While I pressed the various buttons on the machine, the near-lurker kept remarking incredulously about how everything was closed today.  

"Even you can't get a bottle of wine!", he exclaimed, clearly perplexed.

I mumbled something about the obvious; it was, after all, Easter Sunday, so naturally everything was going to be closed.

"Even the banks are all closed!"

"Well, yes..." I said again, done with my own banking now, and slightly annoyed at this person's sheer stupidity.  "It's Easter Sunday.  Everything is closed.  It's Easter!"

"Everything?" came the fellow's response, in a dubious tone, as though he simply could not believe that a bottle of wine was not to be gotten this day. "Banks, too?"

Next he wanted to know if I could help him use the bank machine; he'd hitherto always done his banking in person. 

After ascertaining that he knew his PIN, I obliged.  He wanted to withdraw $100; we managed to extract $20, his balance being exactly $33.47.  He marveled at how easy it was (the machine even knew his name!), thanked me for my assistance, and we parted ways.

As I walked the dog along the lake and back to our home, I pondered what had just transpired.  I considered that -- incredible as it was to me that someone could not know that of course everything would be closed on Easter Sunday -- perhaps it was just as inconceivable to someone that a day could exist when every shop was closed, even the basics (hehe) like liquor stores and banks!

As my girlfriend reminded me, when I later recounted the tale, she herself had been in Canada many years, and not until she met me did she truly have an understanding of and remember that there were significant days in our religious and cultural calendars that indeed businesses shut down completely.  While some of us prepare for weeks on end for these days of celebration and remembrance, others just happen to focus on other priorities in their daily, weekly and annual cycles.  Different priorities, perhaps, but, equally important, and certainly no less valuable by sole virtue of their difference.

When we make assumptions about other people's understanding of the world and hurry to judge interpretations that differ from our own, we expose our bias, and worse, our ignorance, that the world is not one way to all people.  And in so doing, we miss all the bits and pieces the world and its diverse people have to offer.

After this past summer's flooding of the Toronto Islands, it was a real pleasure to be able to participate in a "spooky lagoon tour" this fall, and expand my already nerd-like knowledge of island lore... "Murder at the Lighthouse" was originally set up by two of Toronto's water taxi companies in an attempt to recoup some of the losses from this summer's negatively impacted business (the taxis typically ferry private parties between the city's harbourfront and the islands, but the latter were closed to the public for most of the season this year).

The tour begins with a little history lesson on the mainland, in a tent erected to house a television set that shows some old footage from the island and the Toronto harborfront. The existing narration is accompanied by a local actor, who tries to excite the small group about the haunted lighthouse we will soon visit on Hanlan's Point.

The photo of Billy Bishop City Ctr airport -- one I regularly fly out of -- covered in pre-wartime houses is alone worth the price of admission!

Then it's onto the boat for the 12 of us (a few warm blankets are scattered on the seats for those who forgot to dress in layers on this cool October night), and an audio tour begins, narrated by none other than 85-year-island-resident, Jimmy Jones (the Unofficial Mayor of Toronto Island).

What a treasure to hear Jones recount tales of the Trillium ferry, and share his own personal memories of Hurricane Hazel and the vibrant communities that once flourished all along the Toronto Islands! (And as an added bonus, the accompanying music is classical, rather than the all-too-ubiquitous pop.)

Soon, we leave the city behind, and make our way down the dark lagoon towards Canada's second oldest lighthouse, and Toronto’s most famous ghost, J.P. Radelmüller.

An apparently drunken ghost from the past greets us at a little dock island-side, and invites our group off the boat and into the island... if we dare!

While we follow the eerie light of her lantern towards the old Lighthouse, the previous small tour group departs, leaving us stranded with this shady character at the Lighthouse.

After an engaging recount of the main theory behind Rademueler's unsolved murder so many years ago (he was a bootlegger, and it is thought that some thirsty soldiers from Fort York wanted more than their share one night in 1815), we're taken to see where what's thought to be the Lighthouse keeper's bones were found and re buried some years later. Another ghost (the murder victim himself?) appears out of the shadows, and chases us back to the dock, where another water taxi is just arriving with the next group.

The ghost retreats into the darkness, our island host bids us an intoxicated farewell as she greets her next group, and we slide onto the small boat for the journey back down the lagoon and across the harbour to the city.

Although some might find the tour a little "hokey" (and certainly not super scary), as a Torontonian and an island history buff, I must say I thoroughly enjoyed it. I thought the content was well thought out and the transitions were perfectly timed; I just found the whole thing really endearing!

My only suggestion for improvement might be to include some narration on the ride home, about this summer's flooding, perhaps, and about what the island has come to mean for Torontonians, as a transition back to the present. That being said, when I shared my closing idea with the kids, they pointed out that it was already information overload, and that some people might prefer to just cuddle up on their blanket and enjoy the boat ride back in silence, as they reflect on and process what they've heard.

Anyone in the know when it comes quadricycles in the GTA has heard by now that (after 32 years) the Toronto Island Cycle Rental is going out of business.  Just this past week I read that they would be selling off their inventory -- including over 40 quads -- over the Easter weekend.

On a whim, I decided we had to have one!

I mean, really, who wouldn't jump at the chance to own a little piece of Toronto Island history?  And hey, we live right on the lakefront cycle path -- what an opportunity!

Even the kids were game to contribute a significant chunk of their own money, and once I had convinced my partner and our family friend that we'd be able to actually get the thing home and not get stuck and kick it into the lake after the first km pedaling back, I began planning my strategy.

Easter weekend begins on Good Friday.  Lots of people off work; there was bound to be a line-up!

After a bit of googling, I discovered that there seemed to be some sort of a pre-sale the Sunday before, weather permitting, from 2-4 p.m.  I vowed to be there promptly at 2 p.m., cash in hand.

I knew that the older quadricyles that were 4-seaters were going for $800 - 1000, and that was our budget (there was also a handful of new ones, a year old, for $3000, but that was too rich for our blood).

The Early Bird

Imagine our surprise, then, when we arrived at the ferry dock an hour beforehand and were greeted by the sight of multiple disembarking passengers already riding their "new" quads off the Wards Island Ferry (winter schedule still, no Centre ferry yet) and into the city!!!  

How had these people found out about the secret pre-sale and snuck their way in early?  Outrageous!

Undeterred, I led the way onto the boat, the dog (we had elected to bring her along) eagerly sniffing to the air beside us, delighted at the unfamiliar but not unwelcome smell of adventure.

Hope Fades

Alas, as we got off the ferry at Wards, we observed an additional quantity of the much-coveted rachity old machines now belovedly being pedaled by their jubilant new owners, and my heart began to sink.  Maybe we were too late, I worried, doing some quick mental calculations about what we had seen, and how many -- roughly -- I knew there to be for sale.

My fears were confirmed when I chatted with a single rider in a faded canopy-covered two-seater who pedaled slowly past me down the way as she confirmed that the only rides still being peddled up the path were three of the newer 4-seaters at $3000 a piece, and several single bikes.

Having come this far, we marched on towards Centre, where my informant's facts were tragically upheld.  

After looking longingly at the $3000 machines (there were only two left now), and briefly considering a splurge, I defeatedly slumped onto a bench along the path across from the bike shop, next to my partner and our doggie, and watched other hopefuls equally disappointed as they eagerly approached the stand and then became aware that their whimsical dream was not to come to fruition today.

Lunch, Playground and Ferry

By now, the boys had also arrived on the Island (they'd come down and met our friend after a morning commitment elsewhere in the city), and my partner, our dog and I walked back along the path towards the Wards Island Ferry Docks to meet them for a quick stop at the pirate playground and the picnic lunch we were supposed to have enjoyed while pedaling back on our new and unusual treasure.

We then joined other early spring island visitors for the ride back to the city, quadricycle-less, but $800 richer than we would have been, had our venture been "successful".

We took some comfort in knowing that at least the dawg had fun!

Some might say we dodged a bullet, and I agree that after the initial excitement of riding with friends around the neighbourhood bike path, a quadricycle would likely have become an underused toy, challenging to store and maintain.  

​But I would be lying if I said I wasn't just a wee bit sad about not getting one!

​For avid cyclists, it's no secret that finding the ideal fit in a bike takes time and experience. When I was lucky enough to have Silver bestowed on me by a generous friend a few years ago, I was still new to commuter biking, and not entirely sure that new, sporty steed was the right fit for me. Nevertheless, I rode it to work weekly, and rode around elsewhere, too, trying to get a sense of what it was to feel truly comfortable on two wheels.

Fast forward four years, and I knew for sure that I needed a longer frame and a more aggressive geometry.  My partner and cycling muse, a long-time bike commuter and former Can-bike instructor with the city of Toronto who currently rides 40 km a day to and from work on one or the other of her two bikes had also been urging me to consider drop bars, which I was not previously ready for, but which I had finally become more open to. 
​
And so, on a recent summer day, we replaced Silver with Kermit*, an Instagram-worthy touring hybrid with drop bars and fancy new disc brakes.

Our first stop after introducing the two to one another was to take Kermit and Stevie geocaching, which we did along the Lakeshore last Sunday.

Sam Smith park afforded the first new cache we'd found in those parts in a while, and Stevie and Kermit waited nicely together in the cedars while their humans went hunting around in the dirt, eventually finding the cache and harrumph-ing at the silly jokes listed in the logbook.

After returning the treasure to its hidden home, we continued a little further west, along the waterfront...

Bikes locked up to one another and the slat of a gazebo, Tats began digging around on the beach while I pulled out some sustenance and set up shop on a lpicnic table nearby.

We did not get to lunch for very long, however, as Stevie's owner was determined to find one final cache before taking Kermit's owner to a little Austrian cafe on Lakeshore for "Kaffee und Kuchen". (Well, tea, in my case.)

And so on we rode, further west still, and leaned Kermit and Stevie against a tree one final time.

Once more Tats went tripping along the beach with her GPS while I snapped a few pics for the blog before joining her in the hunt.

All three caches on the list signed and logged, we hopped back on Stevie and Kermit, and headed back east a little, to Sugar for my Honey, to enjoy the promised cake and tea, and have a conversation in German with the owner there.

Still tweaking a few little details on Kermit (I think a slightly longer stem would be helpful), but overall, loving my new ride, especially the drop bars!!

*Naming my bikes is a habit I picked up from my partner, who had adopted the practice long before we met, from a cycling friend of hers.

Now that her leg is healing nicely, Sneakers is out and about again for leash walks (and soon, apparently, off-leash walks, too!)  Today's adventures took us along the waterfront trail in Mimico, and -- undeterred by the cloudy skies above -- the dawg happily pranced about, even attempting to collect rather a large "stick" along the way...

​Simon and Alex love the chicken Tikka at our local Thai restaurant.  The tikka comes in orders of 4 "kebabs" on a plate.

"Mom!", the boys said the other night when we were out for dinner, "We're starving!!  Please, get us more than one order each. So I told them we'd start with three orders to share between the two of them, and see if they were still hungry afterwards.

When the three orders of Chicken Tikka arrived, I gave each boy one order, and divided the other order fairly between them. 

Ms. K -- who also likes Chicken Tikka -- took one kebab off Simon's plate for herself. 

Simon turned to his brother, and said, "Alex, it's not fair now, you have more!  You have to give one of your kebabs to Tats (Ms. K) too. 

​Alex suggested that since he was hungry, instead of giving one of his kebabs to Ms. K, he could just give half a kebab to Simon.  But Simon said that wasn't fair, and that Alex would have to give him a whole kebab, since he (Simon) had given up a whole one for Tats.

Who is right?  Should Alex give Simon half a kebab or a whole one, to make it fair?  (So that each boy has the same amount of kebabs.) Explain your thinking.

​Some More Chicken Tikka Problems:

Another time, Ms. K and the boys went to the restaurant alone (without Ms. Teschow), and ordered four orders of Chicken Tikka.

"Let's make sure to split up the orders fairly!" said Ms. K.​
How many kebabs does each person get?​

In the end, Ms. K decides that she is actually not that hungry, and only eats half her share, giving the rest to  Alex and Simon.  They were still hungry, and quickly gobbled them up.
 How many kebabs did each person end up eating?

The boys' Uncle Rick took Simon and Alex to the restaurant one evening when Ms. Teschow and Ms. K  were both working late.

"We're REALLY hungry tonight, Rick!", said Simon.  "Can we order enough Chicken Tikka, so that we each can have 10 kebabs?" 

Rick, who was also hungry, and who also likes Chicken Tikka, said they could. ​How many Chicken Tikka orders would they have to get so that all three of them get 10 kebabs each?​

17 degrees Celsius.  

​That's how cold it is in our apartment in Toronto, where the cooling and oft-sought-after-in-summer "lake effect" is in full force in October.  

​17 degrees is not how cold it feels (after over 24 hours of this, it feels about - 10, even with three sweaters on!!!!), but how cold it actually IS, based on three readings taken by our building superintendent this morning. Yup.

You see, the way it works is that the building person has to take the reading, then he fills out a little form for head office to request them to turn on the heat.

​Never mind that section Regulation 516/06  of the Residential Tenancies Act, Section 4, stipulates that "the heating season is from September 1, to June 15 of any given year." and that between those two dates, a landlord is legally obligated to provide a tenant with heat, more specifically, "room temperature of 20 degrees Celsius at 1.5 metres above floor level and one metre from exterior walls in all habitable space and in any area intended for normal use by tenants, including recreation rooms and laundry rooms but excluding locker rooms and garages" -- the reality is that until the paperwork gets filled in by our building manager and sent to Homestead's illustrious head office, and they elect to actually follow the law, we are all left FREEZING!!!!

My partner, who grew up behind the iron curtain, is reminded of her childhood in Russia, where the family would often huddle around the stove when the heat went out.  Unfortunately, these memory jogs are more frustrating than endearing for her, and, since (unlike in Russia) we actually have laws here protecting tenants from having to huddle around an open flame, she encouraged me to take action with the landlord.

Interestingly, the Landlord's representative (they are a bunch of lawyers, who own a number of buildings, and hire peons to do the dirty work for them) seems very eager to enforce rules and regulations:  He called me a few months ago to tell me I had to take a colourful wreath off my door because although they allowed wreaths at Christmas time as an exception (no cultural proficiency for these landlords!!!), in general, door décor was not permitted, as the door exterior was the property of the landlord and not the tenant.  Since it was now summer time, he said, the thing had to go.  I complied, and removed the festive adornment from our apartment door.

Then, a​ few weeks ago, my friend at head office called back, this time about a misinterpretation he had of the Elections Canada act... he mistakenly thought he could tell the building managers to tell us to remove the sign supporting our local candidate which we had proudly installed on our balcony to encourage our neighbours to vote for someone with a brain and a heart on October 19th. 

(Don't worry, I corrected him and pointed him to Section 322 (1) of the Act, which states that "no landlord can prohibit tenants from displaying election advertising on the premises covered by their lease".)
​

​Alas, when I called my friend from Homestead last night to advise him that his employer was not fulfilling his duty under the law with regards to providing heat for me, his tenant, he was not so eager to chat.

The only thing that makes it even remotely okay that I am leaving is the knowledge that -- after I set up my classroom and prepare the first weeks of school -- I'll have three more days out here over the Labour Day weekend before really leaving.