On a positive note …

Whew! We survived 2017 and that’s all I’ll say about that. We’re being positive, right? So Happy New Year to you, to us, to all those we hold dear.

When I was thinking about what I’d write today, I remembered something my mother used to say (and do) every time I moved into a new house or apartment.

“Fransi,” she’d say, “remember to bring a piece of bread, some salt, some sugar and a new broom with you the first time you go in. And make sure you enter with your right foot first.” It wasn’t enough she’d

Clutter is not just “stuff”

A friend of mine is selling her house. In preparation for putting it on the market, she has been purging for months. Going through every closet, drawer, shelf, cupboard and pantry, getting rid of everything she no longer needs, wants or uses.

I’m smiling, somewhat sheepishly, as I’m writing because it’s something we all go through — usually when we’re about to move. That’s when, after years of accumulating and stockpiling and “saving,” we suddenly spring into action — because the thought of packing it all, unpacking it all and trying to find room for it is more than we can bear.

We went out for dinner last week — my friend and I — it was a catch up of sorts. We’ve both been caught up in our own lives and, although we text and talk on the phone all the time, we haven’t had time to get together. It was

Focussed and ready!

I am someone who has always thrived in chaos.  What looked like a mess to everyone else has always been my comfort zone.   ‘Order’, on the other hand, has traditionally given me a rash.  Until very recently.

Precipitated by a desire to move, the constant sighs of my cleaning lady, and more clutter than even I could bear I finally attacked every square inch of my apartment.  Went through absolutely everything, discarding the unwanted

Day 264. Evolving Neighbourhood

Boy, I’ll tell ‘ya, you sure do have to pay attention.  Keep your eyes open.  Stay on top of things.  Or you miss something pretty significant.  Like I did.  Right in my own backyard, too.  Helluva thing.

A friend recently sold her house.  Like me, she had a very short closing date; and, also like me, she rented a furnished apartment until what she wants becomes available.  Unlike mine turned out to be, her short-term rental is fabulous.  New, bright, clean.  The epitome of urban living.

It’s in Yorkville, but the eastern most part, bordering on Yonge Street.  Run down, ‘tired’ and in need of a face lift, in comparison to the tonier part of the neighbourhood, between Avenue Road and Bay Street.

Day 245. True Confessions

All right. I’m going to say it out loud. I’ve felt it for a while, now. But I haven’t talked about it. Don’t know why, really. Maybe I just wanted to have it all figured out first. I don’t care about that any more. Okay, here it is.

I’m bored with Toronto.

Bored.

Bored.

Bored.

As cities go, Toronto has been very good to me. I have been successful here. I’ve met great people here. I’ve had a very good life here. My closest friend lives here, the one I’ve known since we were in our early twenties.

But the city bores me.

It didn’t always. But it does now.

That’s why I keep saying I want an adventure. That’s probably why, even though I don’t love my apartment, I haven’t