How to avoid being crabby on a rainy autumn night:
The Sweetie’s lovely and talented sister is visiting from Victoria which gave me the perfect excuse to yet again drag The Long Suffering Sweetie to Aberfoyle Antique market. Knowing that his sister is a fellow treasure hunter, I could pretend that I was suggesting a Sunday excursion for her benefit. It isn’t that The Sweetie is adverse to antique markets, he is a patient and curious Sweetie after all, but each trip has filled him with a mounting fear that our house will be overrun with clutter. He dreams of one day having a stark, minimalist home, and every ridiculous bird creamer and Santa snow globe I discover takes him further and further away from his zen fantasies. I can see him visibly cringing when I am fondling salt and pepper shakers shaped like corn cobs or cooing over rusty bird cages.
Luckily for me, The Sweetie is an indulgent brother, and his sister and I had a wonderful time exploring the stalls and finding beads and baubles for future jewellery making projects.
After many hours of hunting, our hands dusty from rummaging through piles of trinkets, we had a lovely picnic to replenish ourselves.
Sunshine, treasures and loved ones make a perfect summer Sunday.
I’m still savouring the past weekend. It is impossible to go wrong with a summer’s weekend, even ones that are sprinkled with rain.
Friday was a gorgeous night when the temperature felt just right on the skin. Cool but not cold, just soft and pleasant, perfect for sitting on a backyard patio with grapevines overhead. We had a roti-off with friends who have been singing the praises of Bacchus roti, while we were more partial to Vena and Gandhi. Not all of the contenders were represented but we had a mini roti-off between Bacchus and Gandhi, unveiled in all their roti glory from behind a homemade curtain to heighten the drama of it all. So far, Bacchus is in the lead for best roti in Toronto. It will be hard to compete with their mix of channa, squash and spinach. So yummy and creamy and delectable.
The evening continued with full bellies, beer and a game of Uno with candles flickering in a gentle breeze. Summer transforms the simplest of meals and activities into something magical.
I look forward to the ongoing battle for Toronto’s best roti, an Uno re-match and breezy nights with friends. Life is good in the summer.
At last this week feels like summer should: hot, sunny and glorious. The Sweetie and I decided to frolic at Centre Island for the day. We traipsed to the ferry docks, slathered with sunscreen and dreaming of riding the giant plastic swan that swims through the pond on rails.
The ferry was closed due to the Toronto City worker’s strike. Gahh!
I never expected to be a reverse Norma Rae, but I have little sympathy for the city worker’s strike. When people are losing their jobs or hanging on to them by a thread, it feels wrong for employees of the city who are being paid taxpayer’s money to strike just because they want to bank their sick days for retirement. The Sweetie and I have already had a few heated debates where he is trying to defend their right to strike but as someone who is self employed, I have zero job security, zero benefits and zero sick days, let alone sick days I can bank for my retirement, so I am not overwhelmed with sympathy. I was even less sympathetic when my dreams of a tacky swan ride and soft serve ice cream were thwarted.
Luckily it is summer and the sun was shining and it is hard to remain cranky when the weather is so beautiful. We strolled around Harbourfront like tourists and had a wonderful day despite the city strike. Furthermore, if we had made it to the island I never would have met Bill. He was sitting on the boardwalk surrounded by pigeons eating bread straight from his hands. Bill was kind enough to teach me his special bird feeding method- start by scattering crumbs to whip them into a bit of a frenzy, then hold a piece of bread (crusty Italian is their favourite apparently) in your palms and wait, quietly. Eventually I too was a pigeon whisperer and had birds landing and pecking from my hand. There will be other opportunities to go to the island but a lovely interlude with a gentle, generous man felt like a surprise gift and far outweighed a swan ride.
Sometimes the best moments are accidental ones, although if it had been a cold and miserable winter’s day there would have been nothing but cursing at the city workers and a surly subway ride home. Thank you summer, thank you Bill the bird whisperer and a back handed thank you to the striking city workers.
Ah, summer. It is the most glorious season, full of fun and sunshine. Unfortunately, it is just not coming fast enough for my liking and I am beginning to panic. Blink your eyes and the next thing you know you’re back in your parka with ice pellets hitting your face. I am determined to squeeze out every last drop of summer, whether or not the summer decides to cooperate. If I have to force it, so be it. With this in mind The Sweetie and I decided to go on a summer road trip over the weekend despite forecasts of rain and cool temperatures.
We armed ourselves with coffees, road trip tunes and a map marked with small town thrift stores. I had to keep the window rolled up for much of the drive because the wind was cool, but despite promises of rain the sun kept on shining. We drove to the Barrie drive-in and ate junk food and listened to mosquitoes throwing themselves against our car windows. It rained a little but drive-ins are never really about picture quality. They are about mindless blockbusters, snuggling in the car, watching the stars and eating way too much sugar.
The following day, bloated from too much food we lumbered to Wasaga beach. I love Wasaga beach at the height of summer. It is filled with ice cream stands, blaring music and tacky beach stores stocked with inflatable floating animals. The main strip is teeming with a smorgasbord of delights: testosterone fueled lunkheads making awkward advances at imposssibly skinny bikini clad girls, aging bikers with their bleached blond babes, and frisbee playing dogs. I feel like a well behaved, pale interloper and love to evesdrop and people watch behind the shelter of my novel. Alas, it was too early in the season for the beach to be in it’s full summer glory. I heard one girl who had been brave enough to venture in the water exclaim that she could no longer feel her legs. Nonetheless we huddled for warmth on our beach towels and pretended that it was a scorching hot day, even managing to burn ourselves in ridiculous patterns where we forgot to apply sunscreen.
We returned to the city sun kissed and triumphant. It was a successful kickoff to the season, despite summer’s lukewarm participation.
I have chores and work and organizing to do and lazy feelings lurking in my bones but I am dreaming of summer picnics. The weather hasn’t been too cooperative yet, there was actually a frost warning the other night, but I have faith that picnic time is almost here. I have big plans for picnics this summer. Lots and lots of picnics. Planned picnics, spontaneous picnics, romantic picnics, solo picnics and social picnics. I am scouring recipes for packable salads and pressed sandwiches and cookies that don’t crumble too much.
I saw this delightful picnic suitcase on Black Eiffel and I am dreaming of picnics even more. Portable delightful quirky picnics…
