Are We There Yet?

When I was little, my parents occasionally took the family for a trip to see relatives, who lived about 4 hours away. I was good for about an hour of the trip, after which time I pestered them endlessly about when we would arrive. Flash foward several decades and a pandemic later, and I find myself once again inpatiently asking if we’re there yet.

According to just about everyone, the pandemic has yet to peak in North America.  Canadians have the dubious honour of sharing the longest undefended border with a country which now has the most cases of Co-Vid 19, and whose leader is a moron who makes his highly respected medical expert do face-palms at press conferences.  And, if that’s not bad enough, we are seeing snowbirds (Canadians who go south in the winter) return en masse, possibly bringing co-vid 19 with them.

The first casualty in the co-vid 19 pandemic was toilet paper, followed by paper towels, followed by hand sanitizer, followed by flour, followed by pasta, and most recently, frozen veggies.  (Those with freezers emptied out the meat counter, so I assume that we won’t see them again for some time, unless they need more t.p. )  As someone educated in psychology and whose career was in the field for some 20 years, I find human behaviour fascinating, particularly when the instinct for survival kicks in.  And God knows we need an abundance of toilet paper to survive–apparently more than we need food. (Personally, I like using wet wipes; they’re cleaner, and while everyone was running around looking for t.p. I stealthily stocked up on Pampers wet wipes, my favourite.)

Right now I have a freezer full of food, a pantry full of canned good and pasta, a nice stockpile of wet wipes, and enough wine, beer, and “99” (Canadian Irish cream; it’s delish) to last me at least a month (well, maybe not the booze; I might need to restock that sooner.)

In the meantime, stay safe everyone.  And may your dreams (and supermarkets) be filled with toilet paper.









Happy Holidays

It’s been awhile.

One day I’m lamenting the end of summer, and the next I’m drinking egg nog and decorating for Christmas. Where does the time go.

It’s been busy around the complex.  In November, we lost most of our hot water, then lost heat, then a continuation of tepid water–and throughout it all I was on management’s tail to fix it.  After a month I got fed up and asked for a meeting with the Property Manager and Regional Manager.  Long story short, they figured out what caused the hot water shortage, fixed it, figured out what caused the loss of heat, fixed it, and promised to improve their communication system (but I won’t hold my breath; we don’t have a building superintendent, per se, who usually runs point on that kind of thing.)

In any event, I am now enjoying hot showers and have put my space heater away.

Just wanted to pop in and wish everyone a very happy holiday and all the best in 2020.


Til Next Year

A friend and I decided to take a trip to Port Stanley today, the last day of summer, to enjoy the sun, sand, and surf one more time. It was gloriously warm and the water was inviting. We had a bite at GT’s On The Beach before taking one last walk around the pier and heading back to London.  It always makes me feel kind of melancholy to see the summer end.

Bye Summer, until next year.


Port Stanley sunset.



Buddy, 2003–2019


Buddy with his treatball

I love this poem by Jimmy Stuart, written after the loss of his dog, Beau.  In paying homage to Buddy, I couldn’t write anything better.

He never came to me when I would call
Unless I had a tennis ball,
Or he felt like it,
But mostly he didn’t come at all.

When he was young
He never learned to heel
Or sit or stay,
He did things his way.

On the evening walks, and Gloria took him,
He was always first out the door.
The Old One and I brought up the rear
Because our bones were sore.

He would charge up the street with Mom hanging on,
What a beautiful pair they were!
And if it was still light and the tourists were out,
They created a bit of a stir.

But every once in a while, he would stop in his tracks
And with a frown on his face look around.
It was just to make sure that the Old One was there
And would follow him where he was bound.

We are early-to-bedders at our house-
I guess I’m the first to retire.
And as I’d leave the room he’d look at me
And get up from his place by the fire.

He knew where the tennis balls were upstairs,
And I’d give him one for a while.
He would push it under the bed with his nose
And I’d fish it out with a smile.

And before very long
He’d tire of the ball
And be asleep in his corner
In no time at all.

And there were nights when I’d feel him
Climb upon our bed
And lie between us,
And I’d pat his head.

And there were nights when I’d feel this stare
And I’d wake up and he’d be sitting there
And I reach out my hand and stroke his hair.

And sometimes I’d feel him sigh
and I think I know the reason why.
He would wake up at night
And he would have this fear
Of the dark, of life, of lots of things,
And he’d be glad to have me near.

And now he’s dead.

And there are nights when I think I feel him
Climb upon our bed and lie between us,
And I pat his head.
And there are nights when I think
I feel that stare
And I reach out my hand to stroke his hair,
But he’s not there.

Oh, how I wish that wasn’t so,
I’ll always love a dog named Beau.

~Jimmy Stewart

Going To Oz

Canadians know that when it’s been hot and humid for days, a tornado is probably in our future.  Sometimes we dodge it, sometimes we don’t. This was one of those times that we didn’t. A couple of days ago, Alberta had a nasty one touch down in a farming community near its southern edge.  (Miraculously, a dog that was scooped up as the tornado passed managed to land somewhere safely, and find her way home.) On the same day London, Ontario had its flirt with disaster. The photos below show the beast as it rolled in around 1:00 in the afternoon.   Some people said it looked like the mothership in Independence Day, and I kind of think so too.


Tornatic funnel cloud,  July 19, 2019. (Image courtesy of Michael Wismer)



Tornadic funnel cloud, July 19, 2019. (Image courtesy of Ontario

When the warning came over my cell phone I went outside on the terrace to have a look.  Tornado clouds are scary-looking things and it didn’t take me long to boot it back inside. I left Clancy and Buddy sound asleep in the apartment and took the stairs to the lobby to see several residents standing at the building’s entrance, looking skyward. A few moments later, the word came that it was moving east and more or less missed us–but not before a lightening bolt struck a tree in the south end, felling the tree and sending wood schrapnel flying in every direction. A near-miss for us, but not for the tree.