January 31: Big curve

Never in my imagination would I be back at Pearson Airport again this month. As I head to Winterlicious meal number three at Mildred’s Temple Kitchen, my brother calls. Dad is in the hospital. He had a stroke this morning. Should I abort the meal? I may as well eat and surround myself with friends. Mom calls. I discuss directly with the neurology resident. Dysarthria, garbled speech, hemiplegia, chronic renal failure, CT scan.

I talk with mom again. She could not understand Dad’s garbled speech so my dad, pen and paper in hand, jots down “H₂O”. I laugh. His brain is still functioning at a pretty high level.

I finish eating (satisfying meal: tasty gnudi and Swiss chard, comfy mac ‘n cheese, and chocolate ice cream stuffed profiteroles), return home, book my flight, clear my schedule, pack, and head to the airport. So much for staying in town.

January 30: Roomsful of art

I’m really getting into my improv class. We learn about reflecting before speaking and cuing verbally--interpersonal skills that should come in handy off the stage.

This blog has led me to so many interesting people. I met Josh on the train in September--a young vibrant extrovert who has migrated south from Thunder Bay to Toronto. We wander around Parkdale soaking in the sunshine that has been so rare of late.

I check out Gladstone’s ‘Come to My Room’. This erstwhile rundown rooming house has rebirthed as a retro arty hotel. Jeremy (whom I met at Lota and told me about the show) and Deborah curate a fun show--some interaction, some novel uses of media, some whimsical displays, some play on words. Xiaojing Yan presents a silkscreen piece using images of Chinese immigrant women. We discuss adding me to her ongoing project. Emigrant at age 2 will make me the youngest in her collection. This will bring my art experience to a whole new level--observing art, creating art, and now incorporated into art.

January 29: Eye candy

One event gets higher priority on my calendar than food and that is the Interior Design Show. The newest frontiers of design, judging from the displays, involve lots of pink and orange with grey and white, lots of fireplaces, and wood. Bendable stone is the newest thing (something like paper being bendable but trees are not...). I”ll have to work some into my fireplace unit design.

I rush off to lunch at the Ouzeri with my fellow foodies. Ouzeri might not serve up the best Greek in town but a steal at $15 for mountains of very tasty mezes served up with in house made pita and buns, lemony artichokes, hearty moussaka, then followed up by rich yogurt drizzled with honey. We dig in with passion--a thoroughly enjoyable food experience.

I get home just in time to rush off to more food--potluck dinner awaits at Reethi’s. I really cannot rush--I waddle to the next meal.

January 28: Dreaming big

First day of Winterlicious--first restaurant in the line-up: the Wine Bar, formerly Jamie Kennedy’s flagship, now owned by Scott Vivian. Fifteen bucks buys the truffled mushroom soup, beet risotto, and crispy topped bread pudding--not a bad start to this biannual food eating orgy. I do miss Jamie Kennedy though, a master chef, who has recently been awarded the Order of Canada. An unfortunate turn of his fortunes forced him to scale back operations to avoid bankruptcy. How sad that brilliant celebrity chefs have difficulties making a living.

Ali at St. Lawrence Market’s Alex Farms Cheese shop is surprised that I have visited to his home country, Uzbekistan. I prove myself using the half dozen Uzbek words in my vocabulary.

I revisit Institute without Boundaries. As part of the Interior Design week, the institute presents their Lota project. Grand vision--grand scale. Very impressive!

January 27: Playing a cad

I get into the Toronto Design week in a personal way. I meet with Justin, my long lost furniture designer. We start discussions about another piece for my living room, something that I have been designing in my mind for the last few years.

Some new research on the radio: distracted eaters tend to eat more and are less satisfied with their eating experience. This solidifies my rule: no TV, no computer, no reading during meals.

I head to the lovingly restored Elgin and Winter Garden Theatres, the only double decker theatre complex remaining in the world.

I’m am so tired that I fall asleep during a stellar performance. The snooze was certainly no fault of Christopher Plummer who reprieves his Tony award winning performance as Barrymore. This is no ‘Sound of Music’ but a drama that highlights the master actor at his craft--such a treat to see. The play, however, is not to my taste. I am not interested in the sorry life of often-drunk and womanizing John Barrymore.

January 26: Big house on the prairies

I am on a quest for an architectural gem. I head to Buffalo with Juanita to visit the Frank Lloyd Wright designed Darwin Martin Complex. This is a nice complement to the Falling Water visit in May 2010.

We are picked for a random car search at the U.S. Border. How random is the random search? We are behind by a few minutes but just enough to be late for the 11 a.m. tour.

We enter the modern white reception building, a good antidote to the dirty snow and overcast skies. We step into the main house, signs of ongoing restoration scattered about. The completion date is aimed for October 2012, in time for the the international architects’ convention. We walk through the pergola into the lush conservatory with its cast of Nike (Winged Victory of Samothrace, original in the Louvre). The Barton House next door gives us a taste of the interior, but without the same grand scale. The gardener’s cottage is just darling. If I had the option, I would opt to live here. (But then I don’t.) The bright sunny south-facing dining nook, the art glass window panes, the cozy fireplace, the smaller scale--all leading to a home with warmth. This is a very liveable spot. Lucky gardener!

A quick lunch and a brief stop at the Albright-Knox Gallery, then back to Toronto, just in time for my mosaics class. Lesson learned today: creating good art is much more difficult than it appears. I realize that I am better at left braining than creating art.

January 25: The Finnish touch

Conclusion: I don’t think I can let someone else clean my place. I worry when she uses steel wool to polish my chrome tea kettle. I cringe when I watch her put the footstool on the dish rack. I wrinkle up my nose at the moldy bathroom smell after all the cleaning. I redo the surfaces at the end of the 3 hour cleaning session. And there is still dust around. Maybe I’m just picky. Maybe I have an unreasonable aversion against germs. Maybe I just need to communicate what I want. But for now, I’ll strike off ‘hire cleaner’ from my resolutions list.

I take up my first sewing project in decades. I am surprised that I still remember how to thread the sewing machine--a bit like riding a bicycle--the movements indelibly ingrained. I can still sew a straight line. The Marimekko retro cushion covers are not perfect, but pretty decent. Yes, it does take me hours. I could have commissioned someone, but there is something satisfying about creating these covers. After all, this is what the Year of the Right Brain is all about. My next project? New curtains.

January 24: Balancing on a spin

I wander through streets emptied by the frigid temperatures and post holiday blues. The ambiance created by falling snow among the Victorian row houses and the carpenter’s gothic styled Heliconian Hall, a charming anomaly to the Yorkville streetscape. It hearkens back to Grant Wood’s ‘American Gothic’.

A second attempt at moksha yoga today. I aborted the first time ‘round when I left for Haiti. While the instructors are supportive and the venue meditative, I am not enamoured with this form of yoga. The dizzying heat! How am I to balance when my head spins?

January 23: Off the cuff

Improv 201 class today. Kevin is a fabulous teacher--he’s brilliant, knows his stuff, and reinforces positively. I am awful at mimicry, but don't mind making a fool of myself. After all, this is what class is all about. Besides, I can’t be good at everything.

We get geeky. Hot apps is the topic. A sleep app monitors your sleep pattern. Just another sign that someday, an iPhone will be the only tool needed.

January 22: Travelling vicariously

I attend the Great Expeditions travel club meeting. While most members are a bit older, I have an affinity to these non-touristy travellers. Tonight’s feature: small town north Korea. This is certainly not the USO tour I experienced. No matter, propaganda is a given--whether it be for or against. The vignette shows a Korea that is isolated, barren of commerce, and devoid of pastimes.

I meet Max Jones, who turns out to be a 30 year old in a 13 year old’s body! He was instrumental in the release of American journalists, Laura Ling and Euna Lee in their recent detainment in North Korea. He even has his own Wikipedia page.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Max_Jones

January 21: Feeling hot hot hot

I check out local cross country trails. Now I know I’m spoiled. In Atikokan, I drive 5 minutes to get to well groomed, crowd-free trails meandering through picture-worthy winterscapes. Today, I drive for 75 minutes to get to Walker Woods. It is pretty though, sitting on an escarpment with vistas extending to the lake.

I clean up--ski bum to city girl in 35 minutes. I return to Room Service with my fellow foodies. Sometimes, restaurant experiences are so perfect that I do not return, for fear that a future meal may spoil the good memories. Room Service delivers once again. They should bottle up the jump up soup. I for one will be a happy customer.

January 20: On edge

Skating is such a Canadian unifier. While many other activities may remain divisive--culture and religion in play with tastes and restrictions, skating is such a quintessential Canadian activity. I have watched many a skater, often newly minted Canadian residents, inching his or her way around the ice surface, then picking up speed and confidence, delight on the face.

I break my new skates in today on the Harbourfront Centre rink, at the edge of Lake Ontario. I chat with Dave, who patrols the ice 2 shifts a day. Only recently did he learn to skate properly. He doles out these four basic do’s to all the newbies that come his way: lace up tight, bend the knees, skate on the heels, find the edge.

He tells me of the webcam. I can be lazy and check out skate conditions without walking across the street. (Could they put a sign with the temperature and windchill factor too?) Maybe sometime you’ll see me twirling around in my spanking new blue skates!

http://www.harbourfrontcentre.com/webcam/webcam4.cfm

I head to the St Lawrence Hall in Old Town York. This is the oldest part of Toronto, dating back to 1793. The Great Hall has seen many luminaries within such as Sir John A. MacDonald and Darcy McGee. I attend a lecture by historian, Afua Cooper on the Underground Railroad stop in Toronto. Fascinating topic it is--Canada being the end stop for many. I am reminded of Lawrence Hill’s historical novel, The Book of Negroes (published in the U.S. as Someone Knows my Name), one of the best books I’ve read in recent years. I have his second novel sitting unopened on my night table. I acquired it to read in Haiti but never did crack it open.

January 19: Smashing good time

I listen to Mary Wiens’ touching vignette about a cop as guardian angel to a mentally ill woman. Police officers are also frontline mental health workers.

Check it out at: http://www.cbc.ca/metromorning/2011/01/wake-up-call-3.html

I bid au revoir to my 35 year old skates. A pretty good clue that replacements were due was when Richmond Oval’s rental skates were better than my own. I enter the figure skating boutique store. No, I don’t need a pair of those $500 skates. I even opt out of leather booted skates for high top sneaker skates. This should save me weeks of sore ankles breaking in new leather skates. I can’t wait to lace up and test them out!

I approach the imposing turreted building that is Central Tech. Many artists have been trained inside these walls. I walk among some stellar student art work. Doris McCarthy, one of my favourite Canadian artists, once taught here.

I am attending my first mosaic course. Mosaics fascinate me: classical flooring in Cos, whimsical colours at Gaudi’s Parque Guell, simple elegance in Pablo Neruda’s Valparaiso home. Most stunning are the micro-mosaics in the Gilbert Collection (currently not displayed to the public but may soon be incorporated into the Victoria & Albert Museum). I spent many a Saturday afternoon wandering through the collection in Somerset House during my year in London.

Today’s lesson: how to smash up dishes and cut up tiles.

January 18: Blue Tuesday

There is a ribbon of blue around my home today--and it isn’t even Blue Monday.

The mood is sombre among both spectators and participants. Twelve thousand police officers are marching into the convention centre to attend a funeral. Sgt. Russell was killed last week when he was hit by a stolen snow plough. I think of my two friends who have worked, and even played, alongside him. Thank you, Sgt. Russell for giving your all to protect us from harm. Thank you, officers, for keeping us safe each day.

January 17: Blues Monday

The radio host announces that it is Blue Monday. Apparently, today’s collective mood is at a nadir today. I have no time to be blue.

I dash off to get my haircut at Vidal Sassoon. I have an affinity for London 60’s mod look. Along with miniskirts, boots, and lava lamps, I like the geometric cuts that Vidal Sassoon invented, updated to look current in 2011. My stylist, Karen, mentions that I have been visiting the salon for a long time. How long? Eighteen years, 13 of them as one of the demo models! In fact, I have sat next to my stylist in the past as we modeled together. Now she cuts my hair. She tells me that when she finished her biochemistry degree, she decided what she really wanted was to cut hair. She signed up for Vidal Sassoon’s rigorous training program and moved through the ranks. She is now an instructor, teaching the VS techniques to other stylists.

An idea: how about going to the Maple Blues Awards night? I had heard about this event on the radio this morning. Besides, it is in the year old Koerner Hall, a gorgeous intimate auditorium with its undulating caramel hued woodwork. I attend concerts here, just as an excuse to visit.

I am lucky. The show is almost sold out. There is a seat available for the show that starts in 50 minutes, and it is in row 6. Likely one of the nominees returned one of his alloted premium seats.

I hear some serious blues, played by some of the top blues musicians in Canada. I hear Shakura S’aida once again. Does this lady have a voice! A sweetness to round out the gritty blues vocals. I pick up her CD on the way out. Halfway out the door, I turned back to see if I can get my CD autographed. The lounge area is playing host to the after-party, filled with blues insiders and a few fans--pretty friendly bunch. I approached Shakura. She smiles and introduces herself. She even helps me peel off the plastic and walks around asking for a Sharpie to do the deed. I am happy. I walk out, then thought: I should have asked for a photo. It would have been a good souvenir: a photo of her on the night she wins female vocalist of the year.

It isn’t Blue Monday. It’s Blues Monday. Was there a typo?