worse thing.

It started on Friday. A typical beautiful summer day by all accounts. We have our regular pickleball routine as we practise for the upcoming tournament. We head home and I make pasta sauce and Italian sausage. It’s one of Rudy’s favourites (he even likened to one of his favourite Italian restaurants!!). I made the pasta sauce in a large skillet with a lid. It’s an awkward size and weight and as I was pouring the sauce onto the noodles a rogue sausage plopped out with boiling sauce and landed on my foot. I had socks on but the stunned momentary hesitation on my part caused a lovely burn with three really huge blisters. It stung like a bitch!

Later that evening we are ready to settle on the couch with wine and popcorn. We’ve started a new series “How to get away with Murder”. So far we really like it. Viola Davis is amazing. As I get things organized in the kitchen Rudy creates a ruckus by smashing a wine glass. Shards and splinters are all over the tile floor. We tidy that up and settle on the couch.

I make great popcorn with garlic butter and Parmesan cheese. It’s excellent with wine! We munch away watching the show. Bliss.

Then suddenly I bite an unpopped kernel and POW 💥 an intense burst of pain Sears through my head like an explosion. I’m stunned for a minute. I swallow. Sip wine. The liquid on my tooth is a reverberating pulse of pain. What have I done?!? I look at Rudy and seeing the look on my face he immediately knows somethings wrong. I think I’ve cracked a tooth I tell him. He groans in commiseration. Rudy’s teeth are chronically lousy. He’s all too familiar with the notion of broken teeth. I, on the other hand, am not. I have strong nearly perfect teeth.

When you have anything out of sorts in your mouth your tongue wants to linger and explore. Each time my tongue rolled over my molar it struck a nerve and sent pulsations of pain to my brain. The next morning (Saturday) while laying in bed and doing the tongue test I knew there was trouble. I couldn’t feel any cracks but the sensitivity was excruciating. I called our dentist Dr T. At first he declined the call. I realize we have new mobile numbers from Florida so he would think I’m a pranked. I wish I was. I call back. He answers in a tone that suggests he is ready to rumble. Hi Dr T, I say. Who is this? Terse reply. it’s me, Susanne. I have a new cell number. Oh, he replies. Better tone. What can I do for you? I tell him the popcorn story. He tells me he’s on vacation at his cottage but will see me in two days. Ok. That’s that.

For the next two days I chew on the left side of my mouth sparingly and take pain killers. My mind conjures up grotesque scenarios that logic casts aside. The brain ping pong between rational thoughts and crazed pain driven hell is ongoing. Each sip, bite, tongue adventure starts another round. I self medicate as much as I think reasonable.

On the third day we venture into the city. It’s been a while and I’d much rather be going to a ball game or show. Rudy drops me at Dr Ts office. He’s a one man operation with an assistant and his wife as receptionist. His office is in a converted house on the main floor and two apartments above. You used to be able to see Bloor Street from his place but there was a small lot between him and Bloor but now it’s two huge condo towers. He actually owns one unit; it was a trade off for some right of way they needed in his lot.

He gets me in his chair. He taps on a few teeth as I stutter out the scenario. He takes an ex ray; nothing apparent. He’s going to do exploratory drilling. Best case it’s a crack. Worst case it’s broken and has to be removed. I got the short straw. Clean and thorough break he announces after jabbing me umpteen times with the freezing needle. I’m too shell shocked to take it in. He tells me he’s going to start the surgery. More freezing. He and his assistant work in tandem. Suction. Water. Drill.

You’re going to hear some cracking. Don’t panic. My mind is racing. I’m having a tooth pulled. OMG. Ok he says. I’m going to stitch you up. Great. All done. You did really well he says. I want to throat punch him. He gives me a prescription and I pay his wife the $500 fee. That was some popcorn!! I might never eat popcorn again. Ever.

I get out to the car where Rudy’s waiting. He says: it can’t be good; you were in there an hour. I mumble through the freezing and gauze that they pulled the tooth. Rudy cringes and groans in sympathy. He knows the feeling. I think given the choice he would choose a hard kick in the balls over a dental procedure. Neither of us really thought that I would be losing a tooth that day. It was surreal. My tentative tongue exploration reveals a gaping hole and the pointy ends of stitches. Gross. I replace the bloody gauze and Rudy cringes again. His empathy is lovely.

Rudy asks which tooth was pulled and I tell him the very back right molar. Dr T says I can decide on an implant next year as it takes a good six moths to fully heal. Rudy tells me I won’t miss it and don’t need a replacement as he proudly shares that his gaping hole is on the top at the very back. He says no one will even know; it’s not visible. All I can think of is people we know who’s otherwise bright smiles are ruined by gaping holes. Ugh.

So there’s a week of antibiotics and shortly thereafter the stitches will dissolve or get swallowed. In the mean time, life goes on. It’s only a tooth. In this day and age it’s minor.

Bummer. I should have kept at least part of it for the tooth fairy. Worth a lot more than a dime!