flemmings | Recent Entries

Today's Big Excitement was losing my house key, the one on the Hakkai keychain, not the one with my Kryptonite lock key that lives in my backpack. I carry Hakkai in whatever pocket is available, unlock door, and lay him/ it down on the kitchen table after putting backpack on the kitchen chair. But today he/it wasn't on the table, or under the table where things sometimes fall, or under anything else on the table as so often happens. So I went out, leaving the door on the latch as I used to do all the time, and wondered who of the various people I've given keys to I could hit up to get my key back. What I really minded was losing Hakkai, but oh well.

Not to keep anyone in suspense, I did find him/it when I got home, in a pocket in the backpack that I'd looked in before.

Went out for sushi but had salmon teriyaki instead-- the teriyaki dinner, not the lunch, because the lunch gives you fruit (cantaloupe and orange) that I don't really want. But the dinner has huge helpings of both salmon and veg, more than anyone can eat who isn't an adolescent male. So now I have dinner for tomorrow as well.

The day was pleasant and breezy and not nearly as hot as certain weather pages said it would be. Since I was already at Bathurst and Bloor, I thought to suss out the newly reopened Markham St part of Mirvish Village, whose towers are mostly responsible for the day's breeziness. Signs advertise the businesses that will locate there, and evidence (trash cans) suggested that the famous pizza place was already open for business. At present it's the only one, located I *think* where the old Victory Cafe was in happier times. I won't be trying it out because both its doors are up a flight of concrete steps. This is all new construction and they could have put in a ramp but of course they didn't. Markham used to be a shady street but most of the trees fell victim to construction of the towers so now it bakes in the sun. Wind tunnel or no, that block no longer invites the pedestrian. But I turned onto the little cross street that takes you west and that was shady and filled with flowering bushes and green grass, just as in the old days when I used to bicycle home from work along its length.

I will eventually learn to read all the info provided before buying clothes. Old Navy's cotton tops are distressingly thin for autumn or winter wear but, I thought, might do well in summer. My tanktops are all thick cotton and I have to wear them with something that covers my arms, which is generally another thick cotton something, and so I sweat in TO's summer humidity. The (palest pink and easily stainable) tee I bought earlier is certainly thinner than my other ones, so maybe they'd actually be cooler than tanktops? Men's t-shirts of course, and they're on sale in colours men don't often wear, like burgundy and saffron, that don't show splashes nearly as much.

They arrived yesterday and were indeed lightweight. Wore one today in the humid sun and thought them a little unbreathing. Yeah, is because they're 97% polyester. When you buy cotton t-shirts, make sure they're really cotton. But they'll do for actual t-shirt weather, I suppose. I have two cotton tees that are useless because they have Japanese logos on them and can't be worn to any of my Korean-run restaurants. Shall gift them to some clothes depot probably, to make room for the new ones.

Meanwhile my final property tax bill arrives. I know the second bill has included increases in the past, only these last few years the final installments have been lower than the first half. But not usually $110 a month lower, which was an extremely pleasant surprise.

Memory goes with heat, so I only know I've finished a couple of Dr. Priestleys this week, and The Eagle of the Ninth, which I finished today. Still rereading System Collapse and Platform Decay, the former as hard to envisage as ever, the latter making much more sense. No idea what I'll go on with: summer is line of least resistance when it comes to reading, and I'm pretty much all out of Cecil Street and his various avatars.

Woke at what I thought was 9:30, didn't want to get up then so floated for a bit, then did All The Exercises, then went downstairs to get my breakfast. And the kitchen clock said 9:30. Battery must be dying, I thought, but the second hand still ticked away happily. When I got back upstairs, yeah, kitchen clock was right and I'd been awake since 8:30. Hence why I'm yawning at 10 p.m.

Well and also because I did indeed wash the stairs today, even if I had to stop halfway and take muscle relaxants for the back. I think the candle wax stains are there for good even if I scraped the actual wax off. Unfortunately used the wrong Dr. Bronner's so the house now smells of tea tree oil. But anyway, stairs are as clean as my arthritic elbows can get them.

Midafternoon I took a load of towels and pillowcases and fleeces to the laundromat, so that's also out of the way. Must go back eventually to do a cold wash of the velour throw that I use on the sofa in winter, which is too heavy for my ancient washing machine, but that can wait. And finally went out in the evening coolness and cut down more vines from the back fence, which I will bag up eventually. Daytime temps and humidity are rising so not going to do this during the day, but we're at the happy time of year when it's light after eight and I shall make the most of it. I heard Oliver barking indoors, oddly enough, because he's usually out in the yard. I fancy SND is away, possibly getting married, and she has a dogsitter in. Certainly I haven't seen him running around his yard lately.

So though I much prefer sitting on the couch with the fan and beanbags, I think I've moved sufficiently today.

Today is sunny and cool, or cool in the shade at least. The sun is June hot but the sky is the deep blue they photoshop into the background of picture postcards. This is extremely rare in downtown TO. The rest of the week will warm up but I see rain forecast for Saturday ie Open Tuning wall'o'noise day. Naraba ii, says the grinch over here.

Having gardened on Saturday, Sunday I did nothing but medicate the aches and stiffness with beanbags and vodka. Today I have at least done a wash and hung it on the line, just as SND's tenant is drying hers in the back garden. I might even get at the stairs (inside) with the scrub brush I just bought, though I forgot to buy rubber gloves, and my eczema'd fingers are really not up for dipping in hot soapy water. Must hang my Pride flag as well, but my legs are once again not steady on step stools.

Did at least locate System Collapse in the safe place I put it, and have started a reread. Especially as the word is that System Collapse (ETA Platform Decay, of course) may be the last Murderbot installment, alas and οτοτοι.

Lovely cool sunny day, perfect for gardening, which is what I did. Filled up a garden waste bag, cleared maybe two square feet of ancient desiccated vine runners, cut back the other vines that insist on growing atop the fence. Cutting back only encourages them, I know, but what are you gonna do? Also tried cutting back the linden's lower branches out front with the extendapole cutter, which is a bit unwieldy with my lack of arm strength. I could have sworn the thing was telescoping and could be pulled out to several feet more but I can't see how.

Newly resoled shoes do seem to help my balance, but to get at the backyard vines growing along the wires I need something stable to lean against, and the fence isn't it. Shall have another stab at it tomorrow

The cobbler said, "I'll text you when your shoes are ready." So I wait two and a half weeks with not a peep. Go over there today and of course they've been finished for ten days. Men, said Jessica. But he shined them up beautifully as well as resoling and mending the heels, so fine. The new soles don't have the trademark New Balance declivities and I wonder how they'll fare on, say, wet leaves and other slippery surfaces, but maybe now they're flat again they might help with the perpetual low back tsuris.

Warm but windy today, so didn't feel the 27 it actually got to. I've been putting records into bags to go out on the front lawn tomorrow. Wondering if I should in fact buy a record player to listen to them again, but enh. CDs are easier to handle. There are record players that will turn vinyl into digital music, but I don't have the technical knowledge to play digital. Are Ipods even a thing anymore?

Cool sunny breezy day, such a relief after April's rain and May's occasional heat waves. Unfortunately breezy also means pollen blown about, so I have the sneezy spells and scratchy throat that pollen brings. Ah well, there's always a price tag.

Did a white wash and put whatever wasn't underwear on the line. It didn't quite dry-- those socks are thick-- but will dry in tomorrow's sun. Must get at the vines in the back garden which are happily growing along the clothesline , the Bell line, and the line that provides light to the garage. Getting at those will be a challenge because my back hates me. Heat wraps and vodka may be required.

But fingers crossed, the malaise seems to have gone, unless it comes for its one week anniversary tomorrow.

It's not hot-hot, is in fact warm and breezy, but I've started a phlegmy cough and still don't feel 100%. Have also misplaced my muscle relaxants so the back is chronically unhappy unless I have heat on it, which is fine except the house is also warm. And psychologically I think I'm still suffering from that outage on the weekend, even if it was only half an hour. Or am suffering from the outage because the booster was already preparing for me to feel lousy.

I still went out to return library books and have salmon teriyaki. Came back and hauled the garden waste bag from the back yard to the front and topped it up with leaves from the planter and the truly amazing number of twigs that the linden sheds whenever there's the slightest bit of wind, never mind the tempest of Saturday. Then bundled up the larger branches and dead wood from the hedge, tied them with string like you're supposed to, and put that on top of the bag to discourage the damnable dog walkers who think garden waste bags is where their dog poo bags belong. They'll probably put it in the green bin instead, but at least there there's a chance the garbage guys will take it.

Weight climbs back up and ankles swell. Need to add at least one more pint to my water drinking. Warm weather at least prompts me to drink more water.

Finished Platform Decay, after doling it out in increments to make it last, and have started it again to see if I can make sense of things this time. Though I really should reread System Collapse to remind me who some of these people are. Finished a Miles Burton and a John Bude, both with period racism rottit. Am working at The Eagle of the Ninth. But warm weather is not kind to me and summer is always a lost cause for any kind of thinking.

I sincerely hope the low grade but persistent malaise of yesterday and today is fall-out from the Covid shot, because otherwise I would despair of me ever accomplishing anything again. I did clear some greenery from the back yard yesterday but my footing was worrisome and then I could barely climb the steps to the back door porch. Mind, it would help if the right side handrail was actually nailed to something. I think some nails have worked loose there and three uprights are no longer in contact with the steps.

There's something growingout of the wall by the basement steps and from the leaves I think it might be a lilac bush. Am not going to cut and bleach it in any case but will be glad if it eventually gives me flowers, and never mind what it does to the cracking concrete pad.

I hadn't booked physio this week from excess of caution re: side-effects, also the only opening she had was at 11 tomorrow and I had no confidence about being awake at that hour, let alone mobile. But a 2:30 spot opened today and I grabbed it. Dunno if her acupuncture can unbloat my heat-bloated ankles, but it might. Of course much of the bloat is from drinking cream liqueurs and adding poundage, which yeah.

Malaise means I don't want to read anything so must take that Scandi-thriller back to the library. I have The Eagle of the Ninth which I somehow never read, but I don't want that either. Bad Things are happening and I don't want to be around for them.

Occasionally the universe pays its debts. Last night the FB group for the next neighbourhood over had a post about 'anyone else experiencing a blackout?' and people saying yeah, big tree fell down on Huron. The wind yesterday was something else and the Annex trees have been around since my childhood so whenever there's appreciable wind, down they or their branches come.

At which point the lights went out in my house. Hydro map showed two areas of blackout now with estimated restoration at, ulp, 6:15 Sunday morning. I'd been saying No I won't turn on the furnace for a mere 10C it will be 23 on Monday, and now, boy did I regret that. But anyway, got my phone flashlight to locate candles and matches in the kitchen and went upstairs, dripping red wax all the way oh dear.

Got the big flashlight from the side bedroom, changed into winter-weight sleeping gear (flannel pants, thick hoodie, wool socks), assembled winter cocoon in bed (two wool blankets plus duvet), crawled in and resigned myself to sleeping at 10 p.m. And was drifting off when the lights came back on. Looked at the outage map and there was still that large purple blob over Seaton and the western Annex but it stopped, dear god, halfway up my block.

Now you must understand that my block is always, and I mean always, the last one to regain power in a blackout. In 2003 the block south of us had power 12 hours before we did. So this unexpected blessing was, well, unexpected. I know they replaced the problem transformer at the end of the block, reducing chronic outages to mere blips, but this is a different order of competence. Though if the map was correct, the part of the block where the transformer is was still without power. Whatever. I'm still grateful.

I think SND may have had a party on her porch to celebrate. Certainly I heard talk and laughter from that side and I doubt they were in the backyard where the rain was still falling heavily.

After going to bed at 2 (Platform Decay kept me up) I was sure I'd sleep into at least 11 and must remember to get up then to be mobile before Turandot at 1. But no. Wide awake at 8:30 and couldn't go back to sleep even in the grey rainy light. This isn't a usual side effect of my boosters, quite the reverse. But anyway, I was awake and too bad. Also indoors all day because the rain never stopped and I'm currently fighting the urge to turn on the heat. We'll be back in the muggy 20s by Monday.

Turandot was OK. One can't blame singers for not being Sutherland and Pavarotti, but when you've imprinted on them no one else quite reaches that standard. I fancy half the appeal of this production is the over the top Zeffirelli sets. Still photos make it look fascinating except-- well, even my extremely amateur eye thought 'Surely you're mixing Tang with Qing here?' Yeah, I guess he was trying for anything remotely Chinese to suggest a fantasy country that never existed. And I ought to prefer that to historical accuracy which grounds the action in a real China of whatever description. But speaking of imprinting, my first Turandot was set in basically an Apocalypse Now nightmare land: dark, muddy, heads on poles in a jungle setting. Very id-tastic and much my preference.

And anyway, isn't the original story Persian or Russian or something?

Water meter man was booked to come 'between 12 and 4" ie that's it for Friday afternoon. Of course I was up at 9:30 to be exercised and fed by 11:30 when I limped down to the basement to see if the area was clear and the unused light would provide sufficient illumination. And then at 11:45 he calls to ask if I'm home and can he come now. And because people are people he has a flashlight that lights up everything in a five foot radius including the dark basement stairs. All done and dusted by 12:30 so I can trot up to Loblaws for more Robax heat wraps which are better than alcohol at calming my irritable back. Pricey and can only be used once but so worth it.

Had a cold brew, watched the world go by, and was about to leave when I remembered about that covid booster. Uhh yeah. And am not doing anything this weekend which will rain all tomorrow and do who knows what on Sunday, so might as well. Apparently I was supposed to be boosted back in the fall-- twice a year for the infirm elderly-- but I don't remember seeing any signs for it. Anyway, am now Moderna'd and free to have any side effects I choose.

Did debate buying more vodka but no, alcohol rots the brain and I have my heat wraps. Treated myself to a slice of strawberry rhubarb pie instead, very satisfying. I do love pie.

It being sunny and cool and Thursday, I went over to Sushi On Bloor to see my regulars and spent the time eavesdropping on the couple off to my left who were code-switching in English and French, almost from sentence to sentence. I know a lot of Francophones here can do this, largely because they must, and I assume these people were Canadian. Their French didn't sound particularly Québecois but there are plenty of other local accents, and their English was bog-standard Canuck. But I'm still very envious. I could only pick out words of the French conversation because wherever these guys originated, they had the true French speaker's trick of skipping from consonant to consonant like stones in a riverbed.

Went by the library to pick up a hold and to photocopy my tax return and the application for deferral of property tax. I think I now know how to use the library's machine. Scan library card, enter pin, select number of copies (two of each because I am terminally belt and braces), then press preview. Librarian says that's just to be sure you have it in right, and yes, I've messed that bit up before. Then copy. Some day I'll manage to get printing from the net down as well.

Came home by various backstreets and noted the many many gardens awash in lily of the valley. I am desolate to learn that it's an invasive plant. I mean, it invaded an awfully long time ago-- it's a flower from my mid-century childhood-- so you'd think it would be naturalised by now. I have a bunch growing between the paving stones jn my backyard, which has never happened before. And finally, half a block from home, I came across my first Tesla in the wild. Dear god that's one ugly car, and I speak as one who knew cars in the 60s and 70s when cars were as weird as they get.

We have definitely changed seasons now, after three days of high 20s. The temps may be back in the teens but it's a different teens. Windows open, fans on, t-shirts almost too warm, no need for jackets. I mean maybe tomorrow's forecast 10/50 will feel cold but if it's sunny then it will still be warm. This is when one stops dreading the gas bill and starts dreading the Hydro. But all the lilacs are blooming up and down the street, which is the smell of May.

Can't think what I finished last week aside from a Desmond Merrion or two. Am currently hacking my way through two supposed mysteries, both in translation. Open Grave by Kjell Eriksson is all about an associate professor heartburning over a colleague getting the Nobel prize, being neurotic about What's He Really Thinking About Me, and generally getting in the way of the plot. I don't know if anyone is going to get murdered or not-- the title would suggest it, but so far everyone is safe as houses. Eriksson has this annoying trait in common with Robin Hobb, that he talks too much but one can't skim his prose, meaning that it's like wading through molasses.

Then there's The North Light by Hideo Yokoyama, which is all about an architect who designed a family's dream house, his crowning achievement. But then he finds that no one moved into it, and that the couple who commissioned it were in fact divorced long before they consulted him in spite of presenting themselves as a happy family with three children, and that the father has vanished from the apartment he was living in by himself and no one knows where he is now. Architect naturally concludes that this must be a long-considered plot by the father to ensnare him into.... something. This is getting into Strange Houses territory of 'why would you automatically think *that*?' Unless this is just another case of The Japanese Are Like That and it has something to do with homogeneous cultures being able to pick up on clues invisible to yer average gaijin ie me.

Also a lot about Bruno Taut, last seen in Broken Homes I believe, and his chairs. Or chair. Architect thinks Taut's chair is the key to the mystery.

But between neurotic Swedes and neurotic Japanese I'm tempted to DNF both and take them back to the library. And to forge ahead with Murderbot. Just, first reads of Murderbot are both high anxiety and high confusion for me. Anxiety because bad things are going to happen oh no, confusion because I can never visualise where Murderbot is and what it's doing at any time. And must remember that Murderbot is an it, Alexander Skarsgård notwithstanding.

No, today was no cooler than yesterday. Didn't think it would be. Stayed indoors with the fans and various library books, and the dinner I got from Farm Boy's buffet yesterday. Some very good chicken pot pie, veggies, and a bit of basmati rice with raisins. I might go for it again tomorrow if it doesn't rain too much. One webpage says storms and 31C, the other says occasional rain and 25. Eeyore believes the first.

Dusk draws in at 8. I expect the fireworks will start soon, but the fan will drown them out.

Woke at 7:30 because the air purifier stopped suddenly. One of our famous Sunday morning blips. Lay in the dark waiting for it to come back on, except it didn't. Got the Hydro outage map on the phone but it showed nothing, presumably because no one had reported it. Tried to file a report with unanswerable questions-- are the street lights out? No idea: the sun is up so they're out-- and got an error message when I tried to file. Was getting into a bit of a state because blips usually only last a minute or two. At long last thought to try turning on a light, and there we are. From which I learn that the purifier, unlike the window fans, will not restart automatically once it's been stopped. A nuisance but at least it's not a major outage.

But then I was awake at this unearthly hour. Went downstairs to get breakfast, gritted teeth and stepoed on scale, and yes: cream liqueurs and chocolate covered pecans have done a number on me, aided a bit by summer water retention, but mostly overindulgence. Cannot quit alcohol yet because nothing else works for the back spasms but shall confine myself to vodka and fruit juice.

Today was supposed to be a reasonable 20/68 but we're in the high 20s already. They say tomorrow will be slightly cooler, which I doubt, but in any case have put off gardening in favour of sitting in front of a fan. I have a new acrostics book which is at least slightly better than tiktok videos, especially since their algorithm is now giving me AI slop and transphobes.

"You can schedule your meter change online." Well no, in fact, you can't. I filled in all required fields only for the interface to spit me back out for no reason. It might be that masses of people were also filling the form out but I doubt it. Because when I had recourse to "call a real human being" I was only on hold for a few minutes-- well, after the prerecorded spiel went on and on and also suggested I book online-- until a well-spoken young man came and took my details and scheduled me for next Friday. So that's done.

Did what is probably my last dark wash of the season and put it out on the line. Great drying weather today: sunny, breezy, warm. SND's basement tenant also had her laundry out on drying racks in the back yard and sat out reading on her phone, which had the virtue of keeping Oliver more or less quiet. He wss growling at something in Good Neighbour Chris' yard-- probably a squirrel-- but at least he wasn't barking at me.

Apparently stores are allowed to open on the holiday Monday now but I don't expect any of the ones near me to. Thus I stocked up at Fiesta for this and that, which should see me through till Tuesday.

The notice comes that they're now replacing the defective water meters, please book a visit by our technicians by scanning this QR code. QR codes are the pits. I don't have Parkinsons but no way I can hold my hand steady enough to capture the code. Bleh. Will do it online.

Grey day feeling a lot cooler than the temps said. Am cold here in my house but hot weather is just round the corner -- Monday and Tuesday to be precise-- so I won't turn on the heat. Tomorrow might get up above 16 and if the sun shines I won't need either the jacket or the long sleeves I did today. Got the Butterfly book back to the library, got a bunch of summer clothes I will never be thin enough to wear again to the clothing depot at the Orthodox church, had marvellous salmon teriyaki at Sushi on Bloor. Teriyaki is sweet and I shouldn't eat it but it definitely makes salmon palatable. Way back in the 80s I was tested for allergies and one of the things I was intolerant of was salmon. Also rice. Which actually is true, though I think I'm less intolerant of rice when it's become a resistant starch.

Got to the last story in 100 Demons 30-whatever, which involves a funeral and a buncha words/ kanji that I wot not of. The Wordtank has the kanji but not the vocab. So I hauled out my gigantic Hadamitzky and Spahn kanji dictionary which had the vocab-- mostly food names as it happens-- but OMG how did we ever manage with paper dictionaries? Granted that my arms and hands are weaker than in my 40s, still-- how cumbersome, how time-consuming, what an unmitigated pain it is, flipping through those pages. And I can clearly remember me, newly in Tokyo, painstakingly attempting to read about Ōoka Echizen and his period vocabulary with the help of H&S. Wordtanks are better and online dictionaries may be best, but of course the upstairs tablet won't do Japanese input and the phone's input is nearly as aggravating as H&S.

This volume ends on a cliffhanger oh woe. Also in the atogaki she points out that she's been drawing this manga for 30 years so Ritsu, that fifth year university student, is now 46.

Otherwise I finished Emilie and the Hollow World and am now on Platform Decay and Amal El-Mohtar's TheRiver Has Roots, which isn't quite what I want just now, but must read because other people are waiting for it. What I want is more 100 Demons but that isn't haveable, sorry.

When I woke up this morning my air purifier was making an appalling racket. Except it wasn't the air purifier but the bar fridge, whose motor was in its dying throes one more time. But last time it did this there was no death rattle, so I think now it must truly be foutu. The rattle stopped when I turned it off and then back on, but the fridge definitely wasn't cooling anything. So now I must get my breakfast from downstairs again. I try to tell myself that I did this on an unoperated knee five years ago, but I was also a good twenty pounds lighter five years ago. Oh well. Shall be doing All The Exercises before breakfast again and hope that works.

Bar fridges don't cost that much but hiring people to carry the old one down and the new one up does. Next door's owner did it last time but I haven't seen him in several years and don't quite feel like relying on the kindness of strangers. I went off and booked me a massage to help with the owies instead.

Then took my shoes over to the repair place. He says he can mend the fraying back heel as well so I said OK, then it turns out it costs $80 just for that and 120 for the resoling. With tax that comes to the cost of a new pair. I hesitated for a second but ultimately decided that no, I didn't want to give more money to the Trump-supporting founder of New Balance-- mend the damned things and hope they last another ten years. In the meantime I'm wearing my older pair of boat shoes, which are slightly too narrow even if they're boats, but feel like they actually give me more stability when standing on uneven ground. If true, I might even get some of those vines out of the hedge, which I can't reach from SND's side.

Eventually got myself downstairs this morning after virtuously exercising for half an hour and doing 2.5 Squaredle games, at which I remembered Oh yeah I was going to take my shoes in to be resoled. But having learned to be cautious, I googled John's Shoe Repair and of course it's closed Mondays. So I did a white wash instead. Which turned into a pink wash because I thought washing coloureds in cold wouldn't make them bleed and there was this pair of red pants that I will never fit into that I intended to launder and donate. I don't actually mind the bleed-- underwear and socks, who cares?-- because I also washed a new off-white t-shirt, and a pale pink shirt will show the dirt much less. Or the food, rather, because what stains my shirts is things dropping from the chopsticks I can no longer manage with my arthritic hands. I was tempted by this clothing brand since it seems much thinner than the other t-shirts I have, the ones that can only be worn in a very narrow window of temperatures ie between 17 and 19C. Anything more and even tank tops start to be too thick.

Hung the laundry that wasn't socks and underwear on the line and then left it there. Tomorrow will be equally as blowy and dry as today so if it gets damp overnight it will be dry by tomorrow afternoon.

Finished Emilie and the Hollow World which was well enough, though I couldn't figure out how the hollow world works. Also I suspect that Martha Wells is like Mary Renault in that she does first person infinitely better than third. Her third person narrative style reads tapwater to me, whereas no one can mistake Murderbot's voice for anyone but Murderbot.

Had another stab at making potato croquettes. This time I sauted the onions until they caramelised which definitely helps the flavour, but only chopped the potato, my elbows and my blender not being up to grating. So I had to cook the potatoes a bit along with the caramelised onion, and when steaming in water didn't work, dumped the remainder of a bottle of Pepsi into the mix, just to add to the sweetness. Then blended the mixture which wouldn't blend until I added more liquid which then made it into soup. Flour and egg helped but this is still not optimal. Presumably I need a proper food processor but frankly it's not worth it. Potatoes and oil are not supposed to be in my diet anyway, even if it's olive oil.

The thing about lying in of a morning, quite apart from 'if I get up I will hurt', is that it takes me forever to get to sleep at night: which is very frustrating, the more so in that I no longer have stories to tell myself while lying awake and sleepless in the dark. But in the morning I need only close my eyes again to slip back into the shallows of sleep, usually to dream that I'm looking at my clock to see the time, but never mind. If I like I can go easily into deep sleep and have those realistic resleep dreams that will often stay with me once really awake. This morning's was of my friend B gone back to being a director instead of a lawyer, who'd been hired to do motion capture for some film, something he admitted he'd never done before. But he wanted me for one part, to do the motion bit and speak the lines, not sure if I'd be right for the part. With reason: it was a 10 year old Black boy. But there I was at the studio at night, far out on some subway or railway line, and his wife had made goodies for the cast which was nice, and there were two babies and their mothers who were also there for the film. But then I was trying to get home and trains were cancelled and I couldn't get the timetable and it was a frustration dream after all, so I woke up instead.

I put a Robaxacet heat patch on my back, went up to Loblaws and got some pseudo-Bailey's, had a glass, and then tackled the front yard. Cut down twigs and vines and bits of hedge and scooped up a lot of dead leaves from last year. Came in, had some more booze and ibuprofen, went back and put it all in a garden waste bag. I trust the exercise will balance the calories. There's more to be done but my back hates me doing it. If the left side is feeling no pain because of the heat, the right side will start to spasm. This is annoying.

Meanwhile Ima-sensei is getting into some dark and heavy subjects. We've already had Grandma tricked into wearing a cursed kimono, not to mention being badgered by her two oldest daughters to sell the house and land and divide the proceeds up among her children. This in spite of a formal quit-claim (I believe is what the Japanese means) signed by all of them when their father died giving up all rights to the place and glad to do so onaccounta the bogles that infest it. Presumably they now think that if the house is demolished the bogles will disappear. The bogles are emphatic that they'll do nothing of the sort. Building a house on a burying ground has nothing on building a bunch of manshons on Kagyuu's kekkai in the back garden. But the aunts are being seriously interfering all through this book. Like telling Ritsu he can't be a grad student, he must take the job offer from the seriously sketchy real estate cum Shinto priesthood firm he gets involved in in the first story. Are we menopausal or what?

Then in the third story, the second son one never hears about has cancer and is undergoing chemo and keeps dreaming of the youngest son, the one who drowned as a boy, calling to him. I still ration myself with this but boy do I want to forge ahead.

Not much happening here. Finished the Butterfly book, started on Emilie, all I want to read is 100 Demons which is the best it's been in years, and I ought to ration it but ohhh I want to read more. Requires much use of the Wordtank of course.

Went out to the local greasy spoon and had their mixed grill breakfast which is as much pig as anyone needs: bacon ham and sossidge. Told them to hold the home fries and was thus spared indigestion. Will probably be eating rice and beans for a while to balance. Does pig count as red meat? No matter: it counts as pig and must be rationed. Tomorrow being our Mother's Day there will be no restaurants or cafés available, so I eat out while I can.

Cherry blossoms are almost all gone now, scattered over four different back yards because yesterday the wind was from the north and today it was from the south. Sayonara, sakura.

My new air purifier is excellent. Lovely white noise and, I assume, lovely clean air. Must still vacuum the bedroom sometime because even with furnace filters, dust comes up the heat vents. Which are still in use with our lows of 5C/ 40F.

I wasn't going to go on with the new 100 Demons but I started on the first story, every bit as confusing as the start of the new Murderbot except with Ima Ichiko one expects to be confused, but then it went into one of her trademark 'something is very off here but no one in the story seems to notice' and I had to go on. It had an Arthur C Clarke moment--if it was Clarke-- where our protags are going up flight after flight of stairs and ending up at lower and lower levels of the building, so they decide 'you go up and I'll go down and if one of us finds the main floor, yell.' So Ritsu is going down in the dark and he hears footsteps coming up towards him and it's his companion, whose up has taken them down again. 'We must be dead and this is Hell!' So of course I had to finish it, even if a whole bunch of things weren't explained to my satisfaction, including the Moebius staircase which actually exists in a real building. Which presumably intersects the Twilight Zone.

Meanwhile someone in my S'pore gangster novel has been kidnapped and to torture her the baddies douse her in cold water and bump the AC up high so she suffers. 'She had never been cold before,' says the author, a state which qualifies as hellish to this Canuck. Cold water or no, I doubt any AC can get anywhere under 15 or 16C; its not like you've been dumped in a snowbank.

In further 'cast not a clout' news, today was grey and windy and so cold I had to get out the winter coat and scarf and gloves. By the time I was finished with physio the sun was out and then the coat was too warm. Toronto, as ever.

Came home to a reminder to reregister for the Canadian Dental Plan which involved jumping through more hoops than I care to remember, but every step of the way involved entering yet another confirmation code. I think I racked up eight by the time I was finished, and wondered how dyslexic people manage this. The insult to injury part was that to set up an account with the program-- which I was sure I already had because how else would I have my current insurance?-- you need to register through a bank account. An online banking account. Which naturally everyone over the age of 80 has. And you need two ways to confirm your gov't account because just answering questions won't do. At least they weren't asking for biometric evidence, but one was a QR code, what I've never got the hang of, which also involves the cell phones that all seniors possess, and the second was a technical something I'd never even heard of. Managed it in the end but left a really snarky review when they were brazen enough to ask for it.

And no, there was no option for a paper form of any description. My curse upon the shrivelled soul of the technocrat bureaucrat and their blinkered view of how the world operates.

In reading I probably finished more Priestleys and Merrions and kept on with When They Burned the Butterfly. Began the new Murderbot and eventually got out of the hard to follow (for me) descriptions of space stations and cargo modules and hoppers and what-all to the actual plot. This requires most of my attention so 100 Demons is on hold, at least as far as upstairs reading goes. Downstairs I'm still working my way through When They Burned the Butterfly aka 'life is cheap in the east' aka maybe modern day Singapore's police state isn't that bad after all. The body count of the various gangster orgs is really high, like war of attrition high. Maybe that was policy? Mind, since we've got gods and magic all through this, perhaps there never were gang wars in 60s Singapore.

Ebook library-wise I sent the unfinished The Burning Court back to the 'one person waiting' and hope they have a better time with it than I. I started dragging my feet when theses amateurs began talking about doing an unauthorised exhumation from which these amateurs would deduce whether Uncle was poisoned or not. Good luck, chaps. This is forensic medicine which none of you know. I have Emilie and the Hollow World to be going on with for phone reading in coffee shops, which we will see.

Grey and blowy day when I did nothing but rescue my laundry from the basement and sit on the couch with vidka and beanbags. The cherry petals begin to fall in the breeze and polkadot the mudroom roof. Somehow I am going back thirty years to that similar grey cool May just back from Japan. It wasn't a better time, no matter what I think of it now. Was, in fact, nearly as traumatic as the present, except that I'm well acquainted with the present traumas and then I wasn't at all.

We are at the pale green, pale blue, and blossoming white stage of May. Today was warmer but breezy so it didn't feel as humid as 20C usually does. I slept in till noon, ordered in dumplings midafternoon, and didn't get out until nearly five. But managed two of the foot-draggers. While waiting for the delivery guy I got last year's leaves out of the garbage bin and into a garden waste bag, and managed to add some of the thin twiggy branches as well. This evening I got the air purifier out of its box, read the instruction book, and got it ready to go. Apparently if it makes noise there's something wrong with it, but we shall see. Anything that catches dust and pollen is a good thing.

My census form arrived today, or rather, the code needed to fill the census online did. They don't give you much lead time here: thing is due in eight days. You must apply for a paper form which I really doubt will reach you before the 12th. Heigh-ho. We must live in the future whether or no.

I took my tipsy self to bed last night without looking at the time but am pretty sure it was well before my usual hour. Woke briefly at 2 something, then slept until 6:30, and then couldn't get back to sleep. That common wisdom of every hour before midnight counting as two may well be true because I was awake awake, even if heavy-eyed and yawning through the morning. Did get to see a marvellous sunrise all gold and blue behind the cherry blossoms doing their winter snow routine, which was nice, but not nearly as good as three more hours of sleep would have been. And I ached all over all day in spite of physio and acupuncture yesterday. Consequently have accomplished very little: got milk from the super, washed dishes, and vacuumed the living room because bro proposes to visit me at some point next week and the carpet was disgustingly dusty.

Really hope I feel better tomorrow.

Month's start is a good time to check one's weight so I did, and my cake and vodka habit has only cost me an extra half kilo, which is heartening.

So I started out early afternoon to do All The Things what I actually did not want to do. Returned library book; got cash from the BoM; got small envelopes for tips etc. from Midoco-- only not the ones I wanted because the only ones they had were a luxury brand coming in at $20 and tax. Got smaller brown envelopes instead, probably intended for change, but will hold a bill no problem, and I'm sure the delivery guys don't care. They'd probably accept naked cash if I could overcome my conditioning to hand it to them. Then tootled over to the Spadina Shoppers PO and was almost there when someone called my name-- my former coworker G fresh from the daycare. So we spent a few minutes catching up, now that half the people I knew have retired and G has become the Grand Old Lady of the place. But I discover that Baby Zoe from the early oughties has become a mother! of two!! and is now pregnant again!!! with twins!!! The math is not mathing here because I make her barely 23 if that, and I (and her mother) come from the generation that didn't start having kids until their 30s.

And then was the foot-draggiest chore of all, mailing a parcel to Japan. And I will never ever send any parcels from that outlet again. Because: I sat down with my phone and my data and filled out the online customs form with my fumble fingers, and corrected the many mistakes because Japanese addresses have a lot of numbers and m-dashes that fumble fingers mistype. Then took my package to the desk where he asked me to read him the address that I'd put on the package because it wasn't like a western address and the machine couldn't handle the information. And please write my return address there as well, even though all this info is on the declaration, and read my address to him while he entered *that*, and then he tried to scan the customs code I'd generated and couldn't, even though it was right on my phone and not a screenshot like the last time I tried it there. So he enters all my customs info manually and if he can do that why am I generating customs codes in the first place, sheesh? But the thing has gone off and I hope will arrive and this was all infinitely easier when I could write it on a form.

So then I went and had sushi and two glasses of wine because Maido's five ounces is nowhere near that.

After which I wanted to grab the subway home. But no, screw courage to sticking point, and down Spadina I go to pick up the new Murderbot. Reason I drag feet over these things is that doors are an unmitigated pain to open with a walker, often requiring the kindness of strangers, and doing this over and over gets wearing. But since I was there, I went over to Robots Library to look at the sakura. Which are sakura, no complaints but no big deal, and anyway everyone was taking selfies. I suppose selfie takers are better than drunken salarymen doing o-hanami, but they still don't count as an aesthetic experience.

It was now too late to get the subway: rush hour on a Friday, so I started back and made the mistake of going into the Metro super. Mistake because Metro has éclairs and so of course did I. Eclairs are always a disappointment since they never come anywhere near the Platonic form of an éclair but I keep hoping they will. Anyway continued on, working off that indulgence, and for my final trick, went into the dollar store that will soon move out to Pape. More doors that others had to open for me, and no space inside because it's chockablock with the everythings they sell, and I had to fold the walker out of the way and stand unsupported in line. But I got two pairs of cheap dollar store glasses-- exactly the same as what Loblaws has for four times the price-- and needed them because I sat on the side bedroom pair the other day and flattened them, and the Loblaws pair is wonky. So the day ended in triumph and over 7000 steps, go me.

Not that I read much last week. A Dr. Priestley, a Desmond Merrion, and Murder After Christmas, where the family can't inherit because one cannot profit from a crime even if the criminal is now dead. So that's settled. Am loose-endedly embarked on another Desmond Merrion, another oogie-making John Dickson Carr, and still hacking through When They Burned the Butterfly, which one must not abandon for too long because the twists and turns are twisty and turning and I am apt to forget who certain people are. Which is a problem when they subsequently get killed.

But! My reading will definitely pick up in the near future because my 100 Demons arrived from Finder Jean and the new Murderbot arrived at Bakka, which I hope to get to tomorrow after hitting the Spadina post office.

I got my garbage out last night but was hit by extreme don'wannas anent the garden waste, especially the pile of branches and twigs that needs to be tied up. My lower back has been spasming any time I get into shoes so I sit on the couch with hot beanbags rather than do anything constructive. However I did make it out to the laundromat today, so at least have clean towels and face cloths and one clean sleep hoodie. I'm not saying that showering at night, every night, might make my hoodies smell less because, clean or not, I still sweat and sweat still smells, as does hair after a day or two. But I'm not going to shower every night and turn into a prune, and certainly am not going to shampoo more often than every third day because my hair falls out sufficiently as it is. I shall just keep on washing my hoodies. And maybe buy a new one because the super-excellent dollar store where I buy these things on occasion is closing and moving out the Danforth. Landlord wants to raise the rent from 22000 a month to 28000-- yes, commercial rents on Bloor are ridiculous-- and the one at Pape will charge half of that. Of course, I suppose I could go out to Pape myself, now Christie has elevators.

Not really a Great Big Transit Adventure this time because I wimped out and cabbed down. Possible rain, possible subway tsuris, and in the event, College blocked off for filming who knows what. Cost me a bit more than usual because I had no fives and because Construction bloody everywhere. Anyway, one crown and one filling later, I set out towards University as the film crews packed up their vans. There were one or two small problems like the machine not accepting my bank card when I went to top up my Presto pass but then doing it, and the gates not wanting to open for my card but then doing it. 4:30 is the start of rush hour and yes the car was packed but the hell with it, I put the brakes on my rollator and sat on that. Again, knew better than to try for the e-w subway and hoped the Dupont station's elevators were working, because I knew two of the escalators weren't. But no problems there either. No bus scheduled for another 22 minutes, but there's the Shoppers handy so got my mailing envelopes. Eventually, because guy at the head of the line was requiring all sorts of things, and the clerk apologized to me for the wait. Mind, with People These Days (signs everywhere saying harassment will not be tolerated, meaning people have been harassing) this may now be standard operating procedure.

So I headed back towards home, hungry because my mouth was still frozen and she said not to eat for another two hours. Got to Bathurst and decided, since I'm awash with money just now (tax refund arrived yesterday) to get me party sandwiches at yuppie Summerhill market. And OMG have the prices gone up. $25 for a box with minimal salmon pinwheels. I got the $16 common or garden variety which was still too much and nothing out of the ordinary. However they're soft, if tasteless, so that was dinner. But shall not be going back there anytime soon, and not just because of the prices. Place was full of yuppie moms and their impervious offspring, both of them being the only people in the world. Also a store that has to hire a security guard is not anywhere I want to be.

I was looking out the study window at the newly popped cherry buds waving in the evening breeze against a blue van Gogh sky when a movement down on NND's lawn caught my eye. It was a rabbit. I have no idea where it came from or, for that matter, how it survived the neighbourhood raccoons and coyotes, but there it is, nibbling the grass. Granted, there was a rabbit down at the corner two years ago, but... that was two years ago and there are a *lot* of fences between me and the corner. Ah well. A mystery for the ages.

Last week Good Neighbour Chris' cat was out on its long leash, enjoying the air after a winter of being cooped up. But it had got its leash wrapped around the water shutoff on the grassy strip between myself and NND, and freaked out when I came to unwind him. In the process of going round and round the shutoff on an ever shortening leash, it managed to decapitate three daffodils, which are now sitting in a jar in my kitchen. The shutoff is supposed to be flush with the ground but isn't, and is supposed to be my shutoff and isn't either. Mine is under the paving stones of NND's front path. NND will be moving out in August because the owner has sold the house and I'm trying not to fret about what will move in instead. I am Old and do not like things changing around me. There will be renovations as well, which may be minor or may be a whole new third storey like Prof Islamic Studies had to deal with for a year and change. Must be Zen about this.

Had an ebook come in, The Hymn to Dionysus. Got two chapters in and sent it back because Bad Vibes. Nothing good can come of Dionysus even in a retelling and frankly I just don't trust Natasha Pulley to make him palatable. When They Burned the Butterfly may be oogey in its own way but it's a Singaporean oogey and I can deal with that.

For various reasons, largely having to do with the persistent rain of this rainy April, I have revived Project Tiddly, and went one better by ordering delivery of my vodka and cooler. Having gone out to the super this afternoon and having cleaned the gunk of spring off the walker's wheels, I had no desire to do it all again. Equally all I want to eat is cake and have in fact eaten cake every day this past week thanks to a McCains Deep and Delicious vanilla frozen cake. And very nice it was too. Vegetables simply don't do it for me anymore. I can't move in the mornings anyway so can't get downstairs to weigh myself so the damage will go unnoticed and unrecorded.

I wondered why I could never get Substack to load on my tablet. Discover it's because the upstairs tablet, bought in 2017 and retured to factory settings in 2021, refuses to load certain programs and apps like Kobo and Substack while the downstairs one is just fine with them. A nuisance, but nothing to be done about it. The upstairs tablet holds a charge much longer than the downstairs one, which is perpetually running out of battery. Like now, for instance, after I recharged it last night and this afternoon.

However, see that my nephew has at last cashed the wedding cheque I sent him a month ago, so that niggle is settled.

I spent large chunks of today cutting down garbage trees both front and back. I don't know what they are but I want them gone. The gardener was supposed to have removed them three years ago, but garbage trees are like cockroaches. One is never rid of them. A machete would have come in handy but the nameless tool with a serrated blade did well enough. I've cut the garage ones back to the root knot but have neither the strength nor the inclination to dig those out. I will try the effect of bleach instead. After which I was hacking away at the overgrown vines on the fence by the garage when SND's fiancé stopped me. He says there are birds nesting in the thicket, so I had to stop. Apparently by the end of May they'll have hatched and then he says he'll cut back the branches for me. He was out with my tree branch lopper, which he managed to assemble for me, cutting the cherry branches on the other side of his yard, the one belonging to Good Neighbour Chris.

I did manage to cut some of the dead and dried vines off the fence closer to the house, but my back was in conniptions by that point. Came inside and stretched, and shortly thereafter tackled the things growing in the front yard. This was much antsier because the footing in front is so uneven, what with the invasive species Eglish ivy. I begin to think boat shoes ie my New Balances, are maybe not the best footware for this, though I can't think what is. Something lighter and flatter that registers the ground underfoot better. But again, sawed down some quite thick stems leaving only the root knots, handy for tripping over should you be wading about my front lawn. Then took out some of the dead wood from the hedge, and finally sawed through the branches of the very dead pine in the corner of the planter. Sawing all this wood to an acceptable length for the garbage guys and tying it up as you're supposed to will be a pain, but sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.

I expect to be crippled tomorrow and might try for a massage. Can only hope this counts as exercise and calorie burning.

Lessee. Finished Thoughts Contingent on a Blithe Spirit, a Dr. Priestley, The Terracotta Bride, and a fast reread of After the Funeral because I'd totally forgotten Who Done It as well as Who Was Done in the first place. This is very pleasant. Evidently I do forget Agatha Christies because in turning out my shelves I discovered a paperback copy of The Clocks, which I could have sworn I never read in my life.

But mostly I've been beavering through Murder After Christmas, a seriously batshit version of English country house Golden Age mysteries. It has one of those seriously batshit English families that one usually finds in places like Wodehouse where genre stops you from taking them as anything but comedic. I'm not sure if the author, one Rupert Latimer, intended this to be comedic because the rest is fairly deadpan serious. The twists in the plot made my head spin, as they did the inspecting Inspector. I'm still going But wouldn't his third wife's family still inherit? But no, because evidently his first wife was still alive when he married his third? But she couldn't have been because didn't he remarry his first wife when the second one died so he couldn't have married the third until she was dead but wait... I don't want to have to reread this to find out but it's seriously going to bug me if I don't. Also am not champing at the bit to start When They Burned the Butterfly which sounds like a downer.

So evidently any caffeine after 4 pm results in a nuit blanche. In spite of early-for-me rising yesterday, I was wide awake past midnight. Gave it darkness and beanbags and the old college try, but no luck. After an hour I gave up, turned on the light, and read Zen Cho's The Terracotta Bride until a quarter to four. Turned off light, eventually drifted off, and was awake at nine. And awake awake. So today has been something of a bust with every joint aching into the bargain. I miss the days when I could fall asleep just reading in bed. This I suppose is how the insomnia of old age works for me.

Reading on through the Phaedo, I am not impressed by Socrates' argument that everything arises from its opposite and that life must come from death.

Now to her lap the incestuous Earth
The son she bore has ta'en
And other sons she brings to birth
But not my friend again.

Socrates believes in a soul, an ego, that simply cycles through the cycles while I semi-Buddhistically think that's nonsense. There is no I in Buddhism-- though how then do people remember 'their' past lives? However I'm with Stoppard's Guildenstern: Death is not anything. Death is not. It's the absence of presence, nothing more. A gap you can't see, and when the wind blows through it, it makes no sound.

The tree guys are out back clearing branches from the cherry and piling the resultant brush out in front for the chipper. The whole street in front of SND, me, and NND was empty this morning which, as the guy said, never happens. Indeed, whenever I've had a delivery, for sure someone slides into all the available spots. When I last did this in 2020, they wanted me to reserve space for the chipper and when I did, said it wasn't long enough. That, plus price, is why I went with a different firm this time. Still can't watch the guy doing his thing high in the branches. Partly because imagination of disaster me sees branches breaking under him (yes of course he's clipped and carbined), partly because My tree, my tree, my poor tree denuded even before the blossoms have begun. However they've taken down any branch that comes even close to the wires, so no worry about high winds bringing stuff down. High winds love to strip twigs from the front yard trees so yeah, I have a thing about trees and wires.

Their email said I was second on their list today and they'd be here around lunchtime and lunchtime can be anything around twelve. Even if I know that work never ever finishes early I still felt it necessary to be up and exercised and fed by 11, so no rolling back to sleep when I woke at 9. Curtailed sleep and allergies have kept me logey all day, helped by ordering in a banh mi and Vietnamese coffee for lunch. Guys showed up at 1:45 and lunch showed up at 1:50. Is bright and cold and blowy today, after yesterday's 'four seasons in 24 hours.' I went out in winter jacket for the grey autumnal morning temps, had to take it off when the sun came out and warmed the world up, came home to snow showers followed by thunder and monsoon rain. One really doesn't need this kind of drama, you know.

It's actually not 'how terribly strange to be seventy' or even seventy-something. It's realizing that stuff one remembers perfectly well happened sixty years ago. Lots of people don't even live to sixty. That's the weird part.

Evidently walking 7000 steps leads to, conservatively, eleven hours of sleep, if we suppose it took me over an hour to fall asleep, which I don't think it did. So I finally woke up well after noon and forewent my usual exercises to have breakfast instead. But did them afterwards because heavy rain meant no going out. So I am stretched and no less limber than usual.

Succeeded in one long postponed task, which was sweeping the basement stairs, something I've probably never done since returningfrom Japan thirty years ago. But six years back when next door was moving stuff into my basement my s-i-l cleaned the place up and my did it make a difference. So I've known I should do it but I've never been happy on the stairs since tripping on them last year. However, did get them swept off, with my backyard broom because basement dust is nasty, and need only bring a dustpan and garbage bag down to dispose of the piles. Which will do when I rescue the laundry I did today after it dries in the furnace's heat. Furnace is still not on because temps won't drop until the wee hours, but have bumped the thermostat up to 15 so I won't freeze in those same wee hours.

One of those fitness bros on Tiktok was banging on about 'Your first 5000 steps don't count! That's just you moving around in your day. It's the second 5000 that will make you fit!' Yeah well, we know who doesn't have an office job. Also who is not an arthritic seventy-something. 5000 steps is a good day for me, achieved today by going out for lunch in the 'one day only! sun' and continuing along Bloor to Wieners Home Hardware, where I purchased an air purifier and a 100 foot extension cord, and walked both back on the rollator. I have good intentions of trimming vines in the back garden and the hedge in the front, which will not happen soon because my back is killing me these days. Maybe when April is over?

(There was an interlude there where I went to get cash from the BoM's ATM, which returned my card and gave me a receipt but did not give me cash. And because it was Friday, there was a lineup to speak to a person. So I waited and watched one woman do something with what looked like her business's account books, and then did something else, and then had to pay some bills, and then needed something else done with her card. All the time in the world. But she finished at last and I rolled up to the desk and asked about my money. The clerk took my receipt, looked at it, and showed me the small print under my total, which said the machine could not complete the transaction so the withdrawal was cancelled. I felt like an idiot, of course, but now I know. And know not to try for money on a Friday when the machines are likely to run out of cash. Or run out of tens, a new option that I'd like to use except that mostly the ATMs will only offer me twenties and fives. Well, fifties if I want them but I don't. I want small bills for panhandlers and tips.)

But after a rest at home with beanbags and muscle relaxants I did another of my perennial To Do chores and washed the warmer of my two winter coats at the laundromat. Cold water and a smaller load let me get away with a mere 2.75; the larger machines start at $4 for a cold wash. You can't dry clean this coat but I doubt that washing got much of the grime off the sleeves. I tumble dried it on low, as instructed, but it will require hanging up to get completely dry. Which is fine-- winter's last blast will blast through some time tomorrow and I will need the heat on for a couple of nights.

After which I went out again to see if Fiesta had turkey rolls, which they didn't. Got some hummous to eat with veg and a couple of Pepsis to help with the sinus medication I have to take in the allergy season. All this came to a grand total of 7000 steps, so no, no second 5000 steps for me. Fitness bro can go pound sand.

Oh happy day dep't. Fiesta has its bagels back. My email works again for my money woman and I have a chunk of change before the markets tank once more. Seriously, will no one rid me of this turbulent toddler? And greasy-haired Kegsbreath while we're at it.

My bank tells me when there's a withdrawal over $500, which is nice, but do they need to ping me the info at 2 a.m? Mind, I was actually up at that hour. Increasing my water intake has lost me some of the weight that vodka put on this winter, and I'm grateful, but even if I drink nothing after 8 p.m., once my body is in water-shedding mode it doesn't stop. So I'm back to those middle of the night bathroom trips which I thought were long behind me.

I have also discovered how one orders from amazon.jp. That odd country in the list, Club? That's Canada. So I could order the new 100 Demons from them but amazon.jp is still amazon.jp is still unmitigated highway robbery. The exchange rate is heavenly: a tankōbon comes in at $8. Once amazon has its weasley way, it will cost me $49 and change. Yeah, no, as they say in the Midwest. Must try to work out honto.jp's new buying system since they ditched the German company, and maybe then they'll be willing to sell me paperbacks again. In the meantime Finder Jean has offered to mail me a copy so I've ordered it from amazon to her address and hope it arrives there safely.

The rain kindly held off until well after I got home from physio, which was nice (I took my rain cape just in case, which is doubtless why it did so) but now is bucketing down and will probably keep on doing it until Friday. So no, not putting any garbage out tonight. Besides I should pack up those used furnace filters in the basement, which require a large type of garbage bag, and I don't feel like it. Rain and warmth makes things hurt, and sinuses not least of all. So shall sit inside and feel sorry for myself instead. Especially since there were no turkey rolls at Loblaws even though they had them last week-- also frozen stuffed turkeys for $55, dear lord-- and I wanted an easy cook easy carve turkey roll to supply my protein for three or four days. Old age is when eating is less a pleasure and more of a chore: have you had sufficient protein today, sufficient fibre, sufficient green veg? My wholegrain cereal and blueberries take care of at least half the fibre but the protein is a problem. It's supposed to be something ridiculous like 90 grams for someone my age and weight and I can't manage that. I should just lose weight and then I could eat less.

Reading is a bust. Finished a Miles Burton, or maybe two-- they don't stick in the memory, but I'm glad Kobo has more of them in. Have a dead tree Golden Age mystery from the library and When They Burned the Butterfly waiting there for whenever it stops raining. But my most enjoyable reading right now is an oddity. Back in the 90s there was a fanfiction collection called Anime House Presents, generally a mixed bag of stories in 80s series I didn't know, and varying widely as to quality. But one writer, Vicki Wyman, wrote in Lupin Sansei, and wrote really well. I don't know that series at all but it doesn't matter: Wyman did that best-of-doujinshi thing of making the characters distinctly her own, in stories whose titles all start with the words 'Thoughts Contingent'. I've been going through my collection with a view to getting rid of them, and have reached the special all Eroica issue. In which there's a longish novella by Wyman, crossing Lupin and his two henchmen in a caper with Dorian and Klaus. Thoughts Contingent on a Blithe Spirit is an utter delight and I'm taking it very slowly to spin out the pleasure.

Last night's thunderstorms were all rolling distant thunder, unusual for this town, but FB photos say the lightning was out of this world. Cleared up around noon but I stayed in and did desultory housekeeping and exercises. More rain tomorrow, of course.

Today, as my sister said, was a 'get everything done before the rain comes back' day. Everything for me was a library hold and late lunch at my tony Korean restaurant where I haven't been in ages, mostly because my regular waitress hasn't been around. I thought she'd left but no, she was just spending two months in China. With her family. Because she's not Korean at all, she's Chinese. She just happens to speak Korean that she learned at a Korean restaurant there, and Japanese that she learned in Japan, and English that she learned here, and now I feel like a piker. Yes, there are people who just have a gift for languages and I am not one of them, but ohh I wish I was.

I was ready to congratulate her on missing our ferocious winter, but turns out her family lives in Harbin, which was probably worse than us.

It was a sudden! warm day, after being furnace weather all weekend. The wind blew so it wasn't quite as oppressive as two weeks ago but I still have that scratchy antsy unhappiness that the first warm weather brings. At least the forecast rain got itself over with in the night so people could get to the polls, those who didn't do the advanced polls at Easter. Someone has been papering the neighbourhood telephone poles with flyers denouncing Carney, probably for not following a socialist agenda. Which is no surprise for anyone with an ounce of political nous, but the younger generation has no memory of what a red tory is. I too would like my left-leaning Iiberals back, but in the face of entrenched populism out west and the Orange One down south, a very central government is needed to pull the saner right-wing element in.

What's the use of sleeping till past noon if all it gets me is a dream of sitting the top level of the Japanese Language Proficiency Test and not being able to read the tiny print of the exam, while the kind invigilator told me not to worry about quitting. I might as well have got up when I woke up, or woke for the third time because I kept coming to the surface in the dark.

The tiny print was in English and probably references the tiny print of my Plato texts. Anyway, finished the Meno last night and the Crito today. The Meno is head-hurty and hard to follow, even with diagrams, so I am happy to be embarked on the Phaedo now.

Seems we've had yoyoing temps for a good two months now, but in April we get near the need for change of season clothes. I put away the thickest of the wool socks and brought out a couple of the cotton sockettes, pulled the mid-weight culottes from storage, and shall swap the thickest of the waffle tops for tshirts. When temps swing from 20+humidex to 12+wind in the same week, you need a wardrobe for all seasons.

This being the last sunny day till oh who knows, I put a box of books out by the sidewalk and then... stayed in, because Saturday at the Opera was Don Giovanni from the Met last year. Having missed Idomeneo on Valentine's Day through not checking the schedule, I was very careful to keep today open. That library hold that came in will just have to wait. And being in the front room, I managed 30 minutes on the bike machine without triggering my Don'wanna reflex, that has kept me away from it for months.

Not to be snotty, though, but some of the singers' Italian was seriously English-inflected, particularly the Commendatore. Other English speakers can manage the vowels, like Kiri Te Kanawa, but obviously not everyone. And of course nobody else's Elvira comes up to hers. Still, a pleasant interlude. Don Giovanni was played as an oily snake, which makes sense, but is new to me since I imprinted on Raimondi's menacing Giovanni in the Losey film, which now gives me the oogies to listen to.

And note that May 23 is Turandot, that Met production that I've seen clips of on Tiktok and would adore to see live.

I did make it to an oddly empty Fiesta at 5. I wanted bagels but woe is me, Fiesta no longer has bagels. Can't think why not because they bake them on the premises and cannot keep them in stock. Mind, I don't *need* bagels, but those fritters yesterday upset my tum and I wanted some cushioning starch. Ah well, rice crackers it is.

Since it was raining all day, I had another stab at making zucchini potato fritters. The first thing to note is that all recipes must be halved, if not quartered. So, sorry, two medium zucchini and a large carrot are Far Too Much for one person. One onion and one medium potato was sufficient for that amount of carrot and zuke but three eggs was too much. The onion helped the flavour but the fritters were still pretty bland. I suspect you really need to add far more salt than I'm willing to, and that sautéing the onion would be even better. Cooking in a nonstick skillet doesn't really cook them: I ended up with a kind of okonomiyaki without the sauce. But I seriously don't want to fry in oil. These are supposed to conduce to healthy eating and deep frying is not that. Presumably something like HP sauce would help with the blandness, or worcestershire if you incline that way. Shall see which works best tomorrow because boy do I have a lot of zucchini fritters.

Rain stopped late afternoon so I got out for a prescription, as also a tensor bandage for my annoying left wrist that clicks and stabs at me. Physio thinks it's tendons rather than bones and I hope she's right. Tendons can be cortisoned into submission but arthritis cannot.

Dentist appointment at 1:30 so of course was up at 8:45 to be breakfasted and medicated and exercised and showered to leave house before 12. Going by cab takes barely 20 minutes but a) the TTC is Like That and b) it's recycle Thursday meaning the trucks will come moseying up the street invariably when the cab is due. Also it wasn't supposed to rain until later and my subway station has elevators now. So I hoofed it down there and got on same. But someone has decided that telling people eastbound and westbound is too confusing for the poor dears, so they name the terminal points instead. Which might still be alright except that the termini are Kipling and Kennedy, waaay out in Heere men say bee dragonnes land, and conveying nothing to me personally. However. Kennedy is eastbound because it has an e in it, and also is the one where I have to go to the lower level and then cross to the elevator on the other side. Because I always go east and never go west if I can avoid it.

So off we start on our three station journey and then as we near the second station slow down and stop. Ah. Signal problems farther along have caused all trains to turn back at Broadview so eastbound trains are backed up. At least they tell us this, clearly for once. We start moving slowly and stop at Spadina, pull out and once again stop and wait before St.George. Start again, arrive, I get off and trek down the platform to the elevator. Woman is standing there looking distraught. 'It's not coming!' And I'm all Oh god didn't we do this last time? But as she's turning away I see the cables start to move. Two women get off with their kids in two wagons, the loading of which accounts for the delay. So up and onto line1 and off at Queen's Park. Woman outside the station asks me is the subway running yet, and I say No, still shuttle buses from Broadview and she turns sadly away. Mosey over to Yonge. It has taken an hour and change to get here. No time for a Tim's but do get to send my tax authorisation to the accountant, registered mail for a third of what the courier costs and no danger (fingers crossed) of it going to Quebec this time.

My dentist had an emergency patient as well as me, meaning she floated between the two of us, meaning I got a break from holding my mouth open with my weakened jaw muscles. (Cracked vertebrae apparently does that to you.) So I could actually move my jaw when she was finished, for which I was grateful. And grateful too that I still had money on account so the damage was half what it might have been. "I'll put this through for insurance." Oh no, they said they wouldn't cover this one. "Oh, they often say that and then pay it anyway." Which would be nice if it happens but I think they refused it twice. However, I stopped by Fran's (the last greasy spoon in TO) and had meatloaf and mash with what I would have spent on taxis.

Back on the TTC, and knowing better than to transfer to the Bloor line at 3 pm, up to Dupont. Elevator to the concourse, over to the elevator to street level, it arrives with father and two kids in a double stroller, and... the doors won't open. Guy inside tries opening them manually, I press the large help button and tell the voice what's up, voice says he'll come over but doesn't. Then Dad gets the doors open from inside, remarking 'It did this yesterday too' as he exits, but the doors close before I can get in and won't open when I press the button. And still no one comes. And this, boys and girls, is why I hope never to be in a wheelchair because though it's a pain, you *can* take a folding walker on the escalator, even the stupidly narrow ones at Dupont station. Which I do, and traffic being backed up to forever all along Dupont because condos have taken up a whole lane, as ever, I walk home. And no, no buses pass me as I do so. There are too damned many condos being built in this town, especially that one, which has a penthouse going for five million and lower floors for not much less. On grubby Dupont that has no shopping or green spaces to speak of. People are nuts.

Tomorrow is, what else, rain again so I shall sleep in and stay in. Does it always rain this much in April? My DW journal says yes, yes it does. Heigh-ho.

Well, if Armageddon returns, I at least have my minor pleasures. Like a gas bill in the minus numbers and a tax refund that's only slightly less than last year. And it's less thanks to the dental plan which is still a win. Then I was pleased to see the Folio Society has an illustrated Howl's Moving Castle available. Either my eyesight was acting up or someone miscoded the webpage because I saw the price-- $1000-- and was hell no. Only it's actually $100, which is more like. Maybe see how expenses go this month-- I have a crown that insurance won't pay for and a tree trimming on the 20th-- but perhaps after that...

Finished nothing but a Dr Priestley or two this week. Tiktok is all I'm up for in these antsy latter days.

Well, if we're heading towards the apocalypse at least we're doing it on a sunny day. A cold sunny day, mind: snow on the rooftops when I got out of bed at an unwonted 9:30. Vanished in the April sun when I eventually went out to catch the 4 pm opening of Sushi on Bloor. Had a bento, very pleasant except for the guy who came in and plonked himself down two tables from me. He'd been smoking before he came in and reeked of it. Had to put sanitizer on my upper lip to kill the smell. I know most people don't smell most things, and smokers certainly can't, but it's a misery for those of us who do. I suppose it's like those with perfect pitch who have to listen to rock singers who definitely don't.

Otherwise sun and snow do make a change from the chronic rain showers and also what was probably thundersnow last night. Whether it's the rain or whether it's a new stage of decrepitude, but my wrists are now catching and panging arthritically in the fashion of my April elbows. Last month I could skip acupuncture no problem, but having missed last week's session was clearly a bad idea. Have also ballooned with water weight as my ankles and scale inform me, alas. Time to drop the vodka coolers and reintroduce the 1.5 litres of water again.

Yeah, rain. And wind. And when the weather page said it would all stop, ie late afternoon, it started to snow. Well, sleet: little white things bouncing off the bunker roof. So I stayed in and did nothing much. Easter Sunday is not a day to go out to eat anyway.

Found a site with a downloadable .pdf No Canvassers sign but I do not have a printer and the library is closed tomorrow. I have no confidence that one pass will be enough for the Liberals or the NDP so must get it up before next weekend's last push and the following Monday's Day Of push.

The cure for Cabell's itchy-making idiocy and longueurs turns out to be, of all things, Plato. Reading the Meno in the Mentor paperback's small print, and the Euthyphro in the more legible but not as polished Loeb translation. Occasionally glancing at the Greek facing text and wondering how I was ever able to read that. Oh, and polished off my disintegrating translation of Inanna's descent into Hell, fifty years old or more, complete with editorial comparisons to Orpheus, Vergil, Dante, Swinburne-I-think (ETA no, Milton), some Irish hero I don't know, TS Eliot, and I forget what else. No doubt she'd have thrown in the Provencal poets too, like everyone else of that generation, if only they'd written about travelling through the netherworld. A quick consult of wikipedia suggests she should have been referencing Gilgamesh, but she didn't.

Profile

flemmings

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags

The rodents are running hurrah! hurrah!

Recent Entries

Expand Cut Tags