The Angel

A week ago, I would have told you: Don't be fooled, she's a wee devil. This week, she lives up to her pose. She not only looks sweet but is sweet: she's well-behaved, funny, eating all her apples, and sleeping 8 hours straight. Thanks to her nose halty, she walks right beside me without attempts to dislocate my shoulder or chances of traumatizing toddlers. Two weeks ago, Annie, at 16 weeks old, weighed in at 37lbs. Yup, she's gonna be a big dawg.

Meet Annie

Her full name is Colonel Anne, after one of my ancestors, Lady Anne MacIntosh, who rallied a bunch of troops from Clan MacIntosh in the 1700s during the Jacobite uprisings in Scotland. The king (deposed king? Scottish history is convoluted and I get easily confused by it - if it were the 1700s BCE, I'd have no problems with it...) - anyway, some king nicknamed her Colonel Anne. The really cool part? Lady Anne fought on the other side, not her husband's. At one point, her husband was arrested and put in her custody then when the political tides turned, she was arrested and put in her husband's custody. I think that's hysterical. I'm hoping to find an account of their personal lives together. That's probably some juicy reading.

My brother, Jason and his wife, Claudette, had decided to breed their golden Lab, Shiloh. She had eight puppies on the day I went in to have a cancerous mole removed. They were calling her Annie since she was three weeks old and it stuck. Annie was born 30 November and came home to me on 31 January. She is such an Annie: "Greek name: (meaning) gorgeous, kindhearted, rebellious, gentle towards others." (urbandictionary.com); or "a variant of Ann (Hebrew) and Hannah (Hebrew), and the meaning of Annie is 'favored grace'". (thinkbabynames.com)


I now get up at 6am. We have a fairly regulated eating schedule, which is new for me. She loves manhole covers and rocks. I call her My Little Geologist every time I pry open her mouth to remove the latest stone she's picked up. Even when she's sleeping, she's knows where I am and will wake up to follow me into the next room then flop down and pass out. Her favourite chewtoys = Curious George, froggies, beef tendons, and my hands. She likes cheese and hot dogs. I just found some recipes for homemade dog treats so will now bake for humans and dogs. She loves everyone she meets and will actually stop, sit and watch wistfully as every single person who has talked to her walks away. Funny and exasperating, all in one move. Her eyes are a stunning, clear green and I was told recently that they're very close in colour to my own.


The photo above is of her watching a big screen TV for the first time at Greg's, one my neighbours. She doesn't get to do that around here. We're more radio folk. Her current CBC boyfriend is Jim Curran. She likes traffic.

Girl's Day in Kensington Market

Yesterday, Mom, Claudette and Bridgette drove to the big city from the wilds 45 minutes north. Our mission was to have lunch and check out some scarves that Mom has her eye on, specifically in Kensington Market at a spot called The Blue Banana. Kensington Market is the name of a wee, funky, eclectic neighbourhood, not a "market" in the sense of "farmer's market" or "flea market" as we might recognize it since it's not housed in one large building on only one day or over a weekend. Most of the shops, especially along Kensington Avenue, are on the ground floor of beautiful, old, brick townhouses. There are vintage clothing shops, an army surplus store, grocery/produce shops, cafes, a coupla gorgeous cheese shops, bakeries, and more. You get the idea: This ain't a high-end, cookie-cutter-style-mall area. There's even an after-hours tucked away somewhere in a basement - at least, there was ten years ago. (I'm not so much into after-hours haunts anymore. I like to get out of bed at 6am now, not be crawling home at that time.) Unfortunately, my favourite shop, Courage My Love, was closed when we were there. We had so much fun poking around in the shops that were open, especially in a vintage clothing store with a huge Hallowe'en costume section in the back.

Bridgette tried on a whole bunch of wigs for us (what a good sport!), but would only pose for photos in the cool ones. She refused to have her picture taken wearing the curly pink clown number.

I've decided that I'm in love with these glasses. Even though I don't need specs in my life (yet), I'm now jonesin to own a pair like these. My Mom will shudder at this: she wore a pair of 'pickle stabbers' growing up and hated them. If you want to imagine her in them, picture me with blonde hair and blue eyes minus the goofyglam pucker: poof! a vision of my Mom!

We came across a table with cheap-o shades so Claudette treated us all to a new pair. In honour of TIFF festivities, we felt we owed it to our city to pose for the paparazzi. Well, ok, the paparazzi = Mom.

By the time we made it to The Blue Banana we were starving. It turns out that The Blue Banana is a huge very cool store, but its cafe is a coffee-counter with pastries and fun but not very suitable for lunch. Bridgette would have been happy eating cake (especially in the Marie Antoinette wig, not photographed) but we wanted something more substantial. We ended up here:

Wanda's had pizza, quiche, sandwiches and, well, pie. I had an avocado sandwich, Claudette and Bridgette shared a brie sandwich, Mom had the quiche and we also had a few little coleslaw-type salads. And the pies! Wow! Mom and I shared a slice of wild blueberry and Bridgette had a vegan chocolate cupcake, which we all had to try.

I love this big table where you can stretch out with your morning news and enjoy your coffee. I also love how you can stand at it, like a bar.

We almost forgot to tour The Blue Banana, and by the time we got there, the girls were getting a little tired so we didn't stay and poke around for as long as we would have liked. We decided to cut our losses and plan for another day in Kensington, walked back to University (amongst those walking for a breast cancer cure) and hopped the 5 Avenue Road bus home.

No Love From the Digi

I had grand plans to give you a pictorial feast of all the cool stuff I've been doing in my spare time around the apartment: my sewing corner, my balcone, furniture painting projects, baking (with recipes), blahblahblah. But, for whatever reason, my little digi won't give up its photos via USB...I don't get it but that doesn't mean I won't. Eventually. This seems to be a recurring sentiment in my life lately. Instead, I'm going into my archives and showing you some cool shots from my last days b'Yerushalayim.

This is a shot of the front corner beside Qadosh's window looking out onto Shlomzion HaMalka. I love the old radio and the little lamp. It was the second thing I noticed the first time I went here with Adrienne on St. Sylvester's Day way back on December 31st. Our New Year's Eve is called St. Sylvester's Day in Israel, since they already have New Year = Rosh HaShanah.


The first thing I noticed - that anyone notices! - upon entering Qadosh is the bar/dessert cases. Um, I could wallow in their decadent baked-goods heaven forever. I would like to find a sweet (decadent, ambiance-filled, affordable) little cafe like this in Toronto, which I could both frequent and work in.


Down this little alley and to the left is Tmol Shilshom. This was also a favourite little spot with books, ambiance, and tastytasty food - like their all-you-can-eat gorgeous pre-Shabbat buffet brunch. I took one of their menus home with me one day (on the back of each is featured a different writer) and was very excited to have scooped one with Yehuda Amichai. One thing I really liked about Tmol's is that it is tucked away, like a great, happy secret that only the cool kids know.


You'll find this on Tmol Shilshom's home page: "There're places you never forget. There're landscapes and views you keep missing your whole life. Likewise there're coffee-shops you treasure and long to revisit." That's exactly how I feel about both Qadosh and Tmol Shilshom, which is why I'm returning to them again after already having mentioned them in this post from February. I think I'd really like to combine the vibe from both these places in the hopes of re-creating the wonderful times I shared there. We don't really have a cafe culture here, not like in Israel or in the European cities I've visited. It looks, though, that this is changing: I just found an article that Toronto Life magazine did back in February about the changing cafe culture in Toronto. I like standing corrected on such subjects. Hmm, I smell a series that I can bring you on a very regular basis. It smells like latte/kafe afouk/cafe con leche/cafe creme...and pastries. With Chocolate. And with photos, if the digi ever decides to love me again.

Batting Cage Match

Today I went to the batting cages at Playdium in Mississauga with Deb, Sarah and Nina. Last summer was my third season playing softball with the Rebels. Last summer, before heading to Israel, my batting had improved dramatically and I was hitting well, compared with my previous stike-out queen status for the two seasons before this. As you can imagine, this was frustrating - letting both myself and my team down - and hitting well last summer was just so great. Well, now that I'm back on the diamond Tuesday nights I seem to have returned to this state of non-confidence in myself while at bat and am striking out more than I'm hitting - despite the fact that I'm fielding well in my position at First Base and can throw well to almost anyone other than Deb. And, I'm still striking out despite all the advice and support I constantly receive from the women on my ball team, women I look up to and who inspire me in more ways than they do on the field and in the dug-out.

So, last week Deb said calmly and matter-of-factly to Nina and I, who have not been hitting well, that we were going to the batting cages. For 10$ each, we rented one of the cages at Playdium for an hour. When we got there, there was a problem: there was a leak from all the heavy rain the night before and all the balls were wet which plays havoc with the automatic pitchers. The guys working there were furiously drying each ball by hand so they'd be ready for us, the only people to have booked a cage.

My second turn in the cage, I thought what the hell: I'm going to try batting left, when I usually bat right. It felt funny, but I started to hit the balls more regularly and further than I did when I was batting right. This might seems strange, to just switch things up like this, but when I was playing ball in a mixed league fifteen years ago, I was switch hitting. Playing on a mixed team can be a mixed blessing: on one hand, a lot of guys will treat you with kid gloves or won't give you the respect you deserve as a player just cuz you're a girl. On the other hand, a lot of other guys I played with challenged me to try things like switch hit. I was no hotdog then, I'm not now, but I sure did mess up the other team when I went up to bat and hit a little green regardless of which side of home I stood on - not bad, for a girl.

Batting left today, I hit more often and better than I did at right. I've changed my stance so that I stand straight instead of crouched. I hold the bat up high at a right angle to my shoulder. My stance has my legs closer together so that I can more easily take a step, and I swing with my body and not just my shoulders. It felt good, dinging all those balls, some of which had some air time before hitting the overhead nets. I'm hoping to maintain the confidence that I can translate from this practice to the play-offs which start next week.

I think that's a pretty big intro to what I'm about to tell you next, but to me it's pretty important. I take my baseball seriously - not in a professional, sport-is-life way, but I love to play, I am competitive, and I like the mix of competitiveness and playfulness that I enjoy with my awesome all-women team-mates. We have fun, but we have more fun when we win. So, here's the story, as told to me by Deb:

I got out of the cage after my second-to-last at-bat. Deb asked me if I'd seen the little girl standing with them. I said, no. It seems that a little girl, maybe 8 or 9 years old, was there with her dad and she told him that she wanted to play baseball, she wanted to get in the cage and hit some balls. Her dad, who was in his late thirties or early forties, said, "You can't do that. You're a girl." Deb heard him and turned to him and gave him a very dirty look. Right in front of him were three women waiting their turns to bat while giving encouragement to the fourth in the cage, me. (Who was, at that point, hitting every ball that was pitched to her, and hitting them well, while batting left.) Dad caught this look that Deb threw, and he suggested to his daughter that she move a little closer to our cage so she could watch better. While she watched, the little girl looked at my shoes (tri-colour-pink Chucks), looked at her shoes (pink sneakers), back and forth, until she finally grabbed her dad's hand with one of her own, and pointed at my shoes with the index finger of the other: "Look, Daddy, she's got pink shoes, too." (And she's belting balls while wearing them.)

My Dad bought me my first glove when I was around 8. He told me I threw like a girl. The glove he bought fit on my right hand. He assumed that I would throw left, since I write with my left and he was a southpaw pitcher in his day. I finally threw down the glove and whipped the ball to him with my right hand. Two of my four siblings and I are ambidextrous. Dad says we're just mixed up. Anyway, my father neither stopped nor discouraged me from playing sports just cuz I'm a girl. My athletic pursuits, and my sister's, were supported as equally as those taken up by my two brothers. Deb's father was the same. These two men, and many others like them, encouraged their daughters to play whatever sport(s) piqued their passion. These two men are a generation or two older than this father Deb told me about today. Maybe today changed him. But, what I really hope is that today changed his daughter: you can play ball and wear pink shoes. No one said you have to give up being a girl to play ball.

Has It Been So Long?

I have a few good excuses:

1: Settling back into my apartment.
2: Being a tourist in my own city.
3: Catching up with folk I haven't seen in a year.

I had only meant to take a week off from working, two tops, and here it's been three and I haven't looked at any of my translations, nor have I written much creatively aside from editing and revisiting a few poems written in Israel. Today I get back into it all as well as updating y'all on the last three weeks. Heads up: four new photo albums have been added.

The non-stop flight from Tel Aviv to Toronto on the 5th was pretty uneventful except for the sweet 24-year-old dude from Montreal who insisted on switching seats to sit with me, kept me company on the flight, and refused to believe I was over 27. Sigh. Beware my big ego.

Julie was sprung from Ashbridges Bay for a few hours to come with Brandon to the airport to pick me up, with Timmy's doubledouble in hand. Welcome home, indeed! Mom popped by first, then the girls, then Dad, Laura, Seb, Em and I went to 7Numbers for dinner. I had sexy duck leg, of course, and experienced yet another inclusio to this year abroad: the night I flew out, all of us minus Seb (who was then in Barcelona) went to 7Numbers for my send-off.

My Mom threw me a fantastic "Welcome Home/40th Birthday Party" with her side of the family and some of my friends. The kids were a riot. Bridgette, my niece, and I have this thing where we go up to the cake (there's always a cake at our family gatherings) and take a fingerful of icing off the back. I've instructed her to lie if we get caught. So far, it works, even though she usually gives us away with stray icing on her face and I'm pretty sure our faux-innocence and giggling doesn't help our case. I went up to Mom's the night before and she must have really missed me because that night she gave me a particular pair of her boots that I've been coveting for 25 years. The party itself was great, complete with awesome gifts including Time and Life magazines which were published on the day I was born, a fancy lamp, and a drawing and a poem from Bridgette.

After Mom's party, we went to Dad's where they were throwing a "This is not a retirement party" party. Laura retired this year but is not a fan of a hullaballoo being raised about her. It was so much fun, too, and I had the honour (?) of naming a new shooter: it's made with espresso, vanilla vodka and something else...regular vodka? Anyway, Laura was handing them out saying, "Here! It's espresso!" while her pal Caroline was saying, "You have to name it!" I said, "Espresso, my ass," and a named shooter was born.

Adrienne and Johannes came to visit a couple of weeks ago. We didn't do anything majorly touristy since they were only here for two nights and we're leisurely morning types, but we did walk along Bloor in the Annex and we also went to Chinatown and Kensington. It was great, because it's been so long since I've been to these places that they felt rather new to me, too. So, um, when did Dooney's go? Does anyone else remember their big fight to stay in the 'hood when, I think, one of the big coffee chains was trying to take them over? I was pretty shocked that something new was in its place. The new place is nice but it's weird, to me, not to have Dooney's there. Do you ever get a sense of the guilts when something like this disappears in your city? Do you think: if only I'd gone there more often, maybe I could have saved them with my more-than-occasional coffee purchase? I do.

The girls and I went down to Harbourfront to their Mexican-fest - yum! - then Wednesday Daniele and I trekked back down for the free outdoor screening of "Desperately Seeking Susan," which I'd never seen. Fun! Afterwards, we were up at The Press Club on Dundas to listen to jazz and hang with my pal, Mikie, who owns the place.

Friday was Laura's birthday so she, Dad, Seb and I (minus a working Em) went to Frank at the Art Gallery of Ontario for lunch (on the phone, I thought Dad said "Rank" and I thought was a pretty lame name for a resto) then to wander in the new art gallery. It's great, and in my opinion is finally of a world-class calibre. I love being impressed with this gallery now that I've experienced others especially in London, Madrid, Barcelona, Paris and Jerusalem. Now, I can't wait to get me back to the ROM, especially now that the Dead Sea Scrolls are on exhibit.

Saturday saw me at a BBQ at Sonny and Jen's with folk I haven't seen in forever, and it was especially great to see Derek. Again, plenty of kids and plenty of fun. There's not much that's better in this world than hanging with folks whose company you truly enjoy, drinking a few Cinquantes, and eating BBQ...although, now that I think of it, I didn't have any hot dogs and that's just wrong. I will have to remedy that this coming weekend at Rahmer's belated birthday rooftop BBQ.

And now that you've had plenty of left to right, I'm heading off to translate a few verses of Judges 5. My shiny new BDB Biblical Hebrew-English lexicon arrived last Thursday and I'm dying to crack it open.