Read the Signs

Cabbagetown crocuses: Amelia Street, March 26, 2020

Garden Angel: George Street, March 27, 2020

All the letters I get in my e-mail say that the corona virus situation changes rapidly every day. For the people sending me the letters, I imagine that's true.

For me and Bruce, our days don't change much.

When people weren't voluntarily social distancing, the Mayor of Toronto finally got around to declaring a state of emergency.

 

 

Now all the Toronto businesses we see are closed, or have signs asking people to socially distance themselves.  Torontonians are all now six feet apart.

I still question the wisdom of closing public washrooms. There's a lot more shit on the streets - and it's not horses or dogs.

The Princess of Wales Theatre has amped up its marquee messaging.

 

We wonder as we walk on deserted sidewalks by seventy-storey office towers whether post-pandemic work-from-home arrangements will be the new normal and what that will mean for Scotia Tower, First Canadian Place, the Bank of Montreal Tower and all the others.

Big shocks to the economy, like the one we're experiencing now, precipitate change and shake out marginal or borderline-obsolete businesses.

I've got my finger's crossed that Filmore's - one of the few remaining strip clubs in Toronto - doesn't make it out alive.

Thanks for reading!

Stay healthy! 

Karen

Last week gas was 76 cents a litre.
Canadian crude is five bucks a barrel.
I can think of another industry that 
I hope won't make it out alive.

We're OK - How Are You?

Queen Street West, looking west, 3:15 p.m. Wednesday March 18 2020

Back in the day when I could have face-to-face conversations with people, I used to wonder about those who'd tell me "I know what you're thinking."

What a preposterous notion. Only superficial, self-centred people would ever presume to know another's thoughts.

That said, I know what you're thinking.

You're thinking in one way or another about what everyone has on their minds - everyone, that is, except for some of the neighbourhood denizens. They're wondering about where the hell their dealer has gone and why are all the public washrooms closed.

Spadina Avenue graffiti

Aside from being the purported target of the new virus, us retired people have a lot less to worry about than others. We have non-work-related income. We don't have a mortgage. We don't have children. Bruce's dad is in the safest place he could possibly be right now - a locked-down senior's residence with, apparently, no corona-virus-infected staff. 
I hope that holds up.

Random confession by Castle Frank High School

Our days are exactly the same. We pursue various tasks in the morning: clean house, write novels, that sort of thing. Then we eat lunch and go for a long walk. Some days we pick up groceries at Loblaws, where markers on the floor show us how to keep six feet apart. Toilet paper is still scarce. Then we go home, have supper, go to bed.

On our walks we talk about social media reports (not official government reports) about what's going on in the world: dolphins in Venice canals; serenades and games of paddle ball on Italian balconies; off-the-chart social shaming and dark portents of things to come south of the border. 

I also watch for interesting graffiti, and yell at cyclists to get off the sidewalk.

Stay healthy.

Thanks for reading.

Karen

Not long ago the sign said 120.

Tales from the Plague Year

The picture that's not shown in today's post was the one I didn't take at the Maple Leaf Gardens Loblaws when I was there a couple of days ago.

That would have been a shot of the used face mask that someone had left behind on a table by the Nutella cafe. 

***

The other day I popped into Loblaws to buy some instant breakfast oatmeal.

In front of the well-stocked cereal shelves stood a young woman - maybe in her early to mid thirties - seemingly making a hard decision. I saw her cough into her hand and then use the same hand to touch some of the packages on the shelves.

"Good lord," I thought and hung back from her, scanning the shelves for the product I wanted. I thought I saw the right one, grabbed it and retreated to a safe distance. But, dammit, I'd taken the wrong package. So I had to go back into the hot zone.

I was trying to find the right stuff when ol' Typhoid Mary walks right up to me, stands real close, and asks me if the oatmeal I was purchasing tasted like the original.

I could have screamed and fled. But, instead I tried to answer her unanswerable question. As I talked with my head titled as far back as it could go, I got the right product in my basket, returned the wrong product to the shelf and got the hell out of there.

***

My Christmas gift to Bruce was a membership at the YMCA. For the months of January and February, there were many excuses - we had to move Bruce's dad; we were in Amsterdam for ten days - to not initiate the membership.

But, early in March we went ahead and signed Bruce up ....

More Reno Shots

For better hand washing ...

Thanks for reading!

Keep those hands clean!

Karen

   

I've Been Meaning to Say ...

About Amsterdam

The Dutch have a reputation for being very practical. While we were in Amsterdam I noted how practically they dealt with matters still unsettled over here:

• Single use plastic bags: Neither of the two little places where we shopped for groceries offered plastic bags. At all. Instead Amsterdammers carried their food away in panniers, knapsacks and reusable nylon bags. 
• Slavery: Amsterdam museums have decided that the human suffering of the slave trade that fuelled the Dutch "Golden" age should be called out for what it was. Notes on paintings, maps and other fine things pointed out the absence, or cruel depiction, or treatment as an object, of people abducted from Africa and sold into slavery. 

While the Dutch were showing us how things should be done, we scored a couple of tourist fails:

• Shopping in Dutch: we though we would know what we were buying without understanding the labels. This worked, except for the first half litre of milk. Bruce thought it had gone sour. I found out when I translated the label (too late!) that it was buttermilk.
• Trespassing: at the wonderful City Archives, a show had just closed on one level of the "Treasure Room." That did not stop me from figuring out how to infiltrate the perimeter so we could be shooed out a few minutes later by archive staff. 

More on the Dutch sense of humour. 

• A Dutch expression of surprise is "my clog is broken."
• In a shop window: "Definition of marriage - a permanent sleepover with your favourite weirdo."

Bikes are a mixed blessing.

• Sixty thousand bikes are stolen in Amsterdam every year.
• Forty thousand abandoned bikes are collected every year.
• Twelve to fifteen thousand bikes end up in the canals every year, either put there by people or blown in by high winds.

About Elizabeth Warren

I am, like others, sorry that Elizabeth Warren had to end her run for President. Of the many things I have read, two summed it up for me the best. One was a tweet that said, "of Biden and Sanders, Warren is the best candidate"; and a comment by Jane Junn, after recounting all the ways Warren had excelled in her campaign, "What she wasn't was a man."

Thanks for reading!

Have a great week!

Karen

After: Guest bathroom

After: Ensuite bathroom