And they're off!

It's election time here in Canada, and I have the pleasure (and, at times, pain, depending on the politicians) of watching it all unfold from outside a newsroom. As a resident of Canada, but not a citizen, I'm not allowed to vote. So I figure that makes me the perfect guide through the quirky theme park that is ElectionLand Canada. Stay tuned - it's only open until May 2.

In the blue corner we have inveterate minority ruler Stephen Harper, aching to finally get more than half the vote. Heck, even half the seats would be nice.

In the red corner, we have Michal Ignatieff, an egghead and former professor whose barbecue bus tour last summer managed to make him seem, um, like an egghead former professor making a big effort to connect with real people. He won over the press, but that's likely because most of them don't understand normal people either.

And in the other three corners of this pentagon-ring, we have Jack Layton and the New Democrats (does that sound like a band name or what?), the Greens (the sports bra of politics: Lots of support, little to show for it), and the Bloc Quebecois, which really only cares about one province (guess which one? Bet you can't...), only fields candidates in that province, and generally likes to play spoiler a lot in parliament while quietly propping up the governments they claim to despise.

The writ was dropped last Friday, and the weekend produced lots of hubbub, but really, most people around here were too busy looking out the window and wondering why we still have a foot of snow on the ground at the end of March. (We'll get interested in a Spring election when it actually starts to feel like Spring.)

Still, this is my cranky-because-I-can't-vote-but-secretly-happy-I-don't-have-to-choose-from-this-sorry-lot report card on yesterday's events:

RIGHTO: Michael Ignatieff was actually discussing policy. The Liberals went hard on student funding, but I'd like to see how that funding would be dispensed. More college/university places? Only if they're used to do something other than push more kids into paths they're either not good enough or not interested enough to warrant. I have enough misplaced students in the class I teach, and there's only five of 'em in the course.

MEH: Jack Layton was in town (Kitchener), discussing the tough times of small business. Yup. Got that. Nice of you to buy a couple of shirts from your photo-op stop though. Points for that.

WHAT THE??: Stephen Harper, who continued his 'Look, I promise I'm not a robot!' series of photo opps by standing next to (and what's that? Singing with? Save us now...) that kid who sings Lady Gaga songs really well. Really, Steve, how many of your hard-core supporters like listening to Gaga's 'lesbian transgendered life'? 

(Note: Harper spent the weekend warning about democracy-killing coalitions. Here's a heads-up for you, mate: Coalitions are democratic. They're actually more democratic, because they involve co-operation among parties elected by the people. Spell that with me. "C-O-O-P-E-R..." Oh never mind.)

BOO!: The bloody consortium of broadcasters that televises the leaders' debates has excluded Greens leader Elizabeth May because her party doesn't have a seat in parliament. The party gained 6.8 per cent of the primary vote last time. That may not seem huge, but remember, Harper formed government with just 37.6 per cent of the primary vote and the Bloc was the third party with just 10 per cent.

It's not a lack of support that is keeping the Greens out - it's the parliamentary first-past-the-post system that is used here in Canada.  If you want a truly representative democracy, get this woman in the debates and get yourselves a bloody decent electoral system.

Harrumph.

This is from SavageChickens, and was dedicated to the 2005 election campaign. Not much has changed...

The Waterloo Chronicles

If you haven't been to Waterloo, you'll likely be surprised by what you find. As well as the two universities, the area is home to RIM headquarters (yup, I live at the home of the Blackberry), the Perimeter Institute for theoretical physics, the Institute for Quantum Computing and the Centre for International Governance Innovation (CIGI). There's a lot of smart people here. Really smart. Which leads, generally, to some absolutely fascinating events and conversations.

Two weeks ago I attended a panel discussion hosted by CIGI at its headquarters (which is, incidentally, a converted rum distillery). The topic was 'The Dark Side of Globalisation', and discussing the matter were former Chilean ambassador Jorge Heine, John Ralston Saul, writer and husband of a former governer general, and political science prof William Coleman. 

The three of them differed greatly in their backgrounds and approaches to the topic, but came to a similar conclusion: Globalisation, for all its ubiquity and apparent unavoidability, has created many problems that simply are ignored. (You can read about the discussion and watch the webcast here.)

It really got me thinking: Many great empires ended due to their own success. While the colonised lands asserted their statehood through independence movements, they often retained the societal structures of the colonisers. Which means, ultimately, the colonisation was successful.
Is that what will happen with globalisation? Globalisation has until now been a largely one-way process: The democratic and capitalist West 'globalises' the poorer, often undemocratic rest of the world. Will those countries embrace what they want of the West's loaded gifts, and tweak them to their own national purposes before booting out the globalisers? Will we see a number of interpretations of capitalism, some different variations of democracy, emerge in these lands? If that happens, none of these end results will be the same, so the world will remain splintered into nations catering to their own needs first, potentially at the expense of cross-border business and governance. Does that mean globalisation has worked when it fails? 

And is that what we're witnessing in the Middle East? In rejecting a status quo that had been supported by the West, while also striving for democracy, perhaps these countries are becoming the first of a post-globalisation world. It's too soon to tell. History shows that many will fall prey to the power-hungry bastards that often step into a power vaccuum. But at this moment, with so much reform and so many peaceful resolutions* seeming possible, these are fascinating developments to watch.

*Sadly, that's not likely to include Libya.

The mea in the culpa

Oh, woe me. How did it come to this? Two months back at the grindstone and all of my fun extra pursuits have completely fallen off the map. Bread making? If you're lucky. Art and card creation? Dream on. It's all work this, house that, and my most creative and artistic pursuits have largely revolved around the graceful shovelling of snow. And some damn fine wallpaper removal, if I do say so myself. 

Such is life. I'm sure I'm not the only one. I just have to somehow make it seem interesting enough to chronicle here. Or find something better to talk about. Or drink wine. Stay tuned.
 

Workin' life

I've now racked up six weeks on the job(s), and I've gotta say, this is exhausting! All of my plans to continue the bread-making, the artistic endeavours, the happy housewifery, have evaporated in the simple demands of having two jobs and trying to have a vaguely sane household.

I'll tell you about it some time. For now, though, my walk to work helps make everything better. Even when it's -24 with a wind chill, like today, sunny days and snow are a beautiful mix.

This is my walk to work...

And this is an awesome snow fort someone made in the baseball diamond. Love it!

Floods

The Globe and Mail asked me to give a Brisbanites account of the utterly devastating floods happening at home. It was a terribly hard piece to write, as it's been so terribly hard to watch it unfold from a distance. While I should be relieved to be in weather-sane Ontario, I really just wanted to be there with everyone.

 Makes no sense, but there you go. 

Anyhoo, story was published today. You can read the full piece at The Globe's website here. (Until it eventually goes behind a paywall. Sorry about that.)

An excerpt: "Most people are fine, if damp. What they’re really struggling with is a shared sense of helplessness, and a looming sense of imminent grief as the receding waters reveal the past week’s death toll, expected to be in the dozens."

No-one's looking forward to what's to come. My thoughts are with everyone at home.
xx

What the hell, homeland?

After literally months of rain -- nothing but pouring rain -- Queensland is now mostly underwater, with floodwaters building in the Wivenhoe Dam about to be unleashed on Brizzy. What the hell is going on down there? When I left, you were in drought, Queensland. Since then you've had the hottest Christmas on record, then almost run out of water, had the worst storm in memory, and now are about to drown.  If it wasn't all so hard to watch from afar, I'd joke about you lashing out because you want me back. But it is hard, so I won't joke.
Photos below give a teeny glimpse, and it hasn't even hit its peak. Be safe, all.

(P.S.: Let's mark this moment as the first in likely a long line of 'I wish I was still a newspaper journo' moments.)
* Photos care of news websites, and my mum's friend's facebook account. 

Where I used to run at Kedron/Stafford

Down the hill from my old apartment in The Valley.

Down the hill from my folks in Stanthorpe (on another old running path from when I lived there).

Round the corner (and down the hill a bit) from my folks in Stanners.

 

NYE2010

It's New Year's Eve 2010, and today I'm making an exception from my frustrating tendency to continually grasp for the unattained. Today, the end of a year, the end of a decade, I'm instead swimming in recognition, not of how far I've yet to go, but how far I have come.

This time ten years ago, I was working at the Stanthorpe Border Post, excited and nervous about my move to the big time at the Warwick Daily News. Little did I anticipate that move would take me, step by occasionally-backwards-step, all the way to Canada and this life of perpetual hope.

In the last ten years I have built a career then lost it from my ambivalent grip, watched someone die, kissed my baby nephew, wrote good words and bad, won some awards and lost others, destroyed all respect for myself and painfully pieced it back together, and through it all yearned for something I couldn't name. My feet led my heart, my heart fought my head. I chased things I should have let go, and let go things I should have chased. Mistakes were myriad.

And then -- be it thanks to the wisdom of ageing, or simply the learning of lessons life kept dumping on my doorstep -- everything has come to this moment of perfection. Tonight, T. and I will celebrate the end of a decade, and the beginning of another with so many dawnings in our world I fear we will be dazzled to blindness.

A year ago, I was  scratching in the sand, busying myself filling bag after bag to hold back the flood of desperation I knew was rising all around us. Tonight, we step into a new world. T. is striding confidently in the direction of his dreams, grounded in the soil of goodness, reaching for a pure light. The boys are wonderfully close, and the ties are binding strong and gentle around us all. I am about to start a job so perfect I'd dared not imagine until now, beside a wonderful man, a dazzling love, and a life filled with good friends and family far and near.

Today, may you also let go of the to-do list, and take stock of this moment, your moment. All of that pain and struggle and love and laughter, the loss, discovery, and challenge of simply leading a good life, it is transcendent. 

Bring on the light.

I am finally ready to see.

A brave new frontier

The one, or maybe two, of you who consider this blog semi-essential reading get a reward today: You are the first to know that my life as a bum will officially come to an end in January when I start two -- count them, TWO -- jobs. 

I am to be the new managing editor of Alternatives Journal, a peer-reviewed journal about the environment and sustainability. It's absolutely my dream job, and I finally get to use my powers for good instead of evil! Pay=low BUT good karma=high. I'm good with that.

I will also be teaching a course at Conestoga College, in its new media convergence graduate diploma program.  I've never taught before, but these kids have never worked in a newsroom before, so they won't know the difference. Kidding! It's going to be great, and I'm busily preparing class plans, assignments, lectures and the like. It's a six-hour class each week - wish us all luck!

Right. I'd better go actually tell people now.

x

Happy snaps

It's snowy outside, I have fresh coffee by my elbow, and I thought I'd share some of the things making me happy of late.

There's this little guy, just bursting to flower in my lounge room. It's the first time I've had an Amaryllis, and I'm looking forward to the mucho-mucho-bloomage. There's, like, five wannabe-flowers in there!

Making easily-postable gifts to send to Australia is tough. Making them look good is even tougher. Thus, my hand-drawn looks-just-like-a-present envelopes, which I then put inside boring looks-just-like-a-normal-envelope envelopes. Here's a close up of my effort:

Hope the recipients like them!

Other things making me happy:

My friend's VERY pregnant belly. I got kicked almost across the room when I put my hand on her stomach. (Note: That is not me in the picture, putting a hand on her stomach.) Breeding is such a weird, weird thing.

My bathroom, stripped of wallpaper and lathered in Bavarian Cream paint. I'm tempted to paint our entire house based on the names of the colours now. Although, come to think of it, that'll just make me hungry all the time...

And this guy. Who now roasts his own coffee. Could a gal ask for any more?

Cards and Crafts by Ten

Hold on, people: We're crossing a new frontier. I've just launched what amounts to my first online shop. Yes, it's on Facebook, but don't let that dissuade you.
 

'Cards and Crafts by Ten' harnesses my love of photographing the everyday and showing it in new light, and getting crafty with scissors and glue. I've just started selling these at Rarefunk in downtown Kitchener, and will also be selling the Christmas cards -- along with the bows-that-will-not-die -- at my friend's house in Guelph this weekend as part of her annual pre-Christmas art sale.

If you take a peek, please let me know what you think. It's not nearly as fruitful as having an actual job, but until I nab me one of those, it's an awfully lovely way to fill the time.

In the meantime, here's a sampler:

Cards for the holidays...

... or for any time.

You can frame 'em,

Or stick them to the fridge with a cheesy magnet

Hope you like 'em. :)

On the eleventh

The convergence of loss: A tale in three acts.

I.

Their faces shuffle across my computer screen: save to desktop, import to iPhoto, crop, insert, repeat. One hundred-and-fifty-four of them. These are the people who have died in Afghanistan under Canada's flag since the military mission began in 2002. As each of these soldiers posed before a flag, shoulders back, jaw strong, their brows tanned, acne-scarred or age-lined, the occasional smile pulling at the edge of lips, did they ever imagine their image would cycle through my computer so I could affix it to a map of Canada marking their hometowns? Did the journalist and diplomat imagine that their bio-shots would be all that the world would see of them? So many names and faces, familiar from news stories and repatriations. So many home towns. So much life, relegated to a file on my computer that I cannot bring myself to delete.

II.

The crowd drifted apart, slowly at first, then with intent, until we were divided - a Red Sea of small crimson poppies. At the source, the Canadian flag waved over a cenotaph and a group of men and women stood in tall, clear-eyed lines. At their helm was a young man, the only one in camouflages, a web of scarring from left eye to chin marking him as the latest incarnation of a tradition as old as humanity. Behind him, silvered, weathered, marched his predecessors. Such is the final bitter blow of war, I suppose: Those that know its horrors must then stand back and let their children into the fold.

As the veterans marched under a sapphire sky, we the onlookers clapped. It was all we could do, to bear witness in thanks for all they bore witness to. I thought of my grandfather being handed a gun and learning how to fire it. I thought of my uncle, barrel-chested and proud in his uniform, heading to a war no-one remembers. I thought of those young faces, plotted on a map, some so remarkably resembling my friends that it pains me to look at them.

As the marchers turned down King Street and I stood watching their reflections pass under bare-limbed trees, the marching band launched into Waltzing Matilda. That is when I cried.

III.

We await news today. A body has been found in the woods near Seaforth, 80 kilometres west of Kitchener-Waterloo. There is a strong likelihood it is a good friend of A.'s, missing since he walked away from a family dinner in August. His disappearance first caused anger -- it's not the first time the kid had just slipped off the radar, and as his absence dragged on his friends were understandably annoyed. But then it continued, and continued, turning into months of speculation that he ran away, or was hurt, or in hiding, or just gone.

Now one of two realities is bearing down on these 17-year-olds: Either their friend died alone in the woods many months ago; or it isn't their friend at all, and they're no closer to finding out what happened to him. It's hard to decide which is worse.

Everyone says Lest We Forget, but it isn't war we must strive to remember. It is life, every fragile, magic, aching shard of it.

---
Addendum, Nov. 12:
It was A.'s friend out there in the woods. No signs of foul play, as the police so delicately put it. The boys worked through so much grief in the abstract. I guess we're about to find out how it translates in reality.

Lessons for life

As the step-mum of two teenaged boys (an hilarious concept, still), it often transpires that some gem of wisdom pops into an everyday moment to create a wonderful learning opportunity. This isn't boring End-Of-The-Episode-Everybody-Say-'Awww' advice, but actually useful stuff, like: "If you're only going to dry a few things on the dish rack, do the cutlery because it's most likely to show water marks".
It's best, I find, to insert these sparkling moments of sage learnedness on the fly, with a hearty whiff of jocularity lest it come off as preaching and/or harping (both of which certainly have their place in family life but must be used judiciously, rather like the ultra-hot Paprika I accidentally purchased when intending to buy mild).

This weekend's advice for life? "Always make sure to regularly invite friends to your home, for it forces you to clean." 
Plus, those invitations mean you get to host wonderful dinner parties with great friends, involving much laughter, good wine, and the beautiful proof that leaving a city does not mean leaving a world.

And these things are what make life wonderful, no matter where you're living it. Lesson for life.

Wilkommen!

Why, hello there! Welcome to Waterloo, likely the only place in regional Canada where a smattering of high school German is more handy than the standard rusty French. If you're lucky, you'll know just enough to eavesdrop on the best Mennonite gossip at the farmer's market, while also looking knowledgeable enough to score free beer at Oktoberfest. Wunderbah!

Why don't I show you around a little? You've likely noticed the place is called Kitchener-Waterloo, but don't take that for a sign that it's all same-same-but-different. While Kitchener is the indefatigable older sibling who toils at the factory to bring in extra cash for the family, Waterloo is the upstart younger sibling who got a fancy degree, made a heap of cash and is now putting an addition on the house for an indoor pool and/or full sized ice rink. (Cambridge, the third and unmentioned part of the tri-city region, is kind of like a weird cousin who lives in the shed -- no-one's quite sure what Cambridge is doing, but it seems content enough to be pottering around on its own.)

You'll likely first notice that the two main cities in the tri-city region share a main street. Don't let that confuse you. King Street, Waterloo, is all fancy shops, resto-lounges and the occasional remnant puke of university students unleashed from parents for the first time. King Street, Kitchener, is funky art/craft stores (is that too obvious a plug for Rarefunk, where I sell some of my craftier wares?), gritty bars that look like they've ingested a great many hours of humanity's smaller woes, and artfully tattooed folk. 

Times are a'changing, though, and fast. What used to be Kitchener's staple factories and warehouses are being transformed into lofts and exposed-brick urban office space. The locally-vaunted Communitech Hub has opened for business, with aims to become a tech-salon of sorts. There's a Balzacs Coffee Shop. 'Nuff said.

Needless to say, we've arrived at a most interesting time, and all the more so because while the 500,000-strong region offers everything one would need in life, the area is still small enough to become involved in stuff. To wit: In the month since we arrived, I've been accepted as an artist contributor to a charity auction later this month, have made it into the 'post-workout-bagel' club with my fellow Rec Centre WaterFit class members (I'll explain that one later), and have infiltrated the University of Waterloo's international spouse gatherings as a sort of special-guest-member. 

Having an accent helps, but really, it just seems like being friendly, open and welcoming is  how KW-ites roll. 

So welcome to town! Grab a Brick brew, pick out a pretzel, and make yourself at home. Something tells me we'll be here for a while.

Apologies for this break in transmission

The author has been so busy living, she has neglected to chronicle the adventures of new home-ownership, the frustration of job searching, and the various successes or otherwise of bread baking, cellar filling, leaf raking and other such vagaries of happy living.

The author apologises profusely, and aims to rectify the situation shortly. In the meantime, please enjoy these humble offerings from my wanderings. Feel free to hum your own elevator muzak until regular transmission resumes.

Welcome to my new home town!

We totally know how to party.
(Don't be mistaken. This is the Oktoberfest Thanksgiving parade. If only the World Religions Conference also busted out Onkel Hans as a mascot.)

And while this isn't near home, it's pretty, so I'm sharing it with you.

For pumpkins and patios

It's Thanksgiving here tomorrow, so I shall (again) put off the daunting task of recounting to past wonderful, humbling week to instead simply do what the time demands: be deeply, truly thankful, for love, for family and friends, for sunshine and chipmunks in the front yard, for stepsons who smile and love and laugh, for soil that is rich, and time that is so elastic as to make it feel I've lived here forever already.

It's frightening sometimes to fully comprehend the richness and beauty of life. Lucky I am, as lucky as the teeming universe that only reveals itself in pricks of distant light, lest it dazzle us all into insanity.

Goodbye Toronto

Thanks for the drinks, the laughs, the sunshine and bright lights, the silly dancing, the globe-climbing, and four years of pure exploration inside and out. You really are a constant surprise. 

I'll be seeing ya.

x

By the numbers

Minutes we were in the house before we started pulling up carpet: 70. (We waited until the boys joined us after school - and the delay was agonizing!)

Night we chose to visit Canadian Tire: The second. (Yes, it was Saturday. Who said romance is dead?)

Scrapers destroyed trying to remove dried glue and underlay from the stairs: Two. One plastic, one razor.

Percentage of our direct neighbours who stopped for a chat while I was cutting the front bushes: 80 (four out of five).

Hours of fun ahead as we make this big, beautiful place our own? Countless.

The Mill Street breakdown

Two flights of beer, one palate-cleansing quesadilla. Welcome to Nat and Ten's guide to the offerings at The Mill Street Brew Pub in the Distillery District of Toronto.

First: pop into the gift shop as you enter, and sample some of the four main brews. We opted for the Stock Ale and Coffee Porter, having consumed the Organic Lager at home the night before. (Verdicts: Stock Ale is a bit lacklustre, and is beaten by the Organic. The Coffee Porter, however, is delicious! Likely best in smallish glasses in the middle of winter - rich, heavy, but not cloying. A grand brew.)

Next: Head into the brewpub and snag a small high-table beside the beer vats. Consider getting a Fruit Beer and Ginger Beer respectively, but instead order said tasting flights and Mexican-themed snack. Ask for water, then wonder throughout rest of visit why it didn't arrive.

I ordered the 4 Seasons beer sampler, N. went for the Baron's Picks. Four small glasses on each (one of which was on both of our lists), so seven beers in total.

Raspberry Fruit Beer

Server and tasting notes say: It's tart, not sweet. The tasting notes say the pale beer allows 'the wonderful flavour and colour of the fruit to dominate the taste, look and aroma'.

We say: Has a honeyed-amber colour and candied apple smell. First bite of fruit blows you away, then it settles to a more beer-dominated taste. Fruit is sour and tarty, and actually does taste like fruit as opposed to fruit-flavouring. A good pint to share with friends as a novelty. "Visit fruit beer town, but it's not a place to live."

Belgian Wit (with a slice of orange)

They say: Soft texture and colour, fruity flavours from coriander, orange peel and a special yeast. 

We say: Hazy wheat colour (or, according to N., 'pee'). Smells kind of sweet. N. gets hints of guest soap. Zingy taste to start, dwindling to minimal aftertaste. N. now tastes soap, and deems this not good. This beer is all up-front, like an ageing woman in a low cut top, it's giving too much away with nothing to follow. "Bathe in it, maybe. Don't drink it."

* Did not finish tasting glass.

India Pale Ale

They say: Copper brew with roasted note and strong hop bitterness.

We say: Golden amber colour, tastes like pot pouri. It has more body than Stella though, so that's a good sign. It's a beer for beer's sake. Drink it if it's free, but don't go our of your way. "Myeah?"

Pilsner Lager

They say: German-style lager, deep golden hue with malty nose. First tastes sweet with dry, hoppy bitter finish.

We say: Looks and smells like a beer that is comfortable with being beer. This is not dressing in florals, although it has slight hints of that in its background. An easy-drinking beer, likely a barbecue crowd-pleaser. Can take anywhere - "the dressy t-shirt of beers" according to N. I see it as the immigrant of beers. It has some fruitiness in its background, perhaps the trace of an accent, but is happily ensconced in BeerVille.

Thumbs up.

Helles Bock

They say: Pale, strong German lager has a frothy white head which gives way to sweet malty flavour with hints of currants and oranges.

We say: Look and smells like straight-up beer, but not nearly as pungent as the VBs of the world. Tasty, with a tangy aftertaste. I like it: It's more like a beer with wheat-beer notes as opposed to liquid bread dough. "It's friends with wheat beer, but it hasn't moved in with it, and quite happily so."

N.'s less of a fan. It's not a girlie beer at all. "It's not Gucci," she says.

E.S.B. (Extra Special Bitter)

They say: This copper coloured ale has a malty body with hints of chocolate and black currants. 
We say: Yum! Dark amber beer with a solid body and dark-ish aftertaste. I smell dark honey, N. smells 'a buffet of non-sweet desserts. Cinnamony, caramelly pastry.' Sadly, beer has gone flat while tasting other brews. Has a burnt toffee aftertaste. "A mealy Christmas Day beer."

Cobblestone Stout
They say: Traditional Irish style stout with creamy pour, roasted malt favour and hint of roasted walnuts and chocolate.
We say: Looks dark and rich. Smells like caramelly stout with coffee to me. N. just gets chemicals. New carpet, perhaps? Doesn't smell as rustic and country as it looks.
Soft to start, followed by an avalanche of texture. A bit watery after food (hello quesadilla!), so could definitely do with a bit more up-front. N. is not a huge fan, but then again, she's not a fan of stouts.  "Definitely a destination beer. One doesn't land here accidentally"
Sadly, was undone by the fact we tried the Coffee Porter on the way into the restaurant. The Coffee Porter is the suave adults that this beer likely one day wants to become.

The verdict?
Winner of the day, by consensus, was the E.S.B. That was a bit if a surprise choice, but a well earned win all-round. The Coffee Porter, had it been on our tasting flight trays, would have also been a solid contender.

Two discerning ladies and a whole lotta beer

The day dawned grey and misty, the city a hazy monochrome as we two discerning ladies headed out for a day on the town. Wearing colourful autumn frocks, tights and scarfs, and practical walking shoes, Toronto was ours for the day!

So what is a pair of dapper damsels to do to while away the hours? Toronto has too much to offer for a short trip. Kensington market? One of the three Chinatowns? A stop in Little Italy/Korea/Brazil/Portugal/Jamaica/the other Little Italy? Faced with such a dilemma, we decided to order the degustation menu instead, and have lots of little bites, leaving the bulk for another time.

First stop: Yorkville, chi-chi home to the renovated Royal Ontario Museum and its crazy crystal addition, high end stores and the Shoe Museum. N. debated buying some Jimmy Choos in Holt Renfrew; I debated buying a wonderful dragonfly brooch at the Ontario Craft Council's guild shop (until N. swept over and grabbed it to buy it on my behalf. Cheeky thing!) We browsed the Bata Shoe Museum and deemed it less enthralling than its name would suggest. One level is devoted to the history and construction of shoes, one level to 'superstar' shoes, and another to... the history and construction of shoes. Hmmm. Perhaps they missed something? Like the art, vanity, pain and devotion these objects can often inspire (or inflict)? We left a little disappointed.

1930s Perugias, I covet thee

From there we jumped on the subway and headed to the Distillery District. Apparently it used to be home to Gooderham and Worts Distillery, which indeed sounds like a tasty beverage. Apparently the remaining nook of Victorian Industrial buildings is the largest such stand in North America. Impressive, perhaps, if Europe weren't full of entire towns like this. These days the place is a tourist and arts haven, its cobblestone streets regularly hosting music festivals and art shows like the one we stumbled upon.

Intending to go to Balzacs for a glass of wine and a snack before browsing (it's the upstairs cafe used in the television show Being Erica, for those who watch it), we instead found a big line-up and darted around the corner to the Mill Street Brew Pub. Yep, the distillery district now only makes beer. We opted for a tasting plate of house brews each, and a quesadilla to share. Our tasting notes are below, and can also be found on N.'s blog, which incidentally is a rollicking good read of her classic American adventure. Check it out.

Mmmm. Beery beer. Full review HERE.

Slightly happy, we devoured some artisanal chocolates containing balsamic vinegar truffle (delicious!) and fir truffle (piney!), went shopping and then trundled back to downtown for a spot of Brazil Day festivities at Yonge-Dundas Square, and a quiet cocktail and highbrow chat at legendary Peter Pan's on Queen West, safe in the knowledge that T. was at hope cooking up a delicious feast for our return. Beautiful!

Next day was Niagara Falls and Niagara-On-The-Lake, and sadly, the last day of the visit. We thought we had one last city day up our sleeve, but a belated check of the itinerary ruled that out. Instead of slurping coffee in the local cafe, we were instead heading to the airport at an ungodly hour. 

My little heart sank as I watched N's white trilby disappear into the maw of Pearson International. Tis wonderful to have time with old friends on new turf. Until next time, my lovely!

Itty bitty fun

A little bit of Brisbane has landed in my Toronto midst. The lovely Nat used to live literally down the hill -- a veritable marble toss -- from me in Brissy, and for the week is inhabiting our front room on Indian Rd. Naturally, this means we're in for some touristy goodness!
So far, Nat has been treated to: bucketing summer rain a-la BrisVegas as we got groceries on her first night here; being rained on while sauntering the Roncesvalles shopping strip; watching the delightful golden sunset suddenly turn to a dark downpour as we watched Romeo & Juliet in High Park; delighting in endless grey drizzle at Bobcaygeon, Ont.; and today, wandering through occasional showers as we explored the streets of Toronto.  Such is life at the end of an Ontario summer.

SJ, N, me and T, snaking our way to relative shelter at the rained-out Shakespeare In The Park

It's not all been wet and woeful. (Although, when it is, that simply gives us a good reason to duck inside for a wee spot of something tasty. Or, as would have it in Bobcaygeon, a hamlet in the Kawartha Lakes region, enough rye and ginger to get us elbowing our way into the karaoke action. We showed those kids a thing or two...)

We got to go walking in the wilderness at Dorset, Ontario:

And today we not only shopped in Yorkville, visited the Shoe Museum and partook in the Brazil Day festivities, we also conducted a thorough sampling and review of the Mill Street BrewPub offerings at the Distillery District. Full review to come!