Off the Cliff

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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. 

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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. 

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.

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 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.

Yesterday achieved the dizzy heights of 22C, which means patio weather in TO, so after voting I went and sat on  a patio and watched the great white clouds of summer lumber overhead. Evidently no matter the restaurant, fish and chips in this here burg means a great slab of deepfried something. Maybe I'm just confused by the fish fingers of my childhood because I always expect something more dainty. However Pour Boy's is better than Paupers' and the servings as ever were generous enough that they sufficed for lunch today.

When I went out to the polls I half expected rain shortly, just from the grey-banded clouds and the fretful wind. But those were presumably the last hurrah of the overnight rain that flooded all the street corners. I still ached and was abominably stiff all through yesterday so my 5600+ steps were accomplished in misery and wanhope. Today, with temps back to seasonable cold, I'm much more limber. Still not venturing outside because, sun or not, the weather pages are saying heavy rain. Am indoors with vodka and beanbags, trying not to spend the whole day on tiktok and failing miserably.

Yesterday was a total washout, literally. Monday night was a nuit blanche interrupted by rolling thunderstorms, so I read until 4 and slept in to headachy noon. It continued to storm and deluge all day and especially into the evening, as the temps dropped from Monday's muggy 20C to something more seasonable overnight. Had the heat on when I went to bed because we were hitting 4C by morning. Today, well, got up to Loblaws for milk and such, bundled up garbage for tomorrow's pickup, and made zucchini fritters. I'd grated the zucchini and potatoes yesterday with my *extremely* achy elbows-- apparently pressure changes and damp are registered in the arms now-- and tried to squeeze out the moisture through the cheesecloth I bought on the weekend. Discover that kitchen scissors and nail scissors will not cut cheesecloth. Shoved the mixture into a tupperware and had something else for dinner. Today I used a linen tea towel and that worked fine, but the carrot I was going to add had gone rubbery unpeelable and ungratable. Tossed that, added soupçon of flour and egg to the mix, and fried them up. Passable, but if I ever do this again will definitely add onion. And maybe baking soda like they say, to make the things lighter.

Have had a Dr Priestley on the go since forever and still not finished it. I want country house murders and this is about a syndicate that steals stuff. Finished Cabell's The High Place, wondering why I still read Cabell and his extremely unlikeable protagonists, a murderer in this case, as well as a horndog like *every last one of his male characters.* There's a name for why I'm doing it,  which I suspect is masochism. 'My critics think I am an enemy to marriage,' James whines. 'As a married man, I take exception to this.' Yeah well, all the guys you write can't stand their wives and go around having it off with any nubile thing available, so no wonder. I need to stop reading male authors, is what. 

The rain on Thursday filled the interstices of my recycle bin that I'd left upside-down to try and remove stuff stuck to the bottom. The bins are as high as my chest, is why I can't just reach in and pull papers etc. out. Anyway, temps went back to winter Thursday night and I didn't get around to righting the bin until today. At which several chunks of ice fell out of the handle. The bouncing ball of temperature swings is supposed to be over by now but clearly is not. Today hovered near freezing with snowflurries, Monday will be 16C.

Had not registered that this week will bring Easter closures on Friday. Must stock up at some point, probably Thursday along with the rest of the world, because Wednesday is supposed to be heavy rain and thunderstorms.

Cannot convince myself that today is Saturday. Has felt like Sunday all day. Went out to Paupers for fish and chips and will not repeat the experience because the place was full of shrieking happy parties, labbing and jorking as John Lennon said, and the fish was encased in a solid half inch of batter.

How lovely to be able to roll back to sleep in the morning and not get up until 11:30.

Saw my first snowdrops today. Woman down Manning was raking out her side garden and there they were. Of course my understanding is that you're supposed to leave all the rotted leaf detritus from autumn for the insects to breed come warmer weather, but certain yuppies and certain elderly Italians will have no part of this. They want tidy gardens and I assume don't want insects. Hence they use leaf blowers in the fall, if yuppie, or rakes if Italian. Signora down the street has cleaned her front yard already and left the mulch out to be picked up whenever the city starts picking up garden waste, which will certainly not be this week. Which is recycling and I have disposed of a number of Japanese novels in same. I suppose I should also trun that box of Zero Sums that I discovered hiding behind the door of the downstairs front room but sufficient unto the day etc. And anyway I have a bag of doujinshi to go out. If recycle comes late I may add it to the bin.

Finished this week were a couple of Priestleys, Death Sits on the Board aka The Revenger's Tragedy, and Harvest Murder which, if it weren't in the title, would leave you wondering if anyone was murdered, or was going to be murdered, at all. Finally got through The Silver Stallion, third in my Cabell reread. I suppose I might as well reread all of these in case of FOMO, but they're much much slower than Dr. Siri, my other marathon reread of this year. I'm now wondering do I want to send these latter to a recycle place, cause like if I'm still alive in ten years maybe I might want to read them again? But they're available in ebook from the library, while Cabell isn't. Mh-- Kobo has a few titles but not the whole by any means. Ah well, shall see. There's only so much of Cabell's southern gentlemanship that one can take, and life is short.