It seems a bit odd to be a writing Canadian on an American website about the state of the people I have come to know through the Society.  However, their unequal lives have thrown me off my usual humour.  I had to stand back and stop writing them for awhile to clear my own perspective of their divergent lives.

My original web meanderings brought me to quite an astutely old British name who proved to be suffering at subsistence level.  Suffering crackling static in the winter and eating only vegetables which abounds in her breadbasket valley at rock bottom prices to make space for to-morrow's harvest.  

The other is a person who is amongst the privileged of America who owns several homes in various parts of the land and whose family tradition is proudly military.  Her name is also British and her seemingly carefree way of life took me quite by surprise as she sought personal happiness and acquired a style of living quite foreign to the other woman.  

The other woman's budget of a superficially happy-go-lucky(?) Southern Po'r White who felt privileged to have a bursary/scholarship given on the grounds of race and colour will never be able to realize the life of the other woman even in a dream.  She is your hardworking, disillusioned bravado of the trained-to-work-and-toil underling never to move forward and upward to the heights of personal wealth and comfort in the true sense of personal American liberty.

They both threw me off course considerably from getting a "feel" of each other when they came at me in black letters on white paper.  They mutually made me feel the one person was almost frivolous and the other so basic and banal that I couldn't reconcile the effect within myself.  I had to stand apart from them for awhile but actually did choose on the grounds of literary principle to choose the uplifted and uplifting.  

Here, up north of the border, I remain safely ensconced in the almost set apart position in the wealthiest of the civil service commissions enjoying the privileges never to be experienced by the poor elsewhere beyond the terminology "set apart".  It will be for her to excruciate and endure and to fall in with the wretched sufferers to whom she administers at almost the lowest remuneration of qualified workers.  

'Though I might never travel here and there to make the weather suit my clothes, I am free.  I am Canadian and comfortably privileged to be me.  Hopefully, someday, we shall all be happy.  God bless.

It seems the big day came and Mom did things her way instead of mine.  That is to let me ride the truck caboose with the movers.  Well, the man "Denis" finally appeared and uttered, "I am not available to you the second time but, right now I have a cabinet here for you.  May we bring it in?"  

Ah, yes, everything was delivered and set up and I didn't recognize the cabinet.  Nevertheless, I sent the move co-ordinator and friend of Mom's an extra large bouquet of tulips at her anitque shop bearing her name.

Now on recalling a couple of details of what I remember of Mother's china cabinet, I see this one I have with all my tableware stashed away in, is not hers or mine.  "Denis" made a mistake, or, did he?  The cabinet he brought me was old, sunburnt, warped and damaged and repaired in four places.  However, it was the same brand as Mom's cabinet and burnt into the wood inside the top drawer.

As I recall now that I am not het up from moving all my own furniture prior to the arrival of the cabinet, I see the reversible lattice to plain wood panels on the outer two doors are not there, and, the middle has two doors enclosing drawers.  I don't recall Mom's cabinet having doors to open before opening the drawers.  I also don't think Mom's cabinet had awkward flatware slots built in as this one does.  I certainly don't recall four lights behind four glass doors either.

Now, I made the mistake of accepting it thinking nothing and that the colour just seemed darker in this room.  Also, I am not always over at Mother's taking in details of new things she has bought after I left home to be that observant about something that was just there.

Oh, well, it's Good Friday now and I'm going to have to wait until a week day except the telephone messages left for Mom's dear antique dealer friend and Mother herself.  "Denis", by the way, is not listed under his impressive business name that he gave either. Did someone bribe him to exchange the newer and better cabinet for this dried up stick of furniture? Did he exchange it to sell for more money than this one?  Is he a crook or not?  We shall see in the next episode of The China Cabinets.  

God keep all my friends and associates safe so this doesn't happen to them.  God bless and good night for now.

It appears we just might have a newer version of our Quarter Century Club (QCC) from work.  The speculation of another QCC has come out on the pensioners' activities list.  So far, I have subscribed to a couple of events which loom ahead in April and May.

In the meantime, I take in redhat events with other chapters.  My latest outing was to the Fallsview Casino in January with a group from out of town.

When I see the composition of some of our groups, I feel my own lack of success in forming a chapter is due to my people being so few in this part of the world.  

Needless to say, I've been told there are scads of us by women who keep seeing all the corporate men coming out in force for business luncheons in our business district.  

They are the men with or without families who stay up to five years but not quite due to Canada and Japan's conflicting laws about who may be a director anywhere of a Japanese corporation.  Meanwhile, there is a Canadian law stating that our local directors must be Canadian citizens.  

Apparently, we differ on what is a Canadian corporation or a Japanese corporation but none of them stay to become Canadian citizens only which takes five years.

Their wives usually keep to themselves except when they socialize with neighbours or English Canadians.

Our second, third, fourth generation and so on are divided into religious denominations as well as varying religions.  

Our cultural centre does not expect to have anything that isn't bona fide Japanese.  Without asking, I know I'd have my expenses increased by being told I have to join the JCC.  

Even if I did, I'm not sure, I'd get a Redhat Chapter organized with activities that bears any resemblance to any that the Chapters and Groups I know have at the moment which is in line with my immersion training.

I got into a generally German group whose unofficial leader condones anyone who is able to say she is of German background.  With them, I have had moderate luck but still "reign" without "subjects".  That is, my own chapter with real chapterettes.

I generally stay out of Japanese gatherings because my Mother wishes me to do so as our main social life with them seems to be funerals and interrement luncheons.  

My Mother who is currently ninety years old has had better luck outside the Japanese communities in Toronto.  The only Japanese she socializes with are Japanese Canadians with whom she has had past relations in her life in a Japanese community situation.  

Where does that leave me?  Shall I, a full-blooded Japanese Canadian, say I'm German, too?  Anyhow, I have had full immersion in main stream society having been in boarding school and universities and go on being myself  -  the different one!

The third week in January brought me to my wits end about Mom moving into a seniors' residence by the end of the month.  I finally took a taxi to avoid exposure in the arctic conditions we suffered this past week and went out to Scarborough to see her only to be told that she wanted me to make a list of the things I wanted of her collectables for my own replete suite of my own collectables.  [Consternations!]

As far as my "other life" goes, most of my pen pal age peers find their health setbacks milestones in their lives.  Some even mention them in the club listings almost as a condition of acceptance of the sufferer.  Either that, or they make mention of congenital conditions after several cautious months into the correspondence life of the relationship.

I maintain these sore matters are all right to talk about as long as they otherwise "have a life".  I quite gave up on two pen pals as one ONLY documented her medical setbacks and the other one very correctly wrote only about herself and her family but only at intervals when her part-time teaching job was at a hiatus and only about issues that had gone awry healthwise and correctly, never negative about her own health.  

Not one detailed missile did I receive from her about good times such as travelling, weddings, baptismal parties and so on.  That is, of course, as ancient-of-days health books recommended  -  that we tell grave matters only to strangers so that the weight of them is alleviated from ourselves but doesn't weigh down the auditors of the sad information.  Where and when does a true platonic relationship begin and carry on then that is not a matchmaker's work?

Well, I say it all has to be approached with a strong sense of humour and a sense of joie de vivre and a grain of salt. An example of this would be a woman "showing signs of prosperity" refusing to be guilt-tripped by the need for clothing by the unfortunate overseas.  The cartoon shows her saying that there's no need to donate her over-sized clothes to the clothing drive for the mission fields as they wouldn't even fit the victims of whom are pictured only the emaciated malnourished children who don't even grow to adulthood let alone fat!

It's just time for us at our fantabulous age to raise a glass of fizzy and open a box of chocolate and drink to laughter, love and life!

On that high note, I bid you enjoy whatever you wish and never hesitate to reach for the impossible in thenew year because dreamers always can take life with hope in their hearts, health in their outlook and live successful lives "'til the end of time!"  God bless.

There's a new enclave that couldn't be more choice in my doctor's building across Bloor Street from the Conservatory building.  It was inspired and launched by the pair who founded the no longer extant Bemelmans of eggs benedict fame.  

My first adventure there in eating came when I ordered smoked trout salad.  The concoction was mainly frizzy lettuce with traces of other lettuce shoots  dressed up in crème fraîche laced with dill (champagne) vinegar and myriads of smoked trout bits.  After awhile, I caught on there was something missing.  I needed toast!  The buttered, toasted baguette slices arrived quickly and I enjo-o-oy-ed!  What a blast that was with a pitted Bing cherry coke.

By luck and luck alone, my keys had worked their way out of my pocket and I returned the very next day for dinner.  After two drinks, I dined on slow-cooked, grain-fed, organic pork chop leaned against a mound of potato salad with herb tips mixed into its crème fraîche dressing. What a delectable meal with a dessert that was a selection of choices in itself.  

Chocolate coffee "soil", a gritty, crunchy mixture, beside a wee ball of homemade raspberry ice cream sitting on the end of a small bar of finest, dense cake.  On the other side of the bar of cake, a sweetened sworl of crème fraîche hid a judicious wedge of fresh plum.  To die for...

Of course, the black coffee topped off the night...  Dark but not bitter!  I went home quite happy and had my keycard re-programmed the next day.

I'm looking forward to having another delectable morsel for late lunch on Tuesday or Wednesday.  Won't you join me some day?

Thursday, I went for a drive to Fergus and Elora then stopped by in Mosborough at the farmers' market.  As soon as we were parked on the back street in Fergus, I made a bee line to the General Store on the main street.  I had an "in" from Susan, a redhat queen.

There I lingered over soup, sandwich and a bottle of filtred water.  Their local version of split peas and ham soup consisted of cubes of seasonal squash along with bits of succulent back bacon as well as the usual split peas.  The custom-made sandwich had a couple of slices of peameal bacon fried right there in front of me and slices of tomato cut just for my sandwich.  The filtred water came in an old-fashioned milk bottle style carafe and was served with a tumbler.

After lunch, I asked for a taxi to send my RHS calling card to Susan's door then finished off luncheon with a small sugar cone of chai ice cream.  I had just enough time to purchase a small cache of salt-water taffy and circle back to the front of the store when Susan came in looking glorious with a fresh hair cut.  

We walked along to the end of the block where the bus had passed over the bridge before parking and then turned right back along the edge of the Grand River.  She told me the library was slated to be enlarged right back to where we had passed and introduced me to the stairs down to the river's edge, called the Temple Garden.

Now the Temple Garden is totally without vegetation except the natural growths along the riverside.  The structure is made of shale block masonry.

We returned to the main street and went into B****'s F*** T*** where Mary the baker owner and sole operator of the tea shop joined us at another table in the nook and a retired Torontonian took a third table.  That's where I had a Kuppa Ttee & Company (name of (Moi's) Fabulous Empress Tiko Toyomi's RHS Chapter).

Afterwards Susan took her scones and crossed the street to her "chariot" and I returned to the back street to ours to go on to Elora.  Before departing, I had to peek into W****'s a fly fishing supplies store.

As I walked in there, there in front of me was a work table for creating flies with supplies in, on and above the table for sale.  To the left,... now that's where I found my bonanza...ready-made flies to choose from.  I came home with a purple and red fly and got an authentic fishing brand box to protect it.  

This choice fly will occupy the honoured position on one of my red hats with which I wish to commemorate the eclectic style of a hat worn by a certain lady physician.  We were assigned to the same table at a fashion show and luncheon in Oshawa a couple of years ago.  Of course, it won't look anything like hers.  Fond memories of the day...won the 50/50 Draw...

Happy as a lark, I proceeded on to Elora.  We sped right through the town to get a precious glimpse of the beautiful Elora Gorge through the full foliage of late summer before backtracking to charming Mill Street's row of boutiques.  There, we did the tourist's obligatory window shopping which can be devastating to the purse.

Also on Mill Street, I walked into a café and crêperie and emerged with two  postcards and a blank Thanksgiving card which I shall finally send in return to  Melba, my friend Carmen's sister, who gave me my first Thanksgiving card quite a few years ago.

I came home and discovered my Talk Like A Pirate Day costume, my birthday club list and resumed daily living by dying the white blouse purple and hemming the costume, an overskirt with lace-up front.  I finished the day writing birthday cards.

So, until next-week, God bless.

All these quiet nights!  People thought I had changed.  Fellow Hatters, I had been sinning on eBay with superfluous jewellery puchases.  So much so that I had to have a sell off at our annual yard sale.  Still, I have tons I won't part with!

I had the monopoly on new jewellery sales this year.  The man who had two huge tables last year just showed up near the end to see what was selling.

 A lady who hadn't noticed the disappearance of certain tried and true costume jewellery brands bought a necklace to wear with her new pink dress and three pairs of earrings to wear with it and other dresses.  

Sophie, a retired nurse who actually goes out wearing an ecletic flower pot hat with a single posie bouncing out on top, took the red plastic earrings and matching double stranded necklace.  She wore it right away and went on shopping in her new finds!

A beading expert bought a whole strand of beads to get the amber coloured beads for a job she was doing.

None of my practical items sold.  That shows the optimism of the people who refuse to admit to dour topics of life that often lurk just around the corner.  Everyone was in an upswing mood and we had a terrific time.  The sale was all too short and we had to pack up and run at 1:00 o'clock.  I was there and ready to sell and was selling an hour and a half before the official opening of our yard sale.

"What a difference a day makes."  I went home with my slacks sagging from heavy large coins!  God bless.

Last Wednesday, Carmen came to the Princess Margaret Hospital to meet me for lunch.  We had soup.  Afterwards we went next-door to do some banking then headed down to Union Station to wait for the 1:13pm Lakeshore East train.  

We met a Chinese fellow who was trying to emigrate from China.  He showed us a 3:15pm ticket to Ottawa.  We couldn't convince him he was on the wrong level of Union Station.  We moved away from him.

We bought lunch we packed in our bags and boarded the train.  At Guildwood we alighted then took a taxi to the water filtration plant where the bike path starts.

There were so many wildflowers out at their very best that day, Carmen took her mind off her headache and internal malaise.  The doctors had told her she had to have an operation or keep a strict diet.  She had been sitting at home for about three weeks cooking her diet and growing ill at heart.  This walk was what she needed.

We finally collapsed on a nice new green bench surrounded by short lawn grass cut into the longer grass and wildflowers behind us and ate our food.

As we neared exhaustion Rouge Hill GO Station came into view.  Carmen whipped off her hat and gurgled with delight that her headache was gone and her internal malaise had disappeared.  

We went across the street to read the Warning sign and realized the government was making us a nice paved road all the way to Rouge Hill Marsh where there is a semi-circular boardwalk over the lily pond.  This boardwalk is accessed by an underpass just at the edge of the Marsh.

Carmen's home was San Theodoro, an island not too far from Mindoro, The Philippines.  This walk had reminded her of the sea and the wildflowers growing not too far from the water's edge back home.  She was well again.

If only her electricity bill would disappear as easily as her headache and tummy problem!  Well, that's another episode.  To-day we are packing supper and going to the wading pool in Cabbagetown after four o'clock.  God bless.

Thursday night and again on Saturday night, I contacted a Toronto limousine company hoping to go to the vicinity of the Pearson International Airport at their convenience.  

On Sunday morning, I couldn't wait for it to come at the agreed hour and telephoned them only to be told, they thought it was to be a Monday morning drive for them.

I asked them my alternatives.  They said they would give me with a call back.  In a couple of minutes, the dispatcher gave me the telephone number of our largest taxi fleet.  I called them. They came immediately.  I was driven to the restaurant in north Mississauga where the party was being held.

The party was a smash.  Everyone that owned a rubber duckie or two brought them along and set them on the table in front of them.  There weren't too many of us who "wore" our rubber duckies but I had a dozen of them  -  three on each shoulder and six on my hat.

The day finally came when I had to clean my costume or dry clean it and decided the rubber duckies had to come off.  There was no other way.

At the party, I sat at a table with Redhatters from the Cambridge area and Mississauga.  They were so swish, I realized I was the clown with my rubber duckies sewn onto my costume. Ladies, it was as though I had never grown up!  

Betty Ann, our hostess with the mostest wore a floor length yellow Mardi Gras dress.   Dorothy wore a vintage shop find and Faith donned a web delight.  Heather (Countess Merlot) stayed trimly dressed in reglia colours adorned by mardi gras coloured feather boas. I could almost see the toes on Faith's purple satin pumps clicking together much as Dorothy's magic shoes in The Wizard Of Oz.

After luncheon, Betty Ann had ten of us go outside onto the sidewalk with a railing around to the back door and dance back and forth.  I actually won fourth prize for my costume a one-cup teapot and teacup.

QM Bonnie Sandison, Assistant Hostess to FQM LadyChai Queen Aurora Betty Ann Vento.

A couple of Pink Hatters came one of whom brought Grandma with her and sent Grandma home with her visiting friend Pink Hatter from eastern Ontario.  I had latched onto Grandma as soon as she arrived and begged a ride as far as the west end of the subway line and got it.  The rest of the journey was anti-climactic as I rode homeward on the Subway.

 1.   Every Redhat QM qualified to wear a heart with all its meanings fulfilled;

 2.   The transfer to the Taunton Road bus from the Pickering GO station no longer be affected by Durham College's starting time as in the summer vacation months making three-hours necessary to get to Oshawa's best eatery from T.O. (LOL); 

 3.   Taxis had reduced senior's fares like other public transportation. (Sigh);

 4.   Beautiful Redhatters even homely ones, mellow with time;

 5.   That there were more "Ivy Rose(s)" with "moments to remember";

 6.   Nebulous forms were limited to clouds not most of our aging figures;

 7.   More comfortable, prosperous, generous women all around;

 8.   To visit all the tea rooms on Hamilton Mountain;

 9.   That GO Transit ran back to Toronto from Hamilton later into the night  all year round and connect with the train from Niagara Falls, in the warm months; and,

10.  The funerary world be awakened to the fact that I overheard and am in agreement with the words of one Redhatter who passionately told another she's never had so much fun in her entire life as Redhatting  and that she's going to ask Harold (her husband) to lay (her) out in her colours when her time comes.

God bless all Redhatters, every Redhatting event and the multitude of red-chapeaux-ed women forming the Red Hat Society!