Just another few weeks until the clocks go back in North America. I heard that this might be the last year we do that here in Canada. I wonder.
It’s starting to look like autumn/fall. The weather channel says that we are about two weeks behind. This summer didn’t have the long hot weeks that Toronto usually has, and it seems Europe suffered the most. They’re also predicting a milder than usual winter ahead. I hope we won’t send the bitter weather elsewhere.
A few Sundays ago I surprised myself by walking through Little Portugal quite a way. I had meant to do this so often and not made it. I wanted especially to see some of the street art along the way and…mission accomplished, or as best as I could manage. It was punctuated by a snack of bolinhos de bacalhau and instead of a pastel de nata, I opted for a children’s size chocolate ice cream, my weekend treat. This will be a lot of captioned photos, so should be an easy read. First, a little history:
Little Portugal is located west of downtown in the “Old” City of Toronto. It’s a mainly residential area along Dundas Street West with some visibility on College Street. The main or high street of the neighbourhood is along Dundas Street. It was named after Henry Dundas, a Scottish politician, whose name is now controversial since he famously was responsible for delaying the full abolition of slavery, the Slave Trade Act 1807. Dundas Street itself is a major historic arterial road connecting Toronto with the western suburbs and passing through several cities in SW Ontario. It was originally intended as a military route to connect the shipping port of York (now Toronto) to the envisioned future capital of London, Ontario. It has various landmarks as it passes from Leslie through the central Sankofa Square – renamed from Dundas Square – past the Eaton Centre, the Art Gallery of Ontario, and into Chinatown, the Kensington Market area, then through Little Portugal and eventually to the regional centres of Hamilton and London. Toronto has a large Portuguese population, 23%. In Little Portugal itself, over 50% are Portuguese. Portuguese immigrants arrived here beginning in the early 1950s and continued into the 60s. Many of the shop and business signs in the area are in Portuguese, and along the way you’ll see street signs declaring this “Portugal Village” or “Rua Açores.” This was my walk, from home, down to Dundas Street, then along from Ossington Avenue to Lansdowne Road. It’s not very far away.
Walking down Ossington Avenue, past the Child Care CentreI walked down to Harbord Street (a good walk for me) and visited the cyclist tribute, quite the nicest I’ve seen in the city, before hopping on the bus down to Dundas WestA little politicsIn the Portuguese supermarketLove a Feijoada. May consider thisThe famous “hare” street art piece in Toronto is the “Eastern Cottontail” mural created by renowned Portuguese environmental street artist Bordalo II. Artur Bordalo (Bordalo II), famous for constructing large animal sculptures out of recycled trash and discarded local waste to highlight overconsumption and environmental destruction.Rental bike (Tangerine sponsored) stations come with their own solar panels. It intrigues me. Bike Share Toronto says the system heavily relies on solar energy. The art feels Portuguese. Artist unknown (so far)Cheeky street art. Artist unknownThis is the artist whose work I don’t like. Their stuff is everywhere in Little Portugal, so they’re likely Portuguese-Canadian, and elsewhere throughout the city. Each to their own. 1357 Dundas St W Portuguese Fisherman, Pablo West (Looking through sites, it seems more than one artist is using this style.)Love this. PASSAGE is a prominent public mural along Dundas Street West created by artist Brother Moises and curated by the Dundas West Open Air Museum to celebrate migration and resilience
Azores Parkette celebrates the tile. Inaugurated in 2025, establishing itself as a key meeting point and connection for the Azorean community in the cityDining al fresco. Get it while you canLove me some fire escapes. NYC and San Francisco have the best so farSo far this is one of the best utility box art pieces that I’ve seenHmmmmm. Budding artist?1547 Dundas St W, Dundas West, Jose OrtegaAt Sully’s Gym site at 109 Ossington Avenue (just south of Dundas Street West). Painted by artist Ben Lory, the mural commemorates Muhammad Ali training at the gym ahead of his March 1966 bout against Chuvalo, Canadian heavyweight icon. They had two fights, Ali winning both. Coincidentally, the day I walked by, Chuvalo had just diedSt Clarens Parkette. Need to get closer to see the mural next timeSentimental. Canadians are not normally nationalistic, but that’s changingNeed to research this art. The sandwiches are very popular, thoughA garage alley to explore another time1628 Dundas St W, Scratching the Surface, VHILS – “Sra. Idalina Azevedo – Part of my ongoing Scratching the Surface project, this new mural celebrates and honours the Portuguese immigrant women who toiled as janitorial workers in the high-rise office towers in downtown Toronto in the 1970’s. Portuguese “cleaning ladies” have been a constant presence in the lives of countless Portuguese-Canadians as mothers, wives, breadwinners, community members, and activists, and are an example of strength, resilience, perseverance and courage for us all.“Conceiçao by Hanna Lucatelli. Another tribute to Portuguese immigrant women’s contributions to TorontoLula with a peek at 1585 Dundas St W, Lula Lane, Clandestino + FiyaConvenientPortuguese grills are a Toronto stapleResearch to be done for this muralArt by Paula Tikay and AnerBook shop signMore research needed for this mural but it seems to show different immigrants1665 Dundas St W, Violeta’s Guardian, Clandestinos CrewSt. Helen’s ParishI had ice cream hereTiled icon by the ice cream shop, Moon MilkOld styleBit of a rough area near Lansdowne Avenue, where Dundas Street and College Street are only a few steps apartFinal stop. The No Frills Supermarket at Lansdowne Avenue and Dundas Street. Great butcher here
I didn’t capture everything along here. I’m not sure if I’ll go back to get the rest before the snow falls. Time seems short, but I’ll keep going.
In this blog post, I’m reflecting on my past a bit. You’ve been warned.
Bluehost is reminding me that it’s been another year, and they want more money. I’m not a fan of monetising what amounts to a private journal sometimes, but I’m starting to see the beauty in it. I write a lot and could find a topic, but not sure I have the energy for it, to be honest. Seems to be a full-time job. I actually have two cousins (well, daughters of a cousin, which is what again…?) who run successful social media accounts. At a funeral reception before I left London, I almost turned fangirly when re-meeting them. Many years ago, forget how long but I should definitely dig it up, I wrote an article about blogging. At that time it was a completely unknown term. An online friend of a friend whom I interviewed told me about a concept now known as independent journalism. He talked about how “in the future” people on the street would be the ones to deliver news, as it happened, before the papers printed and spun it. I thought it a curious idea at the time, but I also thought how very obvious it seemed. Twitter was just a budding site then. I hung on silly things like Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore giving blow-by-blow accounts of their seemingly ordinary home life, Tweeting back and forth like a competition, and I didn’t have to dig for them since there were so few accounts to follow. A few people, including me, would tweet to Kirstie Alley, and suddenly we became her little cabal when she developed Phitter, something a Google search won’t even show me anymore. When she turned a bit weird and then when she died, it felt like a personal loss. Social media has evolved, but not necessarily in the best way.
Back patio was all packed up for the holidays. Peaceful. They’re back now, and I actually missed looking out at the lights and the smell of woodsmokeRecently I posted to Instagram images of art affixed to utility poles in the neighbourhood. Somehow I missed the “best one” right outside the house. Cake, yes! (I’m off cake so this will have to do
The garden next door is at its peak, and I’m waiting for the harvest, although I’m not invited. It will be a long winter. The other day, quite by chance, I looked outside to see that the Old Man was visiting “my” garden. I wonder what he was thinking.
A deep discussion in the garden. Harvest plans?
I’ve had a flurry of dining out opportunities. Some fancier than others. Here’s some news, though. I’m invited to dine downstairs as a reward for “taking care of things” while the restaurant was closed. Stay tuned. Could be interesting.
I had brunch with my niece and her close friend. I’m not a fan of a typical breakfast, so I chose the giant (yep) croissant with smoked salmon, burrata and arugula (rocket)A calorie and carb blow-out at Swatow, a restaurant I’ve been going to for decades. Satay beef with gai lan on fried (crispy at the edges) noodles, and I snuck a few pieces of the delicious lemon chicken
I have yet to do my brief street art tour at the western end of Little Portugal, but I have been capturing a few familiar sights around town. Must slot in that LP visit soon.
This is the side of Sanko, a Japanese food shop on West Queen West. This is their new painting, and I finally had an opportunity to photograph it. I’m usually speeding by in transportWhile not actually art, such nonsense catches my eye
Above, two Toronto classics
Meeting with my niece’s friend, Mandy, brought back some great memories of living in San Francisco – a really precious time in my life. Love that city. My niece, Mandy, and I had gone away for a few days there together way back when. We had the best time. I immediately dug out my photos Shortly afterwards, my brother brought up San Francisco again and it felt like one of those happy coincidences.
Mandy at the top of the Filbert Steps, Russian Hill (my favourite area) back in 2005
I had a great boyfriend in San Francisco (a story for another time maybe), and we’re still in touch – um…57 years later. I owed him an email: (edited)Today my brother was talking about visiting me in San Francisco in the Union Street hotel place. It brought back all kinds of memories; I remember so much and yet not enough. He mentioned getting a salad in a place called Minimum Daily Requirement. Do you remember the name of that restaurant that everyone in that place ate at? Was it there? It was always lentil soup and bread and butter as far as I remember. I did look it up to see if I could find it online, even as a historical place, but nothing came up. That made me think about cruising through the supermarket and eating food before I got to the cash register. I think you weren’t keen on me doing that, but I was hungry and broke. I don’t remember how long I had to wait for my first wages and finally being able to eat properly. Here’s another thing that happened – one of the guys I stayed with before I eventually got a shared room in that place worked in a shop on Fisherman’s Wharf. I love going down there, but one of the things that happened was that I picked up a lot of crazy junk really to decorate my places with, and he never charged me anything but told me to just walk out. Thinking back, that was all wrong, but at the time it seemed sort of normal. What days they were. Also remembering how we all lived like we were in a hippie commune with everyone sharing what we had and spending time in each other’s rooms. The hippie times were dwindling, but I remember that outside on the streets I often saw Barefoot hippies with crazy clothes, and their barefoot children traipsing through North Beach or sitting in Washington Square Park. I wish I had taken photos in those days. The fact I didn’t is just crazy to me.
To my brother I wrote (edited): It was a “hotel” room, more like a doss house. I can still smell it sometimes. There was one toilet, one kitchen, and one shower room on each floor. That’s where I met Txxx, newly arrived from Tokyo – he lived one floor down. If that’s the name of the restaurant, I don’t remember, but we were there a lot because it sold lentil soup with bread very cheaply and I didn’t have any wages at first. Everyone knew each other in there – Lots of hippies. We shared everything. The hippy movement was in its last days, but I remember a lot.
The memories tumble in if I let them. I can say that my life has been a reflection of the incredible times I’ve lived through, post-war existence among ruins in East London, hitting just the right age at the beginning of the Mods and Rockers, Swinging 60s London where I was the most innocent of groupies, and Liverpool when it was the ‘centre of the universe’ as my friend’s husband reminded me the last time I saw him there, arriving in the emergent city of Toronto (and hating it for sooo long before I made friends and got my musician boyfriend, who I realised later was a selfish ass), living in Orange County, North Hollywood and San Francisco when we were all flower children, Living in a Toronto commune when I went back …I’ll leave it there before I’m lost in the past.
I’ve done a few walks recently and will share the photos soon. I’m delighted to get out, no matter how briefly. This makes me think about how much walking I’d be able to do in San Francisco now. Those hills would certainly be more than a challenge. I’m just so happy I got to experience them back when my legs felt the pain, but every step was worth it.
What does it say about me that I started typing the year with 19..? Ouch.
I’ve had a gooey, beyond-itchy eye, so I decided to call the on-call eye resident at Western Hospital (listed in my post-surgery notes). He suggested I go to the clinic at 6. I got there to find two people ahead of me. The resident checked me out and, after pushing on my eyelid for a while, told me I had either a blocked duct or a mild infection. He’d be calling my surgeon and asking them to get me in for advice. Meanwhile, I should try warm compresses and some massage. If I didn’t hear from the surgeon’s office by Tuesday, give them a call. I had a nice long walk after that, pleased with how well I seemed to be walking. When I was three bus stops away, I heard music. The Portuguese church had a concert to honour a religious festival going on, so with a long wait for the next streetcar, I settled in to watch the show. I must check out when the next festival is. The whole thing reminded me of being in Torino, where the concertgoers love to join in with the local dances.
On Wednesday I thought about going for a walk, but the skies had looked dark. I decided to wait a little while. I called the eye surgeon and left a message to call me back to come in. Then an alert came over the phone.
It was horrific. The skies were dark and heavy, bearing down. The rain began. Hail followed. The trees were whipping around. From the bathroom window, the scene was apocalyptic. I half expected to see Dorothy’s house fly by, but instead the tarpaulin from the patio downstairs was in danger of sailing off. Not so bad. While it passed eventually and the sky got brighter, the rain continued. It was an ‘interesting’ experience.
The next day I had a great plan. I would go down to the supermarket and then to the fabric recycle shop. I had been putting this off for weeks. This was the start of One of Those Days. The supermarket visit went well, though.
Corn season. Great prices right nowObey Giant – Shepard Fairey. I love his work everywhere I’ve seen it.
I got a bag of groceries and set off on my way to the recycle place, ready to take photos this time and leave with yarn, more lace and fabric. My last visit had not been long enough. I arrived to find it closed. Oh no! Understandable, though. I don’t know when I’ll get back. I’m busy for the next couple of Thursdays. Crossing my fingers for them.
Flooded! She came out and told me she was sorry. I wanted to tell her how much it had taken to get there, but this wasn’t her fault
Mind you, West Queen West always cheers me up with its colourful signs and shop windows. Grateful for that because it meant I wasn’t entirely let down by getting out there.
A mysterious painted structure on West Queen WestNail bar and what looks like another just further along Queen StreetThose two damned thingsA glorious name for a sweet shopThe best name for this book shopI got London vibes from this floristThis alley is full of painted garages, but I didn’t have time to stop. The mural has been here for a long time, the tagging is new
Then the flips and flops started. I’ll understand if you flip past it.
The eye surgeon’s office finally called me. I explained the situation, and they asked me to come in a couple of weeks. I protested. I was then offered something sooner that clashed with something else. Would I see another doctor, they asked? Yes! Can you come in at 3, they asked? It was 2pm and I wasn’t so far away. Yes! I arrived and waited. They promised an hour and a half – it was two. Eventually I went in for an initial eye test. I couldn’t read much on the eye chart with my right eye. She was surprised. Didn’t you just have surgery, she asked. Yes, I said, but it was for near vision. You should be able to read the chart, she insisted. Yes, I said, I’ve told the surgeon. Blame me! She then began dilating both my eyes. Why are they being dilated, I asked. I have one possibly infected eyelid. Oh, she answered, the doctor won’t need them fully dilated then. But I waited. After a while went in for the bright light one and follow-my-finger exam – there was a short look at my eyelid. Then they repeated the diagnosis from the emergency doctor. Either a blocked duct or a mild infection, we’ll give you some ointment. I was hopeful to be handed some, but they handed me a prescription. After booking for a follow-up in two weeks, I went down to the pharmacy. I waited again. After about ten minutes, they came out to tell me, this isn’t covered. Of course, I said. Do you still want it? Of course, I said. It’ll be $40, they said. Of course, I said. And I waited for it. Out at the streetcar stop, the wait was going to be long. While in the drugstore, I’d seen three streetcars go by. I resigned myself to the wait when I discovered I didn’t have my sunglasses. Back to the drugstore I went, hoping that I wouldn’t miss this streetcar too. Not there. Back to the stop, where I found my glasses. On top of my head. Of course! At the transfer bus stop I had several minutes to wait, but when the bus arrived, it stopped several metres from the stop and everyone surged ahead. I went as quickly as I could to the door, where the door was closed in my face. Too full. Two more buses came by, empty but not stopping. The third let us all on. I was too tired to care. I’ll leave it there.
The next day while walking, I didn’t see too much damagein the neighbourhood. I found a few downed branches, but that was about it. In the neighbourhood to the south, a wonderful willow tree went down. I’d photographed it two years earlier but hadn’t had a chance to go back. I’m glad I have a photo, but it’s gone. It did help to read that willow trees are actually short-lived, fifty to seventy years. This one had been planted in the 70s.
Only a little local damageThe Givins Willow, glorious in this old photo, is gone. I’m glad I got to photograph it
There are things to smile at.
What the poop is going on?
That’s it really. Everything is another chapter of flips and flops. Some are more interesting than others.
It’s been a month of getting medical stuff done and I guess I’m OK with that. My bionic era awaits.
First my surgery, then my oncology follow-up, then my lymphoedema and, in there somewhere bloodwork and X-ray. Next comes the optometrist and my radiotherapy follow-up, and to see my GP about this and that my new oncologist doesn’t need to know about – September, here I come. Life is a medical storybook, ticking off more of those boxes.
In December 2023 I went with my son and his girlfriend to the annual Christmas concert at St Anne’s Anglican Church, one of my Toronto Christmas traditions. My friend, Angela, was in their fantastic choir and had introduced me to the concerts many years ago. The church, built in 1907, was a breathtaking one. Not only was the exterior a lovely Byzantine-inspired design, and the interior full of colourful mosaic work, it also had many paintings around the eaves. These paintings were the only religious works of some of the Group of Seven, Canada’s most prominent artists. It’s hard to describe how stunning the whole was. I have a video.
This is written in the past tense because in early June 2024, a scarce six months later, the church, a National Historic Site of Canada, was on fire and the interior was completely gutted. I went to look at it shortly afterwards, and it pretty much broke my heart. This month, they are holding an exhibition in that space, completely open to the sky. The front of the domed church is intact. Three walls are standing but badly damaged. I went with my niece to take a look. I can’t say the art pieces inside were impressive, but the whole experience left me very emotional. It had been pouring all morning, so I wasn’t sure we’d get there, but I set out anyway. I arrived pretty wet and waded through deep puddles in the parking lot to get into the site. I’ll include some of the things that were on display. A very nice touch is a bread oven made from salvaged bricks. Adrianna and I had a small pita each with the very good za’atar dip made by the baker.
Gladstone Avenue, Toronto. St Anne’s on the left and the old Cadbury factory on the right (Now Mondelez)The entrance to the exhibitFrom the street, it looks almost normal, but the doors are covered in wood and the beautiful middle dome, pictured here, is gone. The church was inspired by the magnificent Early Byzantine church Hagia Sophia (532-537AD) in IstanbulFrom the back, inside the gutted church, the real story. The walls are wrapped in white, with red tape. There were three hanging objects that were super heavy. Couldn’t move them. Also a giant nest. I need to find out more about each highly symbolic pieceArt piece, Pushmepullyou, was very PompeiiOne of two wooden sculptures on the old doors. Reminding me of a bishopThis chair was savedSaved mosaic
I got over to Fiesta Farms to shop. Prices are high but the selection of herbs and vegetables are what sent me there. A long time ago, Fiesta Farms was a reasonably-priced heavily Italian supermarket and I’d go to save money and find some good Italian choices. These days I can’t afford much of what they put on their shelves. It’s become elite. Long gone are the days of $2 locally made panettone. Anyway, I walked there and back, and that’s A Big Deal.
Intrigued by mini artichokes and some zucchini blossoms near the entrance. Didn’t buyKombucha choices aboundBeets as big as your headMany, many soups. One sounded good enough to imitate — beet and ginger. Will try it!The entrance to Fiesta FarmsAcross the road, the nursery version – Fiesta Gardens. Once my plant shop of choiceOn the bakery counter. Am I the only one who doesn’t love cannoli?The herbs and vegetables always look amazing and this trip I noticed almost everything was from Ontario or Canada. This will change when the cold weather hits and everything is US or Mexico. I can guarantee Mexico will be favoured. The boycott of US goods is everywhere. Feel bad for the farmers, though
Meanwhile, I’m walking in the neighbourhood again – it’s the easy option, and now that the weather will start to cool down, I will pick some other neighbourhoods to be dropped off in for some different vistas and a different vibe, no matter how subtle. Making that list.
On the way to Fiesta Farms, a lawn campaign poster bonanzaAre others aware of the French language schools in Canada? This one is a Catholic elementary
Vintage cars seem popularAn enormous and healthy silver birch tree a street just north of hereAt the Portuguese supermarket, I was interested to see how clean and sanitised the pig trotters are compared to Ridley Road Market in Hackney. These won’t offend anyone at first glance!I hope I can find some of these ‘lantern’ sprays for the apartment this autumnIn the Italian and Portuguese neighbourhoods – this one blends them – there are always vines set up wherever residents can fit them. This one in a front garden close byUtility (Bell) box art – everywhere. This one is close byAbout a block away, this very brief stretch of road is open to bicycles only and there’s a small picnic table, a bike station, and a solar panel
I want to walk “new” neighbourhoods. I’ve lived in Toronto enough to know that there aren’t many areas that are unfamiliar. So it’s mostly a revisit. Meanwhile, I went to Chinatown and to Little Portugal so I have had a bit of a change of scenery – the main goal, along with walking, which I’m trying to extend. I’d better start that list. Where first?
After a long break, I went for pho again. I need to try some new places. This is Xe Lua in ChinatownIn Little PortugalLittle Portugal intersection. We had a huge rainstorm that day and the skies are bleakAfter leaving St. Anne’s, spotted this familiar rooster in the heart of Little PortugalIn Little Portugal. Crab apples, anyone? WhoaWall art in Little Portugal
This week, the restaurant went on holiday. Everyone is gone for a couple of weeks. It’s quiet! We’ve been asked to water the plants while they’re away, and it sounds like we might get a meal in return. Finally!
Coming in from a walk. The tables are gone and the chairs are housing plants for now
There’s been a fair amount of rain, and I’ve had appointments, so I’m trying to make the most of being at home. I started a program to combat my pre-diabetes and felt that, while I have a lot of diabetes knowledge from my teaching days, I needed a refresher-update. If I learn only one new thing a week, I will consider it a good move. The provincial health insurance covers the program, so it’s free. There’s homework each week, followed by a one-hour Monday morning touch-in about challenges and triumphs and a place to ask questions. Chief takeaways so far – An overnight fast of 12 hours (max 16) is recommended (and I’ve noticed I feel healthier in the morning now, so triumph.) Snacking means insulin is pushed into the system, so I have been doing that less often. This week was about exercise. This will be a tough one but if I can walk 20 minutes a day, especially during ‘fasting’ times it could make a difference. If you’re in Ontario, BC or Alberta, look here.
Not just walking. Also getting some sewing in and, looking at my latest, considering a new dollWondering about the Old Man? He was spotted in his now-flourishing garden, squatting with some support. Envious of that! My knees definitely won’t let meThe back patio is all packed up for the season. I’m a bit sad, especially if we get a meal – I’d have liked to have had that backyard woodfire smoked version of things
These are my everyday hours. Nothing to shout about but real. Now to decide what to do next. My work hours continue to drop, and that isn’t going to change any day soon, if ever. On my list, anyway – a couple of medical appointments (stop, already!), a visit to a different neighbourhood but also doing a bit of street art photography in Little Portugal – I simply couldn’t cover the whole area, two out-of-the-way eating places, a new doll – meaning a visit back to the fabric recycling place or a thift store or two, a visit to a historical site I haven’t been before – need to figure that one out soon since the next open day is coming up. Every day isn’t full of excitement, but I’m doing my best. I’d just love a companion for some of it. Seeking a foodie and a flaneur friend. You in?
Women’s College Hospital has a Transition (After Cancer Treatment) Clinic and that’s where I was headed. This date was stamped in my memory as where I’d get answers, six months after my last mammogram in February and about nine months after my last oncology clinic visit. I’m not exactly sure why some people report having their follow-ups (including routine scans) every three months, but at my hospital group it’s every six months and no routine tests other than the yearly mammogram.
Anyway, I was looking forward to this visit and, all in all, I was happy with it. Yay.
I got there a little early and went in right away. A nurse practitioner saw me for most of the time I was there, during about forty minutes of questions from both of us – duly recorded and answered. No stone left unturned. Another yay.
The doctor came in briefly – Carol Townsley. I liked her for the ten or fifteen minutes she was there.
Takeaways – I’ll have an X-Ray for my hip and thigh pain; Go ahead with my ultrasound (ordered by my doctor’s office) for the lower abdominal pain; Repeat the bone density scan to see what therapy I might need to avoid osteoporosis (my hormone blockers and cancer treatments weaken bones); Get some bloodwork to check in on my Potassium and Ferritin levels. It’s not a lot, yet a lot. I chose not to do the lab work and X-Ray that same day – because it’s a lot.
So far so good. Another mammogram in February, followed by another check-up at this same clinic. The doctor told me that any time I had concerns or questions, to call in and she’d meet with me by phone. I looked forward to this visit and was happy with it. Almost every cancer survivor you might meet will tell you that after treatment with its intense and regular scrutiny, it’s normal to feel at sea and scared. It’s a long stretch of six months now, but I don’t feel abandoned and that’s a good thing.
Who I am now. Or is it? I have to say I love how the beauty feature on edit ignores my after-cataract-surgery eye bags, and that angles help. This is not a deflection but the whole truth. The long curls are gone (not missing them, surprisingly), and the boobs are a whole other story; my inner thoughts aren’t very different. I’m still me.
