Uncategorized – Page 2 – slightly weird

9th August 2026

Ticking the ennui boxes

Sunday, 26 July, 2026 to
Sunday, 9 August, 2026

This blog is going to span a bunch of days with not much going on, but photos were being stubborn and I wasn’t able to upload all of a sudden. Life!

This coming Tuesday is my son’s birthday. Robin will be 46, and that’s surprising. Somehow. He was born on a day with record rainfall. We couldn’t see across the road; the rain was so heavy, and the air seemed green. When I was teaching childbirth preparation to couples and later to teachers, I learned about a study where older women were interviewed about their children’s births. Interestingly, even decades later and with other memories getting fainter, these women were able to tell the stories of the labour and birth of each child. Astonishing, but that’s how strong an impact. However, I won’t use this space to describe mine beyond saying it was a bit complicated, I was too isolated, and I was completely overwhelmed by the fact that I was doing this aided by what I saw as the legion of sisters who had gone before. Robin was tall, ‘almost all of it lungs,’ they told me, with a rather shocking head circumference. Still true, judging by every hat seller’s reaction. His fat red cheeks named him for me right then, minutes after birth.

I hope to see Robin on Monday. Last Monday I had lunch with teacher friends I’ve known for decades – they were keen, so was I. On Tuesday I had dinner with my niece – we were looking forward to it and sent texts back and forth. On Friday I had an appointment in one of the hospitals near Robin. We’d talked about meeting for a snack. All week there was silence. On Thursday, I took the plunge and sent a message.

Followed by more silence. Autism is interesting. Shall I take bets on whether tomorrow’s meeting happens? I do hope so. So far we’ve agreed on the time, more or less, but my question about where goes unanswered.

(Update) It happened. The visit lasted about 45 minutes. No surprises there. Success though.

My niece and I ate at my favourite downtown spot, Chef’s House, for the Summerlicious menu. First time I’ve had steak in a loooong time

Birthday lunch for himself. I found and made a recipe for sfoglietta frolla, then made a caprese salad. Nostalgia

Yesterday was my dad’s birthday. He would have been 101. He was the man everyone loved and admired. There’s a lot that I could say about him and, believe it or not, I am writing my life story. So I shall save it for there. (Will I ever get back to it?) I spent his last months with him, and it was both a privilege and an enormous challenge—meanwhile, a tribute on Facebook.

If anyone attributed to me even one of those things, I’d be very, very lucky. My mother would have been 102 next Sunday. When I was growing up, I thought her very bohemian, a liberal thinker. She’d gone to art school. It made me feel special among my friends, whose parents were far more traditional and usually a bit older. Looking back, I know she was a woman who knew her own mind, and this made some people bristle a bit, but I wouldn’t be the free thinker I am without that early influence. There are days I miss my parents in a very painful way. Thankful to have had them. I know too many people who have had terrible or absent parenting. I just hope that’s not what Robin will say of me one day.

Mum blowing bubbles with Robin. For his birthday this year I got him some new ones

Dad and me on the boat across to the Isle of Wight. 1948? I was a year old before I could walk

The garden next door is growing at a crazy rate. The same is true for the downstairs herb garden. The amount of rain and some very hot spells have made everything grow at quite a speed.

The restaurant herb garden is flourishing this year. It’s tough to get in there and pick anything, but I can’t resist – especially that purple basil

The growth in just weeks is phenomenal. We thought the garden would be minimal this year and now look

I went for a blood test one day. The lab I chose is on Bathurst Street. It’s a really good snapshot of how Toronto has and will continue to change. The street is named for Henry Bathurst who organised migration from the British Isles to Canada after the War of 1812. He never set foot in Canada. Bathurst starts at the lake and continues north, where it was once called Crookshank’s Lane (some lane!) its name till 1870. Somewhere to the north of me there’s an original (restored) tollkeeper’s cottage. I’ll add it to my list of places to see. The small area I walked along was originally just a muddy trail. Bloor Street (south of me) is one of Toronto’s major dividing streets (along with Yonge Street, which runs north and south). Along Bloor Street at Bathurst, many Jewish immigrants once lived, but there’s not really much sign of that now. The Jews moved much further north but many have clung to Bathurst even then. Later this was a Caribbean area, and that too has faded, although the bakery in the station concourse sells some of the best Jamaican beef patties. There are many different ethnic restaurants in the area now and some small stores. On a cooler day I can take more photos.

How things change from the Toronto I once knew. Bloor and Bathurst

The intersection before

Streetcar with manga cladding heading towards Bathurst subway station

It may not surprise you to know that most of my walks are food-themed. Along the way or at the journey’s end, there will be food. Sometimes it’s just window-shopping. My ride dropped me at a very fancy small supermarket, Summerhill Market, where I shopped with my eyes and claimed a free cookie, a perk for the newsletter subscribers. I now think I will go back and actually buy something, ready-made, superfluous to needs, and hopefully delicious.

On this stretch of Bathurst, south of Dupont and before you reach the subway station, things are bougie. Besides the fancy supermarket, there are gift shops and studios. The area up here is called Seaton Village. It’s where the Harry-Meghan love nest was. Definitely catering to the well-healed residents. This isn’t fancy-fancy Toronto, but it’s up there.

On Bathurst Street. I didn’t go in to help out. Is this a nod to the Caribbean past?

Old-style Toronto on Bathurst Street. Steven’s Grocery and Flowers, 990 Bathurst St

Summerhill Market on Bathurst Street is food porn, or at least eye candy. It reminds me of Spar, as do the prices

I miss the year-round selection of flowers that I could afford to buy weekly in London. Toronto florists have nothing like the same knack, and the prices scare me

Toronto hosted six FIFA World Cup games. Our stadium is small, but many loved it because it made it feel more old-style and intimate, with fans closer to the field. The city felt festive, and I wished I could attend the fan fests and celebrations. Many home fans visited their teams’ games, and since Toronto has so many immigrants, they lent their enthusiasm. It was sad to see it all end, but this has definitely been a boost to home-grown football.

They haven’t taken down the FIFA signs yet. This is in Chinatown

Random: Oddly, a police station has cropped up in the food court at the local mall. That’s a first!

A corner of the back patio on an off day

There’s a buzz downstairs with the restaurant patio booked solidly for outdoor dining. We’ve had some wacky weather where guests had to be shepherded indoors, but for the most part things are hopping and every day they’re open I enjoy cracking the bathroom window open to hear the chatter and smell the woodfire. Makes me wonder if I’ve ever shared their Instagram page for some gorgeous photos. ✨

Wellesley subway station, gateway to the (Gay) Village

I finally had my second cataract surgery. I knew what to expect this time but still found my anxiety mounting once I was in the operating room. On the other hand, healing has been easier. My eye isn’t even scratchy this time. I’ve also noticed this eye has clearer vision than the last. I shouldn’t be surprised, since it always was the stronger one, but it’s still strange. Something to ask the doctor at my check-up on Tuesday. And this feels like another chapter, a nice feeling. It’s done! Next, an eye exam for distance glasses – I’m not sure when.

I went to see a friend’s retirement building. I don’t quite know what to say. It’s incredible and if I can find my way to afford it, I’m definitely considering it. I now feel superstitious so will hold off further comments. I’m visiting her again this week so maybe then I will dare to say more.

August will be a busy month. I’m starting a lifestyle program. In fact, I’ve begun a lot of required preparation (like the bloodwork and some reading, even some diet changes). Group sessions start tomorrow (10 August), and I’ll fill you in. Tuesday is my eye check-up; next week is my oncology follow-up, and the following week my lymphoedema follow-up. It’s a hot summer now, and I’m taking things slowly when I can. I want my life to be more than a medical marathon!

Let’s do it!

15th June 2026

20-20

Monday, 15 June, 2026

On the subject of 20-20, I looked back at my first post of that year. I remember typing it. Lockdown hadn’t been announced yet, but there were quiet rumours of an epidemic that could become a pandemic. That didn’t sound possible at the time. Nevertheless, I had high hopes for the year. It was 20-20, perfect vision, after all. What could go wrong?

The concept of ‘home’ came to me again today. I am following a couple on social media. They are from the USA and left to find a different life last year – they’ve been in Mexico some years back, and recently the UK, Spain, Crete, and Holland. They want to live in the UK, but that’s not easy. They do have a three-year digital nomad visa to live in Spain so, after some stays in these other countries, they are in Valencia for their three years, still hoping for an entry way to the UK. Inevitably, they get a lot of comments – some hateful – from mostly US and UK followers asking what they can possibly see in the UK, how they are traitors who will regret their decision, and so on. People don’t get it. Somehow they think they should. Oh, I’ve been there. I am there.

So let’s talk about me. Because I’m trying. Really. What makes us love a place? Honestly, who knows? We can trot out all the reasons we love a place, or a person, but there will always be things we don’t love about them. After living in London, Toronto, Southern California (LA area), and San Francisco, and travelling a bit in Europe, I can say that there are things I love and don’t love about everywhere I’ve been. However, there are constants, the things that a place must have for me to love – or like – them at all. In my introspective way, I follow a handful of people from Canada and the US who have relocated to London, and an equal number of people who have moved from the UK to Toronto. Fascinating. The North Americans in London interest me with their mixed reports of falling in love versus pure confusion-frustration over the UK way of doing things. They report missing things from home, often junk food items that make me go ewww. But I get it. Now, the Brits living in Toronto are another breed. They’re starstruck. The skyscrapers, the summer (and winter) sunshine, the ‘nice factor.’ They love their sparkling condos, their mod cons. They’re young and stride around the city- they’re used to walking places – checking out all the boogie coffee shops and eateries. Toronto is next-level luxury to them. What I came to appreciate was that the things that impressed them were not the things I wanted. I get it. But it’s fun to watch them brim with joy in a Dollarama, gape at the produce in Farm Boy (and yes at the prices too). I keep hoping their enthusiasm will rub off, and try to see this place through (their) new eyes. I have a cousin whose middle name is Bitter. Yes, that one. She smirks at me and then gathers her bitterness, telling me that I wouldn’t love East London if I’d lived there as long as she had, if I’d endured the hard life she had no choice to live. Once when I was staying in Liverpool, my dad visited on business. He screwed up his nose and asked me how I could love being there when it was so poor, so dirty. I told him, honestly, that the things he saw as ugly were the things I loved. I couldn’t help it.

Am I wearing rose-coloured glasses? Am I romanticising? Does it matter? Is my cousin right? Honestly, I understand her history is longer, but no matter how you paint it, I honestly did and still love my childhood home even as I know I had my eyes open about how ‘poor’ it was. (We were never truly poor, but you may know what I mean.) Is the grass greener? There’s that, but it’s also different, and different can be a lot of fun.

Since I last wrote anything, there’s been a gap because last Tuesday I had my first cataract surgery and, since it makes some people squeamish but I want to document it, it follows on the next page.

Meanwhile, some photos to document what else I’ve been filling my time with.

At the corner of Dupont and Ossington are some large local Ontario stone boulders where people can sit. I looked but can’t find any explanation

Ever entertained by watching kitchen prep going on at the side of the house. It was a gorgeous day

After a failed attempt last year, when I bought the wrong size, put my Ikea duvet cover on the bed. It feels good.

Inside the Filosophy coffee shop, there’s a chalkboard which is fun to read

Iced matcha and a cheese and chive scone from Filosophy. So far Road Trip is the scone champion. Patio season!

Made a new doll to beat my ennui. Even managed to complete it with my recovering eye

Toronto is hosting six FIFA World Cup games. People are excited and it’s far more popular than my ‘roommate’ supposed it would be. Yesterday we passed the Fan Fest area.. This is all I could capture. ‘The World in a City’

Friday photo:

At the back, the Old Man’s helper is hard at work. Since this photo, there’s a new addition. Some poles have been erected near the fence. Things are growing

Continue reading “20-20”

29th May 2026

Explorations are new styleeee

Friday, 29 May, 2026

Yesterday I dug into my stored enthusiasm and energy to do a mini-explore. The plan was to check out a small neighbourhood, then pop into the supermarket, then on to my friend Judy’s place nearby for a coffee.

I have a memory of being south of King Street one day, driving. I rarely drive in the city so this is vague. Down there was what I thought was a hidden Toronto, a time portal, a place where nothing had changed. In my memory, this was several narrow streets with old but beautiful homes, and factories. Things have really changed down there, and I would often look for those streets, and they weren’t there. I thought maybe I’d imagined them, but more likely and sadly, they were gone, eaten up by developers and skyscrapers.

Then I heard about Draper Street. My brother visited it a couple of years ago with my niece. All I knew was that there were old homes, almost buried among the new buildings. I took a quick look on Google Maps, but not too closely. I wanted to see this in person. It took me until yesterday to do that.

If this is what I remember, then it’s a small part, but it’s there. There are 28 nineteenth-century row cottages, now protected on this Heritage site. Toronto bustles; the traffic is notoriously jammed and noisy, and skyscrapers are going up everywhere with no end in sight – commercial and residential. Draper Street is indeed that time portal, what’s left of it. This was a workers’ housing area when it was built between 1886-1889. The street itself was first noted on a map from 1883. I doubt the street looked then as it does today. Yesterday it was colourful, bathed in sunlight, green in the finally-Spring day, and dotted with flowers. I found a listing for one of the workers’ cottages – 1100-1500sq ft – which sold for about $2,000,000 Canadian – 1,448,090 USD, 1,077,250 UKP. I would have guessed much higher, based on condo prices, and perhaps it is by now.

Draper Street row cottages. You can just see the students who were visiting

Draper Park, built after two cottages were torn down. 2026 encroaches at the back. Dizzy, a plump orange and white cat, was a popular fixture on Draper Street. Now he is a permanent one in Draper Park

When I arrived, the street was empty. Then a school group arrived. Their teacher asked them, What do you notice about this street after what we’ve seen so far? It’s quiet, said one teen, and that was pretty much it. I hoped there would be more, but the class was doing a scavenger hunt where it was their job was not to collect objects but facts. They moved on. I followed for a short while to see what they’d be shown next, but then turned away as we were suddenly travelling back to 2026.

Wellington Street, a little old, a lot new

A tree-lined walkway along Wellington Street

Along Wellington Street, it’s clearly 2026 for the most part. This area was once a centre of industry. There’s not a lot left, although there’s more a short walk away in the Niagara district. I did spot the old Copp Clark building at 517 Wellington Street West.

Copp Clark was originally a newspaper publishing venture, lithography, printing, bookbinding and stationery shop of Mr. Hugh Scobie. He was an energetic, ambitious young Scotsman who founded the business that would become Canada’s oldest continuously running book publisher. Copp Clark now specialises in information targeted to the needs of businesses in the global financial markets. It’s now headquartered in Etobicoke, a suburb of Toronto.

West from here is Victoria Memorial Square Park by Lieutenant-Governor John Graves Simcoe. It’s a combination cemetery, park and memorial area. Before Toronto was a city, from 1794 to 1863 it was the burial place for Fort York (the Toronto Garrison) . In the 1880s the ground was levelled. Some of the surviving gravestones are kept here, and there’s a monument to the War of 1812 erected in 1902.

Salvaged gravestones and more scavenging teens

Down to Judy’s where it’s tall and modern. No energy to look around. We had coffee and cake and talked about this and that. This was our first home when we returned from London so it’s all familiar. Still, perhaps a little modern exploration is in the future.

Fleet Street, the streetcar stop for Judy’s. It’s all condos here until you cross to the housing Co-Op where I’d have coffee

Stadium Road. It’s the home of the historic Maple Leaf Stadium, now long gone. The Maple Leafs were Toronto’s baseball team (Now it’s the name of the hockey team). Babe Ruth was an early player, and his first ever home run was hit from here. Legend says it landed in the lake (Lake Ontario) at the bottom of the street

On the way back, there were lots of people on the street on Ossington Avenue (“The Strip). The weather was sunny and warm with no humidity. Torontonians go through long winters and cool Springs thinking of days like this

Back home. The restaurant has started setting out furniture on the side patio for the summer. On Wednesday, business will shift to the back

The lovage is growing so quickly. Time to pick more!

Getting the back patio ready for Wednesday. They’ve been sanding and varnishing natural wood planks and hanging and arranging flowers and plants

Why new style (styleeee, GenZ)? These days explorations are brief and not frequent. I know I’m stronger than I was and going further, but I’m not there yet. I’m doing what I can, when I can, and I hope it gets easier. In the meantime, I tell myself, You’re doing your best, Jan.

FRIDAY(ISH) PHOTOS (Life as it is) Scroll down if you’re an Old Man fan

There’s some advanced al fresco dining at the side now – end of May

From the back. The tarpaulin is up and there’s growth in the Old Man”s garden – end of May

Look who it is. Slowly but faithfully, things are getting done. The Old Man – end of May

11th May 202612th May 2026

Not much yet so much

Sunday, 10 May, 2026

(Admin: Live! is updated here)

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

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.

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.

So excited to see things starting to bloom. Soon it will be overgrown like winter never happened

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.

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.

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.

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

20th April 2026

My travel fantasies – now what?

Wednesday, 15 April, 2026

(My live feed is updated here. Now on with the present:

My travels these days are fantasies. I realised this while talking to my brother yesterday, when I discovered he was closer to Montreal than I was.

Gas prices though
But in my dreams we meet there and come to Toronto. However I am going to blog about that, my travel dreams that is
I’d love to visit Montreal. I’m sure I will, and it would be so much better if you guys were there too. I haven’t been there since 1967. There’s no reason why it can’t happen some time.
Pray for me!

Apparently, according to John, the archangel Raphael is the patron saint of travellers, mental health, healing, and eye afflictions. That covers me very nicely. When finding out that Raphael’s feast day is also John’s birthday, it’s a no-brainer.

It set me off, though. Not that I haven’t been thinking about this quite a bit lately. I miss travelling. As I get further away from my surgery and chemo, I fantasise about going somewhere.

Apart from London, there are three places that I know I’d love to see again. They don’t top many people’s fantasy travel destinations, but that’s OK. I mean, not being on the list means they aren’t crawling with noisy tourists. On the whole, I don’t worry all that much about tourists when I travel. The city’s top attractions are rarely on my own list. I like the neighbourhoods and back streets. I was famously gawped at when I said I had no desire to see the Empire State Building, Statue of Liberty or MOMA when I first visited New York. What kind of person am I? I’ve heard the derision – many times.

I’m very fond of dereliction, working-class neighbourhoods, and hole-in-the-wall, mom-and-pop restaurants. Forget the Michelin stars.

My favourite three places on earth: Torino, Budapest, and Porto. The amount of time I’ve spent in Torino means that in my dreams I’m walking the streets, knowing every turn (ha, I have an abysmal sense of direction and can’t read a map), and I’m showing my people what this place has to offer. I’m scouring the markets, cruising along the narrow backstreets, buying frito misto in a paper cone, discovering dragons and demons at every turn, and seeing their eyes widen as they go up to the top of the Mole. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve done these tours in my imagination.

The astonishing Mole Antonelliana, Torino

Our friend, il balon Our friend, The Torino Eye, on our way home
Choose what you want! A market seller motions in the farmers’ market

I’m strolling through the working-class neighbourhoods of Budapest, exploring the little ghetto streets, finding all the hidden spots for snacks. I’m wandering from Christmas market to Christmas market and soaking it all u. I’m sitting in the “sisters'” restaurant* on the steep Rua das Taipas, eating the amazing bolinhos de bacalhau and drinking vinho verde on tap. (*The place I’m not supposed to tell anyone about in case it becomes unapproachable.) I’m making my way through the hilly Maragaia neighbourhood, photographing the tiles, the crumbling houses, and the multiplicity of doors.

The truth is, these things may never happen again, at least not in the way I’m used to. I know that when I make my way to Contra Cafe, some 200m away, and collapse into a chair, congratulating myself on having made it this far. So silly. So tragic really if I let myself wallow. Such an easy way to test my sense of humour and gratitude. This is coming from someone who could walk for 5 or 6 hours and needed to learn how to travel and adapt rather than abandon travel completely. I want to do it again. Somehow.

There are places on my list that I don’t suppose I will ever get to now. I shall travel virtually to them all … Copenhagen, Rio, Mexico City, Morocco, Sicily, Krakow, Valencia, Bilbao, Belfast, Spit… and others. There are places I might make it to, with good fortune and health, like Boston. I’ve heard someone say it underwhelmed them, but I’ll judge for myself. I want to hope I will get back to London for any amount of time and would need to be super creative and develop a strong sense of willingness to let it go again. This will be the hardest.

Meanwhile, WheelTrans is taking me around to where I need to go. Nothing exciting, nothing that lights me up, but it’s out. I’ve planned a couple of things for when my brother visits, but aware that even they may be too ambitious for now. Denise told me that I am getting out for walks often, and I suppose it looks that way in others’ eyes, as seen in this blog. The truth is, my walks are very brief and often tied in with doctor or other vital appointments. I just try to do what I can manage, rarely overdoing it, and adjusting my expectations as I go along. I was born to explore and investigate, so this is the new version, the one that makes sense and is manageable.

Last week, I took the few hours between work shifts to get over to the discount optical store. I’ve been there before in 2019 when I decided I wanted contact lenses for Krish’s brother’s five-day Hindu wedding celebrations. They took a look and understood what I needed. Within minutes, they had found some frames that my lenses fit into, and I was sorted. Such a relief. How foolish I felt for not going there before. The TARDIS is in the shop, so I can’t go back and not have suffered through the last many weeks, but I’m so happy to have these glasses moving forward.

We lived in this neighbourhood, not so far from here, when we first landed in Toronto. I didn’t love it, but it’s familiar. I spent a little time in the health food store, buying some ground cumin and faro. Then I went across to the Salvation Army thrift store. They’ve changed the layout in there. So much nicer. I poked around a bit, leaving with just a pillowcase for Krish. After my appointment, I decided on some momos and a mango lassi for lunch. Too many momos and not my favourite food, but they sounded the most comforting. I’d have liked to have gone into the Korean spot, but it was inaccessible with my walker. No go. My ride came and spirited me home. I can see!

Mango lassi, chicken momos with turnip salad – lunch

One of my favourite murals in Toronto, by the opticians – at The Bee Shop – it sells honey and beeswax products. My photo doesn’t do it justice so if there’s a way to zoom in, please do or view it here

Another day, I was ambitious. I took the bus to the main street, Bloor. From there, I went to check out the Value Village, a very large chain thrift store, whose HQ store isn’t too far away. I wasn’t going to buy anything, but just scope out the offerings. I need to go back with more energy and time. I popped into the Paradise cafe for a cappuccino and a sadly rock-hard scone (dreaming of lighter ones with clotted cream and strawberry jam). Since I was last here, it must have changed hands. The ice cream freezer cabinet was gone, the selection of cake had diminished, and there wasn’t a sign of any bread for sale. I’d heard about a small art exhibition on Bloor Street, Gallery 1065, so I went in. The theme was On Time. I had two favourite pieces in there. One felt like it was from the pandemic, and the other was an imagined sundial made from found objects (including wooden bobbins, which got my eye right away). A perfect (for me) small room, easy to get into and around and then leave again. I have zero patience. or lately energy, for large galleries. I picked up a prescription before heading back to the station, and I was feeling very proud of myself for still having the power to get there. This was my biggest “day out” in ages.

Need to find the info on this. The numbers are random, and the pointer is filled with wooden bobbins. The artist uses found materials, just my style

Maker Bean Cafe. They run workshops. On my list

This church is converted into apartments. Will get closer photos when I can

Great toy aisle in Value Village’s basement

My final accomplishment this week was making lunch for my sister, Ruth, who’d asked me to make my “interesting salads” instead of giving her a birthday gift. Normally, the work would have taken a few hours, but these days I’m not up to it. I took all of Thursday and all morning Friday to put it together. Ruth and my niece, Suzanne, came over and ate. We chatted about this and that, and after they left, Krish and I relaxed and later ate some leftovers from the freezer. I did it!

Lunch for Ruth and Suzanne. From the top – tabouli made with quiona, raddichio with beet, goat cheese and thai basil, beans with olives, pesto, olive oil and lemon, spiced squash lentil soup, baba ganousy, crackers, pita, veggies – Chai and spiced pumpkin banana bread to follow

My travels have narrowed lately, but I need them. I won’t say my heart isn’t broken at the thought that I may not see my favourite places again, or any new ones, but I have to live with my new reality. I’ll plan some short excursions with WheelTrans. Onwards!

Friday photos (April 17):