Not much yet so much

Sunday, 10 May, 2026

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I have so many photos and so little to say, really. Yet I always manage to say a lot. A friend told me I might say too much – well, that’s a bit of misquote, but it refers to my entire family’s predilection for stream of consciousness speaking and, in my case, writing. Ho hum.  Should I apologise? Not really, but I will say that, for my cancer journey, especially, I am writing as much for myself and my recovery and survivorship as to entertain or educate. It’s just one reason I kept it separate. I am very conscious of my habit of speaking aloud what I’m doing or thinking. I don’t suppose I will change, but I do my best not to overdo it, and I acknowledge this every day. For those who read me, or listen to me, sorry not sorry applies. This is who I am.

Shopping for tulips. Proof (to me, at least) that I do get out
No, I didn’t hop. Want to, though

We have a friend. He was Krish’s closest friend in high school and we still see him a few times a year. He’s a quiet soul but with definite opinions. He’s also gay. This has been a curiosity for Krish, who asks, was he always? Yes, I say. Hmm. I love that his partner is his opposite. Not loud, but vocal, doesn’t care much what you think of him or his lifestyle. It’s an interesting dynamic.  Yesterday we went to his birthday dinner at his chosen restaurant. Krish and I don’t like the food, but I said it was about the birthday boy, not us. WheelTrans picked us up an hour late, and we raced (can I even do that?) in, then needed to leave before the cake had appeared. Damn. The only straight people there, this time we found someone to chat to. Interesting guy. Maybe we can meet again.

Working at Field Trip
My feta, zaatar and spinach scone with a macchiato at Field Trip. For those carb-shunners who read my blog, it’s worth the walk. One of my favourite spots for coffee in the neighbourhood

I lived in San Francisco in 1969, and my best friends were a bunch of gay men who lived next to us. We shared a back porch, and we crossed it at will. Chats, communal dinners, even sleepovers were common.  It was a good city to be gay. Toronto in the early 70s was that place too. There was no overtly gay village, but it did exist more loosely in its current location. My husband’s boss owned a gay nightclub in the area, and we often went to support them. We even helped with the food table they’d put out as part of admission. They infamously used dog food for pate – I’m serious. I’d dish it out.  In those days, I loved the cabaret. Now I can’t be bothered with it. We made many friends, some infamous, some famous, and we lost them. My family reads my blog, so I’ll be discreet and say we also lost a family member whose gender would now be considered pansexual. Did we know that? I know I did, but then my life experience helped. Other people in my life helped me get there. I’ll leave their stories out for now. Anyway, no time for photos of Toronto’s gay village this time, but I’ll be back there in early June to catch up.

Yes, please
So excited to see things starting to bloom. Soon it will be overgrown like winter never happened
Genius at work in the bus shelter

There’s news. The Old Man is alive! We both saw him, or what we thought and hoped was him, walking to the bus stop with a cane. No WheelTrans for him! We kept looking out the back window, and still the garden remained untouched. I told Krish that Torontonians often don’t plant until what’s called the May Two-Four weekend (so called because it’s the date around which the holiday falls and the Canadian slang for a case of twenty-four beers (a “two-four”) the most popular drink for the weekend, and to take to cottage country (more about that in a minute). Before that, frost is a deterrent. People plant seedlings to take out once the danger has passed, or they buy small pots of vegetables and herbs to start their own gardens (again). But they’re usually preparing their gardens before that – tilling, filling in the soil, planning out their patches. We had seen nothing. This week, that changed. Someone was out there turning the soil and then sowing seeds. Certainly not the Old Man judging by their energy, but perhaps a child or a friend. We hope he’ll be out there himself when the work isn’t so heavy and we look forward to following our own personal next-door drama.

Sowing seeds next door. Not the Old Man

Meanwhile, they are hard at work getting the restaurant patio ready for the summer season, which will begin in June. Yesterday, on our way in from the birthday dinner, I could see right into the restaurant. I normally pass it in the day and it’s not really visible. I was surprised at how modern and sophisticated it looks in there. The back garden patio is another story. It’s what Krish calls Muskoka style. For the uninitiated, Muskoka is north of Toronto in an area people here call cottage country, where people have summer cottages near the lakes and park forests. In the restaurant’s backyard, there are plants, wood chips, wood stoves, fire logs, and the like. If you’ve been to cottage country, it’s logical. There are no lakes, but there will certainly be mosquitoes.

Pots and wood ready for the summer

The chef-owner, Justin, is from Actinolite, hence the name of his restaurant. Actinolite is not Muskoka County. It’s considerably south of there. Actinolite can sound romantic if you only know the restaurant, but it’s named after the form of asbestos that was mined in the area. Ouch.

The staff, mostly Justin, is getting the side and back of the restaurant ready for summer. There are planters and the herb gardens that border the seating area are growing. The most favoured herb is lovage. It began sprouting about a week ago and has grown so quickly that it shocked me. We’re invited to pick any herb we want, and we used a lot of lovage during our last stay here. It tastes like celery leaves but without the bitterness.

Midway preparations for the back patio
Lovage on 4 May
Lovage on 10 May. This much growth in less than a week!
Justin filling the planters at the side. It was like a meditation
Industry downstairs. A steady pounding of something on the left, like cracking open nuts. On the right, a good fire and earnest conversation

Today is Mothers Day here, and I’ll meet my son, Robin, at the Waterworks, which is a food hall in his general area, in Toronto’s Fashion District where once all the tailors could be found. I’ll add photos. Our meeting is not about Mothers Day, but just because. When I told my autistic son I wasn’t sure where to meet because everywhere would be busy today, his response was ‘Why will it be busy?’ I’m used to it.

(Later) My visit with my son was great. We went to Waterworks, a lovely building, which I thought I’d documented before and need to look at more closely again before saying more. My lunch was dreadful, but who cares? (What I do care about is not having taken a photo of us together.) The day exhausted me – I did a lot more than I thought I could. That’s a good thing. So is mother and son time.

Waterworks Food Hall, Brant Street, Toronto. We once rented a condo that overlooked this building before it was refurbished. Loved that condo!
How the food hall looks when you first enter. It’s airy and not overcrowded. A nice change from mall food halls
Looking towards Spadina Avenue from Waterworks. This is the Fashion District of Toronto

Friday Photos:

The front – 8 May. April and May have been very rainy. Just a little more sun and everything will bloom
The oak tree – 8 May – Finally leaves
The side – 8 May, Not yet transformed
The back – 8 May. Not the Old Man

Cusp of the Season

Saturday, 22 November, 2025

Ordinary days. On the 7th I finished my rehab sessions. 90 minutes of education followed by 60 of gym work. The group had started out feeling like it couldn’t gel, but week by week it did happen. There were always the odd ones, the fussy ones, the bewildered ones, the ones who bounded in like this was a heavy-duty gym experience and ate lettuce and raw almonds like it was their religion.  What’s said in group stays in group. By the end, we were pretty much a team. One of the younger ones arrived with a QR code to scan and join WhatsApp so we could ‘keep ourselves accountable.’ Not so bad then. We exercised and had the most fun warming up to Blue Jays fan songs, willing ‘our team’ to win. They didn’t in the end, but it was quite a ride. I won’t get into it. It sucked to lose. There’s always next year.  For a while, though, Toronto was buoyant. If you lived here and felt the animosity from the USA, this was a big deal.

Then we got an early taste of winter.

They were right. Out came the winter boots and coats. Here we go then. It lasted a few days, about two and a half days longer than I expected.

The first day it snowed, there was enough to shovel.

And then it was like it never happened

When it was almost clear, I had to go to an appointment at Wellesley near Church. This area is now called the (Gay) Village. It’s always weird for me since it’s not always been so chic. Back in the day I’m sure there were gay residents — their biggest stores, bars and other haunts were around there – but there were also the young straight crowd, the  hippies. Along these roads they lived together in crowded and awful conditions, shooting up drugs and not coming out for days. There’d be sprays of blood on the walls, garbage on the floors. No one cared as long as they were high. Does this still happen now? Today it’s cleaned-up facades and rainbows, trendy restaurants and boutiques. Everything changes.

I was there to renew my WheelTrans pass. This is Toronto’s public transit alternative to public transport. I got it because I was in treatment and going back and forth while in a vulnerable position. No one really wants to need it but it opened up my life and I feel sure I’d have stayed housebound without it. I’ve seen a lot of the city too, the back streets.  Somtimes I doin’t have a clue where I am, the buses and cabs zigzag around in sometimes illogical patterns and then I look up and notice something familiar and reorient. There have been some crazy journies but I’ll skip talking about these for now. (PS I was accepted for another year when I hope to be well enough to actually have adventures.)

One of the perks of the transport is going places I might not have elected to travel to or, if I had, would have been an onerous journey.  On the last day of my rehab, I was invited to a get-together for the women I used to teach with. Some of them I’d known since the early 80s. Then we were together, with only a few missing faces, as if we had never been apart. There was a lunch that was mostly breads and a bunch of cheese, but the company was warm. We sat in the friend’s house and enjoyed each other’s company and her amazing living area, full of comfy couches and a view of the trees at the back. Envious, moi?

Suddenly raalising where I was after seeing this hippy bus near Trinity-Bellwoods Park

I went back to making dolls. My brother called this a Janice doll. I certainly didn’t mean to do that.

At least if it’s a Janice doll, she has hair

I really need supplies, though. I try to make my dolls from recycled materials and give-aways. After another rehab appointment on Friday, I went to look at a few fabric stores on Queen Street West. I did find a place that wasn’t too expensive, but I’ve been used to Ridley Road bargain bins and Stoke Newington remnants where the owner would ask me how much I wanted to pay for my handful of lace, ribbon, beading and colourful fabrics and never said no to what I offered. On Queen Street, I succumbed to buying two separate metres of lace – $9.00. Must find more donations in the neighbourhood or it’s the end of my sewing career.

Queen Street West has also changed. I took a few photos, though. I was there, after all.

I did my last Writing workshop (cancer-related) on Thursday and am not sure I learned much. Maybe. I also did my last art therapy workshop on Friday (also cancer-related, as most of my things are these days). I did learn from this one. My art group did gel pretty quickly. We were a mixed bunch but we’ll stay connected, I know it. Our final assignment was to look at common themes from all of our past works. This was my piece.

I learned that home was my common theme. Always with lots of windows, chimneys with evident smoke from fires, and although surrounded by trees and plants, most definitely urban. In this one the Gherkin and a bit of a botched attempt at the Tower of London are clearly there. This yellow brick road had no obstacles. A clear path home. The sky was blue, the sun was out and shining. A wish on paper.

Today I haven’t gone out. I made some noodle soup, mixed a little miso into the broth, cooked a perfect egg but forgot to marinate it, and added some marked-down tempura shrimp for that fancy touch. Winter comfort on the horizon.

Toronto Old Town

Saturday, 29 July, 2023

It’s nice when there’s a not-so-hot day in Toronto during the summer. Krish was off for his phototherapy and we said we would meet afterwards. This takes some discussion about where we will go, but we settled on King Street East without much of a plan other than Krish mentioning the amazing almond croissants that we’d had some years ago (it was closed that day – a Wednesday) a possible pizza place and perhaps go into Toronto’s First Post Office.

I started my journey and changed to the College streetcar. This is now familiar to me. I love the Alice mural and I had a bit of  a wait – also becoming too familiar. There was a lovely smell of baking nearby and I wandered over to a small bakery – Janelle’s and Southern Accent. The latter has meaning to me. The restaurant Southern Accent was undoubtedly my very favourite in town. It was Cajun and Creole and the owner prided himself on having taken the staff down to New Orleans every year to make sure they knew what the food was supposed to taste like. Later in New Orleans myself I didn’t have any food like it, but then I couldn’t get Cajun food so I won’t know how alike they might have been. Southern Accent had a lovely vibe – dark with coloured lights over the bar, cosy with two floors and some nice private alcoves with curtains to draw, with a Zydeco backing track. The server would come and explain the dishes, help you choose, and then bring them to you, always smiling. And it was delicious. Like most places, it fell on harder times, the menu shifted a bit and then the street was redeveloped. They moved, but never made a real success in their new spot. Portions had become smaller, more expensive, and the vibe just wasn’t there – none of it.

However, Janelle was pleased I was buying the spices. I asked her why Southern Accent. She said that they had been her neighbours, hadn’t survived the pandemic, but had befriended her. Good thing too. Janelle was also pleased to hear me ask about her still-warm scones. ‘I’m known for my scones,’ she told me with that broad Toronto accent where the ‘o’ sounds are different. I vowed to go back, ate the scone at the streetcar stop until my ride showed up.

Each time I come to College and Ossington I see the Alice mural. It remains the best street art in the city for me. I want more like this
Scone and some blackening spice from Janelle’s

After meeting we started off at Queen Street. I wanted to take a look at the construction for the Ontario Line there. Things are fenced off and there are ‘guards’ around but no work was going on. This is going to take a long, long time to complete – estimate is 4.5 years but no one expects this to stick. It’s the latest transport controversy for Toronto, and there are many of them.

We also took a little detour into the Eaton Centre. Those flying geese overhead looked lovely but my photos just won’t capture the detail no matter how much I play with editing. It feels like this flock of sixty has been flying up there to who knows where for a very long time. Flightstop was installed in 1979 and was crafted by Canadian artist Michael Snow.

We don’t walk east that often. Yonge Street is the major divide in Toronto. Streets that run off from there are numbered at zero and there’s East and West. Like most cities there are people who love one side of town and those who love the other. I’m a West person in Toronto (East in London, but you knew that). But this time we headed east to see what we could see.

Love a ghost sign. I looked it up and Loew’s was a theatre chain back in the early 1900s. This sign  at Queen and Victoria, on the Elgin Theatre, had deteriorated but in 2022 it was restored to its original appearance
I was struck by the two spires so close together. At the front is the Metropolitan United Church (The Met, founded in 1818 as a small wooden chapel and now relocated here to open in 1872. It has a special recognition for its acceptance of all genders) and at the back St Michael’s Cathedral Basilica
Not sure how clear this is but the gate of the church is in the form of two stone churches
A close up example of facadism in the making. The piece of building at the front is the old Richard Bigley building staying up at what will be Richard Bigley Lofts. I wonder what Richard, who sold the Happy Thought line of stoves (“‘Grate’ Happiness at Home” promised an 1885 ad in the Globe newspaper)

I asked Krish if he thought there was more construction going on in London or here in Toronto. He thought Toronto probably had. Anyone know? We were looking at a pizza place but it wasn’t open yet, the sun was shining down at full force now and we just moved along.
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The Danforth – Greektown, Toronto

Monday, 3 July, 2023

Many years ago I crossed the bridge over the Don Valley Parkway to see what was there. Bloor Street becomes Danforth Avenue here and everyone calls it The Danforth. At the very start of Danforth Avenue I saw a Greek restaurant and in I went. What I remember was that I was the only woman in there. There were groups of men sitting with coffees and smoking (that’s how long ago it was, smoking…). I hadn’t much of a clue about Greek food so I asked the server what I should order. He led me into a small kitchen and started to tell me what was simmering in each pot. I loved this experience and didn’t have it again until I went to Porto a dozen years ago or so. It was just as thrilling then.

I remember I chose a lamb stew with artichokes and lemon. I also ordered a Greek salad (sounds like a lot of food now, but I was keen to try things) which arrived as juicy red tomatoes, red onion, cucumber, black olives, and topped with fresh feta cheese and an oregano dressing. No Greek meal I’ve had since then has measured up or even pleased me, although years later I found a place near College and Yonge Street who grilled calamari perfectly. So yes, this blog starts and ends with food.

I don’t really remember walking along the Danforth much after that. It got the name Greektown for the people who lived there. This was once the biggest Greektown in North America, and although the Greek population and Greek-run business have declined, people of Greek descent are still the largest ethnic group here. The Greater Toronto Area (GTA) boasts about 2% of its total population are Greek, the highest concentration in Canada. If you’ve seen the original My Big Fat Greek Wedding, you’ll have seen the neighbourhood masquerading as Chicago’s Greektown.

What I remember for the most part about the area is the Playter Estate where my sister shared a tiny apartment while still in art college (grand houses), a lovely fancy grocery store that I couldn’t find on this new visit, and a very popular little mall with a good health food store called Carrot Common that I didn’t visit this time either. I’ve been along this street a bit, but it’s never been an area that I was desperate to visit. Here it was 2023 and it felt like it was time to go back and see what changes there were.

I didn’t see any reference to why Danforth Avenue is known as The Danforth, so fill me in if you know. I did find out that it’s named after Asa Danforth Jr., who was originally commissioned to build a route that headed east from Scarborough towards Trenton in the 1850s. At first it was known as  Danforth’s Road and was well used until nearby  Kingston Road became the more popular passage between Toronto and destinations to the east. 

We got out at Chester Station and walked over to the main street. It’s an easy journey just one train all the way from the bottom of our city block right across Bloor Street until it becomes the Danforth. The subway line is called the Bloor-Danforth Line and stretches from west to east right across metro Toronto.

I had two goals – to find the grocery store and to find some grilled calamari that was as good as that College Street version. Food! Greektown is about food, it’s true for most people. As usual, I set my goal low knowing that it would be warm and it would be more walking than I could easily manage. I hoped there were benches.

We arrived at Chester Station, ready to explore
The Danforth looked bright and clean. It felt like a bit of a treat to be walking along this obviously more well-heeled area
Although I didn’t find my fancy grocery store, I did find Rowe Farms so we browsed and came out with nothing
These butchery displays always remind me of Spain. In Rowe Farms

Does the area look Greek? Well, some of it does, I suppose. But then I’ve never been to Greece. A Greek friend who saw the street sign photo was very puzzled. ‘Why,’ she said, ‘it says Logan Avenue in Greek. Why? Where is this?’ So I needed to explain that this was common in Toronto – for street signs in ethnic areas to be displayed in both languages.

My first glimpse of anything European didn’t look Greek at all but this Italianate bell tower a short distance away. It surprised me

The area on and around Logan Avenue has luxurious views. At the Danforth it starts at Alexander the Great Parkette with its ATG statue and fountain, columns and flowers. Built in 1994 it’s considered to epitomise ‘the local flavour’. The streets then branch northwards into the Playter Estates, an area to consider for a cooler day’s stroll.

Street sign in English and Greek
This vista was somewhat breathtaking to me, really. I wished I had the leg power to walk down the entire street. Green, sumptuous and I suppose wealthy
Another view of the same street. The first one must be very small in your view

We kept walking along the street and met some construction. Roadworks are plaguing Toronto and creating many transit diversions, but the Danforth has a subway and no bus so it’s a bit less of a bother. We got closer to the Italianate church and visited the faithful Dollarama, window shopping along the way. We were finally getting hungry, but hadn’t seen anything that beckoned us in.

Sign across the road right where the construction was. The street hosts the Taste of the Danforth each year in mid August. Traffic will be halted and the street will be full of Greek food and celebration

The most impressive building is definitely the church whose bell tower I had spotted earlier. It’s a Catholic church called Holy Name, established on September 11, 1913. In August 1914, construction of a proper church began only to be interrupted when, that same month, World War I was declared. They could do no more than lay the great cornerstone on November 14. Services were held in the basement, the only completed part of the building, until in 1921 a hall was built, then in March 1926 the main church was finally finished and opened. Today the church conducts services for the African Catholic community along with its other services.

A bit annoyed that I didn’t take more photos Holy Name church (the one with the bell tower). It was quite majestic.

Billboards along the street

I’d done some research into where you could get good grilled calamari and nothing had looked like it could promise more. So we retraced our steps when the way ahead seemed to thin out from interesting shops and sights. At first we went into a place just to see what they might offer but it felt too formal and fancy, so we went to the place I’d read about. No room on the patio so we went inside. If a place can be judged by how busy it was, this would be OK or better.

The busy patio where we ate lunch. It was more casual here
Dips as a starter. Taramasalata, hummus, tzatziki, baba ganouj
Grilled calamari with onions and a lemon wedge
The lamb chop with more tzatziki

OK. So the review. The dips were OK, and the pita was pita. Compared to our dips at the Paramount, the dish fell short. As soon as the calamari arrived, I knew I’d be disappointed. There was no charring. This looked bland and tasted that way too. It seems fresh onions or leeks were normal with this dish. We ate it because it was in front of us. No more than that. My favourite lamb chop recipe is a Greek Canadian one from Toronto chef Christine Cushing. I’d replicated it in the land of cheaper Lamb (UK) and it was always perfect – thanks, Christine for the video lesson. This chop wasn’t as good as the one I’ve made myself, so although it was nice to have it, I always prefer when I buy something better than I can do myself at home. So this meal gets a 4/10. Sorry! (Yeah, I’m a harsh critic but it’s my money after all.)

We walked a little bit after our meal, over to Broadview Avenue at the beginning of the Danforth. We considered ice cream, rejected it, admired Danforth Church from afar, and were ready to go. My legs were done, and so was our visit to the Danforth.

This impressive building is Danforth Church, known for its inclusivity and very active community involvement

 

New neighbourhood – new beginning

Saturday, 10 June, 2023

I have a feeling all the time like I’m forgetting to do something. This is what comes of having little to no routine.

Packing up to leave Parkdale was a big job. We’ve accumulated stuff, way too much in my opinion. I wanted so much to just leave it there, but of course it had to come. We did manage, however, to sell our coffee table. It might have been handy in the new place but it was also large and just one more heavy thing to move. As it was, it took three days, three trips to get everything over here. Maybe it could have been done in less but the truth is we didn’t have enough packing bags or boxes so each time things arrived here everything was emptied out and the bags and boxes went back for repacking.

Our biggest fear was to transport any bugs with us. We bought a large heating box and everything we owned that could go, went into that box to make sure we were OK. It took up a lot of floor space but it just had to be done.

Moving confusion as usual with the dreaded box taking up a lot of living room floor
Top left yellow circle is us, Robin to the right, pink

When the owner met us and showed us upstairs I was surprised by how nice and large it was. The photos didn’t show it well, and mine haven’t improved on them much. As Krish put it many times afterwards, this is a very grown up space. Adults live here. There’s a large open plan living room with a big kitchen space and a huge centre island for food preparation and the stove. There are two bedrooms, one we are using to store our things. And there are cupboards. Everywhere. Every room has a ton of storage space. In the living area, the cupboard space holds a microwave, laundry area with washer and dryer, a cleaning supply area, and a pantry – all floor to ceiling. I’ve never seen so much storage space and I’m enjoying that.

The living room – never looks as spacious in a photo. Here we’ve already started to make ourselves at home (euphimism)
The kitchen with its massive island
The massive kitchen island overlooking the living room

We are above a restaurant called Actinolite – it’s open four days a week for dinner and it’s all chef’s choice tasting plates. The people who own this aoartment own the restaurant too and they lived here before they bought a house in this neighbourhood, better suited to their two young sons. Downstairs beside the restaurant patio is a herb garden where we can help ourselves. The biggest crop is lovage and we’ve had quite a bit of it.

Walking towards Actinolite, the space on the right hand corner
Outside the restaurant side entrance, some sour dough loaves cooling

Before we moved here, I was a bit worried about how I’d handle being in this neighbourhood. There are four supermarkets but all are a good walk and none are handy by bus either. When we first arrived, though, I discovered that there is a small collection of shops five minutes away to the west – no fresh food really but two bakeries, one restaurant, and a pharmacy.

A strip of new townhouses on our way along Hallam to the little shops. It’s very residential here over by the school

Sometimes quiet but also with some busier times – weekends – Dovercourt and Hallam is nice to walk over to. The Portuguese bakery, Progress, is our regular spot, while across the road trendier Santana has the best pasteis de nata we’ve had in Toronto

In a garage area behind Dovercourt, someone is a collector

The streets can be very pretty. It continues to surprise me that many of the houses are the same vintage as Hackney houses, yet look so very different. If I walk east there’s a coffee shop quite nearby. Amazingly, I haven’t checked it out yet but really should.  If we walk 15 to 20 minutes we are at the Meghan and Harry love nest, as I call it. I keep meaning to do that trek but who knows if it will happen. After a few months of quite a nice reprieve from knee pain, it is back. Not as bad as before, but enough to slow me down and cry out for more frequent stops on streets that have nowhere to rest.

The prize winner house on Shaw Street (one small street west). A true Greek paradise. There’s a story here

Continue reading “New neighbourhood – new beginning”