Rites of Spring

Last weekend was wonderful weather which fact helped to create a wonderful weekend. Saturday we spent a few hours cleaning up our screened-in porch. I'm amazed that washing furniture, vacuuming and carrying away dead leaves was fun but it was. Getting things ready for a summer of sitting out enjoying the weather is always so full of expectation. That night we had a dinner party of six friends and, for the first time, I had each couple bring a dish. This meant less preparation for us and led to a delightful time that we weren't too tired to enjoy. In the balmy weather we were even able to open the French doors to the dining room and feel the evening air as we ate. Great day and night.

Sunday after church we decided to accompany another couple on a bike tour to Port Dover on the Lynn Valley Rail Trail. This was our first of the season and we were exhilarated. Our friends were well supplied with emergency equipment, good thing since my husband's tire gave up and he had to change it. This slowed us down considerably and we were quite late by the time we got to Dover around 2 pm. Ravenous we hurried to Callaghan's but they had a 40 minute wait. No way. We headed to another favorite spot, Willie's on the Beach, where we ordered up big burgers and onion rings. The burgers were awesome with lots of great fixings. The onion rings, not so much. There we sat on their extensive porch basking, yes, basking in the sun while we ate and talked and laughed. (We were the noisiest table.)

After the requisite walk on the pier and a chat at the lighthouse we headed up the trail to Simcoe again and our cars. A cold drink and more relaxed chatter at our friend's house nearby and we drove the mile home sated and happy, all the more so since we had not planned this bit of serendipity. I love spontaneity!

It's a Small World

Quite a lot of years ago we took part in a Lions' exchange one summer, accepting for two weeks in our home a 16-year-old Japanese girl named Tomoko Mori. Tomoko was a shy delight and we readily shared our lives with her for those interesting two weeks. I am not sure who learned more, her or us, but the experience was great.

There was the day we learned of my aunt's death and took the family plus Tomoko to Oakville for the funeral. Tomoko wondered if we didn't love Aunt Reta because we weren't weeping and wailing, and I assured her this was not the case. We just weren't really close. I've often wondered what grieving was like in Japan. Another day we went to a very special concert in the middle of the Grand River at Brantford. A lot of fill had been temporarily put in the river, enough to build on to the existing islands so that 50,000 people could bring lawn chairs and hear the Boston Pops Orchestra, directed by Arthur Fiedler one special Sunday afternoon. It was one of those life memory things--you know, the kind you'll never forget. And Tomoko was there with us.

For the first week or so Tomoko was very shy, always polite, enjoying a laugh, loving to play with our children, trying to speak English, but she remained very private. Eventually circumstances called for her to reach out. Take the day she was suntanning by our pool and got a sunburn. As I smoothed on suntan lotion I realized that brown-skinned people can burn just as we whities. Then came the day Tomoko quietly took me from the kitchen to the upstairs bathroom. Her frightened look told me something was wrong and when I got there I saw that the toilet was plugged. She was very shy about the fact that she had tried to flush feminine products down the toilet. Not to worry, I said, and we quickly solved the problem, earning her trust along the way.

Eventually our Japanese guest asked to cook for us. We said, of course, and she made a wonderful dish which, she explained, traditionally was served with a raw egg broken in the dish and the mixture put in with it. We said we'd love to try it and we did, earning points once again. Here is Tomoko eating her portion in a very relaxed pose:


All too soon it was time for us to take our guest to Port Dover and her next host home. She dressed formally in her beautiful Japanese costume and posed in front of the fireplace. We were enthralled.


I felt like a mother losing her child when we delivered Tomoko to her hosts. I knew they would look after her well, but I reciprocated her fierce hug as we said, "Good-bye." We never saw her again. We wrote for a year or two, she sent us gifts, I sent her books about the English poet Wordsworth as she was majoring in English at university, and then we never heard from her again. I don't know what happened and that fact saddens me. Maybe she'll see my blog and we'll connect again. It's a small world after all.

Berton House Writers' Retreat

Last night hubby and I received our first Christmas present of the season--a wonderful evening 'on the town' in Toronto at the 4th annual Berton House Writers' Retreat gala in the company of our son and a very good family friend.

We left here at 3 p.m., picked up our friend in Woodstock and then set out for Toronto, normally a one-and-a-half-hour trip. Luckily the four of us had lots to talk about and the extra hour plus on the high-traffic road went by easily--well, for those of us riding blissfully in the back seat!

The gala was held at a Chinese Restaurant on Spadina called the Bright Pearl and the food was excellent. Milling about before the dinner were all the Who's Who from the Canadian literary scene; my only regret is that I haven't been keeping up with all the new writers. Anyhow my friend travels in elevated circles and he introduced us to Vicky Gabereau, Janet Berton and Catherine McKinnon. Gabereau was disappointing as she barely said hello to me before she was on to her next thing. On the other hand, Janet Berton, from her wheelchair exuded charm and goodwill. She seemed truly genuine, glad to meet all those who had come to this event named for Pierre. When my friend asked if I would like to meet Catherine McKinnon, I immediately said yes as I remember her from years back--probably 25--when she and her sister (Patrician Ann McKinnon) and her then husband (Don Harron) were performing at a Cancer Society event I attended in Toronto. Imagine my surprise when we twisted through the crowd trying to find her and she turned to be the lady I had chatted with in the washroom. We were both surprised to see each other as my friend introduced us. She said, "I already met you in the washroom!" and we had a great laugh.

The silent auction and the live auction raised lots of money for Berton House and watching the antics of the auctioneer and Linda Lundstrom of designer coats fame run up the bids to the max was intriguing. Lundstrom was especially good at it, topping off her contribution when two bidders wanted the designer day with Linda Lundstrom and had the bid up to $3000. She took the mike and got the two bidders to each pay the money and, then and there, donated an extra day, thus increasing the income to $6000 for the charity. I guess she is as good a business woman as a designer.

I assume the clock ticked on, although I wasn't aware of it, so enthralled was I with the event. All too soon we were watching the final presentation, a videotape of Pierre Berton reciting "The Shooting of Dan McGrew." My mind flew back to my childhood in the one-room schoolhouse where I first discovered Robert Service's works. What a perfect cap to a lovely evening--Pierre Berton, that prolific Canadian giant, reciting Service's signature poem on the north. The ironies were abundant and I thought how wonderful to be able to see Berton performing so well, even though he has been gone for three years. Made me think of my Dad and his love of reciting the same type of poetry.

So Christmas has started well for us. This was a gift that will keep on giving as I ruminate on it for the next while. And who knows? Maybe one day someone I know will spend time at the Berton House writing up a storm.

People Are Fun

People are fun. Yesterday I took a trip with my best buddy to Cambridge and Waterloo. We left about 9:30 in the morning and headed for the Southworks outlet mall in Cambridge just to check out the Corning Ware store as best buddy wanted to buy a travel casserole dish with cover. We no sooner parked than we saw Sale! signs plastered over the windows of a shoe store luring us in like honey does bears. Upon entering the store we started browsing but were interrupted by a saleslady asking what size our feet were. I wondered about this new approach to sales but gave her my size 7.
“Wonderful,” the clerk bubbled. “We have just put a whole bunch of amazing shoes, regularly $80 to $120 on sale for $20 a pair, but only the size 7 or smaller shoes.”
“I’m a size 8,” my friend said, “so that won’t help me.” And her face wore a look of disappointment. (My friend absolutely LOVES a bargain!)
“Not to worry” our lady said. “I’m an 8, too, but I was able to find sandals to fit me. Take a look.”
Eyes brightening, my friend joined me in the search for great shoes. There were hundreds of boxes to go through and we loved every one. Methodically I started at one end and my friend, the other, holding up things we thought the other might like, trying on possibilities, ooing and ahing over the wonderful selection. Periodically the saleslady came back with something else for my friend of the size 8 feet to try. It seems they had formed a bond based on shoe size. I was merely a size 7 and was left on my own. My friend got four different visitations from the bubbly sales lady.
Other people in the store came over to try their luck at the shoe bonanza and soon we were all helping each other and pointing out great shoes. One lady picked up a deep pink embroidered sandal in my pile and my friend immediately told her it was mine. Don’t touch my stuff, I thought! The same lady chatted away with us over many different try-ons but didn’t seem to be getting anything.
Finally we had made our selections and headed for the cash register, me with three wonderful pairs of sandals, and my buddy with two. The rest of our day was awesome but I can’t help thinking that first lady with her enthusiasm for a great shoe deal set us up for it. Thanks to you, happy sales lady!

Beader Girl

“What do you do with your time?” I’m sometimes asked and now I have a new answer. I bead! This great new hobby has come to me via my best friend, who learned it in Arizona a couple of years ago when she was snowbirding and I was back here snow shoveling. You can’t tell from the picture above just how small Delica beads are but, believe me, they’re tiny! When I first saw them I loved the products but figured I’d never have the patience to make my own. Surprise! I tried, I conquered, and I’m hooked. So far I’ve made 6 bracelets, one necklace and two pair of earrings. The other bracelet in the picture is made with larger beads, elastic thread and tiny pink safety pins. Very cool and a lot of fun.
Beading has changed my life in several ways: I eat less as I’m preoccupied with my beading while watching (well, listening to) television. I feel such a sense of accomplishment when my chosen colours come out looking more beautiful than I had hoped. I have fun jewelry to match my outfits. I spend quality time with friends at our beading club. And I have a whole new chapter for my 30-year friendship with my best friend. We go to bead stores. We shop online. We have mastered E-Bay and PayPal. And we both love to create these wonderful beauties.
Now you know why I call myself Beader Girl!