downsizing

A downside of aging is the need to downsize - always difficult, but anathema to packrats like myself (some would call us 'memorabilia cripples). Faced with a move from a 3-bedroom townhouse to a 1-bedroom apartment, on the chopping-block are bundles of greeting cards with messages that can still make the eyes prickly, the kids' school projects circa 1960, magazines - some going back 2 decades, directions for growing everything, and fixing and cleaning everything even if I didn't have the product but you never know ..., diaries that started off with great bursts of enthusiasm but petering out about March, old boarding passes, 7 passports (so handy if you want to see the aging process in action), and don't even ASK about recipes.

Agreed, all the memories associated with these things are stored behind my furrowed brow - ergo, I shouldn't need to hang on to physical reminders. It's a well-known fact that one's memory for remote events becomes sharper with age but eventually, as my witty sister proclaims in one of her voice-of-doom moments, "....and the marbles start rolling away ....." What then? I'll think about that when the time comes. In the meantime - bring on the shredder and the blue box!

I'll just start on the magazines here. Woops - I was looking everywhere for this article. And here's that recipe I wanted ......!!

... those were the days

In the process of browsing through my mom's old albums for a photo of my dad to do a profile on him, I simply HAD to share this old photo of my Aunt Kit taken - when? - before WWI, probably 1913. Of necessity, I've had to base my dating of mom's photos mostly on fashions of the day. That was a defining period, just before "bathing dresses and bonnets" were shed in favour of daring form-fitting woollen ones that - gasp! - exposed the knees!! Talk about liberation!

Just looking at my aunt's waist gives me gas. I can't even stand a tight belt. Imagine bending over with corsets that tight to do up those high boots. However, that being said, I would put up with a lot to wear hats like this. ..... and I'm not even a hat person. Just a romantic -

Koko the Magnificent

testing ...... testing..... Eureka! It worked! Just when I'd all but accepted that I'd reached the limits of my computer-challenged brain. I've uploaded a photo -

This is Koko the Magnificent, my secondary cat who came to me by a circuitous route via my generous neighbor Marni as a thank-you for looking after her cats Kramer and Oliver (sounds like a vaudeville team) because she felt my primary calico Fergie needed a companion ("sure', says Fergie, "like I need a terminal case of ticks")

But it's Koko's origins that fascinate - she was actually bred at the NRC in Ottawa for research purposes. I feel faint to think about it. Rats - great. Mice - why not? Even rabbits - they multiply like - ha-ha - rabbits anyway! But CATS?? Especially this elegant Norwegian Forest Cat. Fortunately for Koko one of the lab techs just fell in love with her (as who would not?) and adopted her. But the tech's primary cat was less than enamored with the new addition and went into instant attack mode with the result that poor Koko was relegated to the Humane Society from whence Marni rescued her. As one can see, she is not wasting away at 19 lbs, even on weight-control food. But she has a disposition that humans would envy, and that defuses irascible felines like my brother's caramel cat Ellwood with the personality of a cut-worm, so that he visibly melts in her presence (Ellwood, not my brother).