Passing it down

Sandals: who knew they could tell you a lot about culture and learning?

Yesterday at the Bata Shoe Museum I saw a display of three different woven sandals from three different periods in one culture's history. The sole of the sandal on the left was tightly and intricately woven, very strong and quite beautiful. The sole in the middle? Still pretty nice-looking, but woven more simply in a different design and much more loosely. The third? Same design as #2 but on a much bigger scale - no doubt faster and easier to make, but nowhere near the quality of the other two.

Somewhere between the first and second sandal, that culture developed a specialty in another area of expertise, and the people who made the sandals stopped teaching the next generation the more elaborate weaving technique. And so it was lost, and the later generation was left making a beginner level sandal as though none of their ancestors had ever known anything different.

I found this so moving, even though I personally got interested in spinning and have now learned to make a viable string with nothing more than a spindle, which sort of proves that people can recapture past skills without any economic need for it. It reminded me that no matter how many advances we make as a society, much can be lost with just one generation - with just one person, come to that.

And it reminded me how great it is when people do become obsessed with a subject, and learn all about it, and pass it on to others... because you never know when that old thing will become the necessary thing.

Museuming

My museum extravaganza continued this week with more in-depth time at the ROM. One of my favourite exhibitions was a photo essay on isolated seniors and the house call practice that provides medical care for them. I've become increasingly aware lately of the reality of aging but, whoa. This really brings it home. For people without family, or without the ability to maintain a wide variety of close friendships - and let's face it, no matter how friendly we might feel we can all face that challenge as work and family commitments increase, never mind what unpleasant health issues we may develop in later life - this is a daunting possibility.

I've been pretty absorbed by the geology section too, and the exhibit on a terracotta army (life sized military figures and matching horses on loan from China) is pretty amazing, and let's not forget the awesome soup and the luscious desserts at the Food Studio... but most of all it's the people.

Usually I'm at the ROM on weekends, when there are a ton of families with young children looking for a morning's entertainment out of the rain or the cold. Weekdays in winter: it's all about the school groups, and the occasional preschooler outing. Right now? Summer camps!

These are a mixture of ROM-sponsored groups in various age ranges, with an equal number of other camps having an outing to the museum just like me (though I am not wearing a camp-issued T shirt.) Actually this is not quite true - I did meet several very friendly children in a camp group that did not issue camp Ts, and I would very much like to know how their counselor managed to herd them up all day and not go grey or tear her hair out altogether. In any case you can hear them coming from a long way away, and nothing beats their take on what they're looking at, as with the older boy explaining to some younger girls that "see, makeup back then was horrible" as they all viewed a mannequin representing an Egyptian lady dressing herself and her hair for a dinner party.

Added to the campers are a huge number of families visiting Toronto for a holiday, and I think the reason their kids are less amused than the campers is that their parents take them into the less thrilling exhibits, like 18th-19th century European furniture. They would probably have more fun running free in Egypt, checking out the mummies and the tomb, or in Greece, watching the grownup ladies giggle over the naked torsos and taking each other's pictures with same (yes, it's true, and I wasn't one of them.) But one universally-applied line from their parents seems to solve everything: yes dear, we'll get that when we go eat.

See? I'm not the only one in love with the Food Studio.

Functional art

There's a great ceramics museum where I live and, as a longtime collector of old spotted cups and little plaid plates, I've long wanted to go and never had the time. But yesterday, I did! and what a relief, as it was hot outside and cool and delicious in.

Well, I learned a lot, including how much zing a bit splosh of super bright yellow grabs your attention. I don't use a lot of that shade because ew, but oh what I've been missing: temper it with other colours and it's so nice. Really very much so.

The other thing I realized, having limited myself to spots and stripes in my own collection, is how artists have used functional canvases for their work, allowing it to become part of its owner's daily life. Paint a picture and it might only go into a giant carry-bag until there's wall space to accommodate it, but if you paint a teapot you could be admiring it every morning.

And as a bonus: a ceramics museum can teach you a lot about life for people who lived hundreds of years ago, which is my favourite part of studying history. Like for example, there used to be a drinking game - or maybe this is just a possible explanation for the three-bowl cup I saw there - in which three bowls were connected by a ceramic tube thereby allowing liquid to spill between each, and the participants tried to drink the liquid from all three on their own turn.

If that makes sense. Writing it down I'm thinking it sounds a lot like those tippy ball-bearing puzzle games you always see for sale at Christmas time or sitting on some lucky executive's desk. That and plague, smallpox, and other communicable illnesses probably explains why you don't see so many of those around any more, don't you think?

That old black magic

Things are changing here at Procrastination Central - I can tell because even though I am as full as ever of ideas that will take ages to figure out are unworkable, I am starting to go Zinnnnnng! more and more frequently about some stories I wandered off from about a year ago.

In fact, last night while I was spinning yarn because it was ever so much more urgent to do that than to sleep, some of the characters from those stories started chatting about what I was doing. This time, sleep was more urgent than writing down what they were saying, but I still remember their conversation this morning, and next time I will probably find sleep is not so important after all.

So, Ha! If I was going to be around my computer today, I would probably have a draft of another chapter to show for the day. Instead, I'll be having today's quiet time much farther than an arm's reach from same, and I really hate writing longhand... it takes me longer to get my thoughts down, and then I have to retype it all. Bleaccch. And yes, I've put a notebook into my bag anyway.

The main thing is that the writing is coming back, which means less procrastination, which will be weird.

Or maybe all my procrastinations will morph into responsibilities, and the writing will morph into procrastination? At least my life would remain balanced, and that's always a plus.

Roasted marshmallows

Almost done my busy tourism week, which has been sunny and not unbearably hot until today, which is wet and not unbearably hot, which means no forays to ice cream shops.

So here is yesterday's status:

Back to Greg's, for roasted marshmallow ice cream. And yes, it really did taste like the toffee-ish crust of a well-roasted marshmallow. And definitely, this alone is worth coming to Toronto on vacation.

Staycation

Vacations at home: heaven.

In one of the earliest incarnations of this approach (low-paying job, high-level commitment to paying off student loans) I would sign out a laptop from work and take five days off to sit in my apartment working on a novel in my pyjamas, just like a Real Writer (minus the scotch and the talent.)

Last summer, I was equally happy to sit on my sofa designing a special pair of mittens while watching hours of Turner Classic Movies programming.

But this year I'm straying farther afield and being a tourist in my own city - hence the ice cream references over the past two days (today's installment: a gold medal ribbon milkshake from Baskin-Robbins. product review: delicious, but Greg's was still better.)

All this has involved a lot of walking, which is probably a blessing considering the upswing in ice cream consumption, but not necessarily more delight.

The big art gallery here, for example - well, I have to say it's an embarrassment. It's been hard for me to feel welcome there for years and though I'd heard it had improved a lot after a huge capital expenditure and renovation, throughout my latest visit I felt more uncomfortable than ever - security guards looming over visitors and speaking harshly to anybody who transgressed in any way, poor traffic flow from one sort of exhibit to another, a pretty snooty sort of cafe and really a total disrespect for children in the space, which is so not my experience at other museums and attractions.

Overall I'd have to say the best moments, apart from ice cream, have involved stopping. Sitting with informal picnic yums at a patch of University campus and guessing the source of the gargoyle's faces leering down from above, pausing under a mall tree and wondering whether it's real or artfully shaded with just a few dying leaves, admiring the skill of the stonemasons who lived and worked a hundred years ago.

And, yes: marveling at the shaping and gingerbread decorating the top floors of the old wooden houses across the street from the art gallery. Nice that this different sort of art got its own place on display, don't you think?

Vindication for the ice cream

Yesterday I was horrified to prefer a fairly unexciting bean soup to a seriously expensive single scoop of ice cream purchased from a posh shop in a posh part of town.

Today, under duress (really!) (okay, not really) I went to a different ice cream shop. Not posh, but a serious favourite from my university days.

I couldn't decide what flavour to order so I went for the same as yesterday - chocolate orange - and tried not to gasp when the bill for same rang up at almost half what the posh shop was charging.

Also: I got two scoops of ice cream, not one.

Also: it was delicous.

Soooo much yummy orange flavour! The other ice cream, which shall remain nameless, was bland and had bits of tasteless rind in it. This was like smoothly frozen fudge infused with orangeness.

My friend had vanilla, also a replica of yesterday's choice, and found that it too was way better. Way better even than Baskin-Robbins, our usual benchmark for ice cream parlour deliciousness.

As we ate, people kept coming in, one at a time, for ice cream. As we left we found the ones had turned into a solid lineup out the door. Ha! Not only did we get great ice cream, we beat the rush.

So: if you're visiting Toronto, you want to check out Greg's Ice Cream at Bloor and Spadina. Bliss in a cone (or a cup.)