I got the shot!

For many people, this pandemic has been a time of boredom, of extra time - an opportunity to rest, to explore new opportunities, to try new hobbies. Many writers are probably making  very good use of this extra time away from regular activities. So, you would think that I might be finding time to write here more regularly. Alas, this is not the case. Family, estate matters and  house tasks keep my mind and body constantly occupied.  So I will not take the time here, to re-write this draft which I composed a while ago. I humbly offer it, as a tiny glimpse into our busy lives at this stressful time.

Years from now, will  the images, the tensions of this troubled pandemic time leave us? Will we forget the intensity of this time? Or will we, for the rest of our lives, live with the knowledge that a virus can turn our lives upside down, at very short notice? 

While clearing up my assorted notes from this past week, I came across the health card information for 4 families. That's because I spent part of last weekend (March 20) and much of this past Monday (March 22nd) on the phone and laptop, trying to secure vaccine appointments for ourselves and others. Securing an appointment to get a vaccine is like winning the lottery these days.

Last weekend Norah told us about the pharmacy program. Although the websites said it was only for 60 to 64 year olds, she heard that many of her friends' parents had scored appointments. She called incessantly and actually got us an appointment  at a No Frills grocery store in Toronto! While we were grateful to have those appointments, we didn't relish the drive to Toronto and a hotel stay. While we would have wanted to visit our Toronto grandchildren, they were in isolation because of a covid case at their school. It would have been a distanced driveway visit at best.

I spent much of Saturday calling the other pharmacies taking part in the program. (Doug Ford, in his wisdom, set up this program in and around Kingston, Toronto and Windsor. As a Brampton friend pointed out to me, Peel, one of the hardest hit areas, was not given that opportunity. How was the choice of locations made? ) When I called the pharmacies, their messages usually said something like, "If you are 60 or over and live, work or study in Ontario, you are eligible to make an appointment. " So that's what we did. 

Monday was a marathon morning. At 7, I tried once again to snag a camping spot at Sandbanks but of course, came up empty-handed. Camping spots are another covid must have! At 8, I started calling our local health unit to try for an appointment for a friend over 75. It was the first day for that age group in Ontario. By 8:25 I was successful! There was some frustration involved but also some good luck.

At 8:30 I started calling two Kingston pharmacies that had been closed on the weekend. After about an hour I got a real live person who took my email address and promised to send a link. Again, there was some frustration with that website but magically, I was able to secure two appointments for Wednesday!

Then it was back on the phone to No Frills, to cancel our Toronto appointments. They allowed me to transfer those appointments to my Oakville cousin. By the time I finished, about 1:30, I felt like I had scored a home run. Along with my extended phone/laptop activity we also babysat  toddler Lauren for an hour and a half, while her Dad went to a dental appointment. Eliza, was at home in Toronto because of a covid case at her school. There was no online learning available so we had a zoom meeting with her for about an hour while we read Amelia Bedelia books together. It was an action-packed morning!

And so, on Wednesday, March 24th, we drove to Kingston, went into one of the world's smallest pharmacies and were vaccinated! 

Is it fair that we did this? Should we have waited?  At the time we just jumped on the available bandwagon and went for it. Do we deserve this more than others? No. This is yet another one of the many moral dilemmas that we all face in these uncertain times: Should we go there? Should I tell him to pull his mask up over his nose? Do we go into the house while they are there? Should we ask her to move over? Should we invite another couple to sit on our verandah? 

Fast forward to today, April 11th. Most of our siblings and friends have either been vaccinated or have appointments. It gives us a feeling of slight optimism. However, there are the troubling stories of vaccinated people testing positive, long after receiving their shots. And so, the reminders that a vaccination is just one part of the armour, along with masking and distancing. 

At my mother's home we go through a group of items a week. One week it might be the china and silver. Last week it was records, cds, religious articles and some framed photos. We settle our choices over zoom meetings -  a slow process, certainly not as efficient or satisfying as a real meeting.  It is sometimes surprising, which articles conjure up memories and the feelings of loss. It is not necessarily the fancy china or silver. Sometimes it is a worn casserole dish that lost its matching lid many years ago. But Mom used that dish forever and so it has elevated status in our hearts.

And so I feel like I am living under two clouds  - the ever-present, oppressive pandemic plus the sad and challenging task of grieving and settling Mom's estate. I look forward to the days when both situations are finished, resolved, over. Then I will relax and get on with my new life. 

Pandemic Priorities

 I'm pleased to have this piece published in today's Ottawa Citizen. Click here to read What the pandemic taught me about priorities.

While we are missing our Toronto grandchildren, we are also aware of just how fortunate we are, to have them in our lives. 

Mom's last gift

Well, it's February already - a little late to be writing about Christmas! But I will, because just yesterday I starting using my last Christmas present from Mom - a new pair of knee socks!

 I always remember that special feeling, of walking down the stairs on Christmas morning. It really was magical. The house looked perfect  - everything had been tidied up. Our Christmas stockings, hung by the fireplace,  were bulging - always with nuts and oranges at the bottom. Piles of presents awaited us under the tree. There were one or two years when we found Mom asleep on the living room sofa; too tired to go upstairs when she had finally finished all her work. I think that many women would agree that much of the Christmas work falls to mothers. That was certainly the case in our house. Sure, Dad was part of it all, but it was Mom who did most of the Christmas shopping, wrapping, cooking, baking, meal planning and decorating  There are six children in our family so she was busy. At Christmas time she went into overdrive.

After opening our presents we were dressed up and hustled off to church. While we played with our new toys in the afternoon, Mom prepared Christmas dinner. For many years our cousins joined us for dinner. There were eleven kids in their family. So there were always over twenty of us for dinner. Many years it was closer to thirty. 

Present giving was important to mom. She not only bought for us, but for all those cousins who came for dinner. Our other family of cousins, who were often posted in Europe - well, she sent presents to all those kids as well. It was Mom who taught us the lessons of gift-giving. Through her  example we learned  that it requires time, effort and  thought. A gift says, "I took the time to think about you, to think about what might make you happy. Then I took some of my time and money and spent that on you." The amount of money spent is not important. It's the thought and effort that counts. The gift is an expression of affection. Mom taught us that there is actually tremendous satisfaction to be gained by giving.

As Mom grew older, her present buying got simpler. For many years she bought the women pyjamas and the men pyjama pants. Here is part of Brendan's pyjama pant collection. 

In later years Mom made up a gift basket for each family. Each basket included  monetary gifts, some of her Christmas cake, a tin of  Quality Street chocolates and a bottle of Lubiderm lotion. 

Everyone received a pair of socks. It doesn't sound like much - just some socks. However, those socks were purchased with great thought and care. As recently as a couple of years ago, Mom went with me to The Bay, in early December, to purchase all the socks for the family - about twenty pairs. If I was on my own, I probably would have made a quick selection and dashed to the cashier. Not Mom - she agonized about each person's needs. If the person worked outside, they got heavy, thick socks. If they worked in an office, it was thin, dress socks. If they played sports, they got sport socks. 

She wasn't with us this Christmas but I still have 2 bottles of Lubiderm in our closet. She had already bought a few tins of chocolates in the summer, so we gladly ate one of those and talked about her with our grandchildren as we shared them around. 

For her last Christmas, in 2019, I received my pair of socks but I didn't open them. I had a feeling it might be my last pair from her. When I took out my winter clothes this fall, there they were. I decided to wait until Christmas Day to open them. The day came and went, with me still not wanting to take off the label, with her writing.

Yesterday was cold, about -18 with the wind, but I decided to go for a walk. It's been so cold and I hadn't been outside for a couple of days. I needed to give myself a treat, to reward myself for venturing outside. I just felt like new socks. And so I finally took off the gift label and put them on - nice, thick, warm knee socks. Once again, mom was looking after me. My dear mother, who dressed us, tucked our snowpants into our boots, laced up  our skates, and warmed our frozen toes with her hands after skating - what a caring mother she was. Thanks Mommy.

Mom

Well, it's been a while...September 3rd. That seems a lifetime ago now. In the past few posts I mentioned my mother and her neighbourhood of Champlain Park. That's because I was spending so much time with her. We all were - her kids and grandkids, as we could see her declining. Dad died in March of 2018. My five siblings and I started staying overnight about a month before he died because Mom was also very ill at that time. After he died we kept up our night-time presence, simply because we didn't want her to be alone. It seemed that 90 was not a good age to learn to live by yourself. As time went on and Mom's health gradually deteriorated, we kept up the vigil because we didn't want her to fall or have some kind of accident while on her own. So we kept up a dinner and sleepover schedule until she died, on September 29th.

It was a special time. Yes, it was a big commitment but it felt right to care for her, as she cared for us, all our lives. I am grateful to my supportive husband, who was very understanding, as Mom's needs increased. As you may have read, in my Corona music post of July 16th,  there were some very special moments. I loved putting on the Herb Alpert albums for her, as we ate our breakfast. I enjoyed playing the old music and hymns on my childhood piano, as she lay in her hospital bed. Sitting on her front verandah with her, enjoying the warm days and having a visit with a friend was a real treat. Listening to stories of her youth was precious time spent together. 

Of course this pandemic complicates everything. It certainly complicated our decisions about how to care for mom, how many people to have in the house, eating inside or outside etc. Mom's back porch and front verandah were well used this spring and summer for visits through the windows. Sometimes we shared meals, with Mom and one of us eating at an inside table while others kept their distance, eating at an outside table on the verandah. She was very grateful for the visits and for the gift of being able to live out her days in her own home. We were blessed to have a lovely family doctor (Farrah Issa) who made house calls! 

In the end there were visiting nurses and it all got complicated with frequent medication changes and the rental of necessary medical equipment. Throughout it all we were the recipients of many acts of kindness. In Mom's obituary we mentioned her pharmacy, an unusual credit in an obit. That was because we were so appreciative of their understanding and kindness. Many times when I went to pick up Mom's medication the pharmacist (Badr), before handing me the prescription, would take the time to stop and say, "First, tell me, how is your mother doing?" Another pharmacist there, on a day when we were switching to a more powerful pain relief medication bothered to say, "She must be in a lot of pain. I'm so sorry." These were not big acts. They did not take much effort, but it's the first time I have ever had someone in a pharmacy express sympathy like that. It is just so touching when someone reaches out, with understanding and compassion. 

I am especially grateful for my children and their families who called and visited mom regularly and supported me as best they could, both before and after mom died. It makes her loss more bearable, to have their love. 

And that leads me to my excuse for not posting anything here before this. Since Mom's death we have all been overwhelmed with kindness. In the first 6 weeks after her death I received something every day - food, flowers, cards, texts, emails - all expressing care and concern. It took me a long while to even start to acknowledge those kind people. It didn't feel right to post anything in this space when I hadn't properly thanked the people who had bothered to reach out to me. Even now, there are still some kind emails that I would like to answer. 

In both the reception of these kind messages and in my attempts to answer them, I feel Mom's presence. She was the kind of person who reached out to others, who dropped off a ham or other food to the grieving family, who sent a card. She was the person who taught us to thank people. It helps me, in my grieving, to write the cards, to call the people she cared about. 

When Dad died, I remember that horrible Humbolt hockey team bus crash, happened on the day of his funeral. It made me think that our loss paled in comparison to what those families were going through. Although I miss Mom terribly, I feel a similar sensation now. There so many families with such great losses this year., There are families who certainly didn't get to have a mother as long as we did, who didn't get the chance to say goodbye, to be with her as she left us.

And so I am grateful, that we had such a wonderful mother for so long. I will write more about her later. There are so many things that could be said about her. Her obituary can be found here.

This was Mom, in the summer of 1981, holding our first child, Aaron.

Among the many items at her home is this lovely ode to mothers. She said it was always at her childhood home. To me, it sums her up perfectly.

Infill Housing #24

Ah...Kenora Street in the summer. I wish I could say it's been relaxing and quiet. Here's a photo recap of our street this summer.

The construction at # 77 is progressing quickly, which is about the only good thing you can say about  it. After having the unfortunate experience of witnessing so many infills being constructed, we're getting  familiar with all the steps involved.

This truck is carrying the forms for the basement (cement) walls at #77.

With work still ongoing at #79, there are always multiple trucks and deliveries.

At #79 they decide to work on  landscaping and driveways.

At #77 there's another delivery.

The city plays it's part in their never-ending game of Catch Up. They will never win this game of replacing our demolished sidewalks.

At #77 the walls are in place, so we now know where the doubles will be.

The road is frequently blocked.

You never know who or what will park in front of your house.

If only they would have stopped here, with just the two stories.

But no, they went for a third story. What a shame for their next door neighbour.

Meanwhile at #79, the landscape effort grinds to a halt.

So, our tax dollars go towards the repair of these sidewalks.

Of course the sidewalks need replacement, after all these heavy trucks demolish them.

Why am I paying for this work?

Meanwhile, on "lower" Kenora, another original house awaits its demise.

Another delivery

So here's the thing. Not only were these roofers walking around, up on that third story, with no harnesses or hard hats. They ate their lunch on the sidewalk, in the shade of our front lawn. As we drove out of the laneway , all we could smell was dope! They were high in more ways than one!

This safety sign on the construction fence is very useful.

Last but not least. One morning I opened the front door and a terrible stench greeted me. This truck had just emptied the port a potty.

When work started at #77, the lovely family who live next door asked if the port a potty could be moved to the other side. They were told that it would be moved. If there was any justice in this situation, that smelly outhouse should be right next to #79, the other infill builder, not next to a family with two young children, who like to play on their front lawn. The outhouse was never moved. Infill stinks!

Always a challenge

Nothing is simple anymore. Some days it seems that everything is a challenge. You can't just pick up the phone and call a company to ask a question. You have to listen to instructions, hope that you select the right number, wait for fifteen minutes and then hopefully, you might be connected with another human. Often you are told to call back because of high call volumes. Or you are advised to go online to solve your problem. Every store, every company wants you to set up an online account. You can't just pay them. Recently my elderly mother was advised to go online to pay for mass intentions at her church. No more visiting with the church secretary and handing over some cash. That is so old school. Okay, so I am sounding elderly myself now. It's just that after a long absence here, I decided to update my blog and find that there is a new format (interface) to learn. I am severely challenged in technical matters already. Having to navigate a new format is a hurdle I don't need. So, please bear with me as I struggle to adjust. Whenever I feel frustrated with technology I wonder how the rest of the population is managing. I'm no genius but I have a reasonable education and work experience. What about the portion of our population without those advantages? Those who, through no fault of their own, have been left in the dust as society has done this enormous pivot? How can they keep up? (Right now I can't figure out how to space out these paragraphs!)

Infill Housing # 23

It's just a short walk from Kenora St. to my childhood neighbourhood of Champlain Park. Infill housing is very much evident there, especially on Cowley Avenue this summer. The street is only three blocks long. Here are the stages of infill:

1. Here in the middle block, at # 210, sits one of the original houses, now empty, with an uncut lawn. It is probably next on the chopping bock.

2. At the corner of Cowley and Clearview sits a house that has been there since my childhood. The construction fence has been erected and the trees cut down, so its days are surely numbered.

3. At the top of the street a little house was demolished yesterday.

4. Back near Clearview,  a single house is being replaced by these doubles.

That is just the current situation. These four projects are in addition to the many already completed infill projects on Cowley.

I took Carleton Avenue home. It's the next street over. Carleton is probably one of the most re-built streets in the city. There may be more new, than original homes there now.

This hole for a new place, probably doubles, was recently dug.

Meanwhile, at the corner of Carleton and Amanda (formerly Premier),  crews were busy taking down a sizeable tree. The doubles there were built a while ago. Sometimes the trees survive the building of new homes but are irreparably damaged during construction. After a year or two, they deteriorate and have to be removed. Of course if Ottawa insisted on proper tree protection zones during construction, we wouldn't be losing our urban canopy.

It feels like this re-building will never end. How many of our original homes will survive and for how long? Does the city and province's policy of intensification totally trump preservation of traditional neighbourhoods? Will the whole city look like the suburbs? Actually, there are suburbs that look a whole lot better than some of these re-built streets. Some suburbs show evidence of thoughtful planning. There is no vision here. It's the wild west, as far as these developers go.

City hall is pleased to be generating increased taxes and developers are ecstatic that the city has given them free reign to re-shape our neighbourhoods. They're laughing all the way to the bank. For us longtime residents, in established neighbourhoods, this is just depressing.