Category: Life in Ottawa

The neighbours

My leafy suburb is probably one of the most child-friendly in all of Ottawa. And yet, the street we live on has no kids under 10, save for my boys.

When we moved in, we had childless couples living on either side of us. The first couple moved out of the province in the summer of 2004, maybe a year after we’d moved in, and a woman and her three kids moved in. The kids were older – a boy and a girl around 9 and 11, and a teenage boy around 15. The boy was a nightmare, to be honest, and we frequently saw the police bringing him home or coming to get him. He left last summer, and the neighbourhood settled down again.

Last month, the fun young childless couple who lived on the other side of us moved out, too. Laura was quick to reassure us that the new neighbours would be terrific: “She’s a school administrator, and her grown daughter will be living with her.” Well, that sounded pretty good to me, even though I’d’ve preferred a family with kids that the boys could play with.

And then they moved in, and Reese and Candy arrived with them. Candy is a yappy little pug that never shuts up, and Reese is a terrifying-looking Rottweiler with a booming bark that rattles the windows. And he barks at everything that moves. He barks at the kids when they’re in the yard (it took weeks before they were even comfortable going out there, despite the eight-foot wooden fence in between our yards), he barks at the people walking by on the street, he even barks at us when we’re in the house and veer too close to the window.

Now, I like dogs. But big, nasty black dogs that scare my kids and bark like they’re the devil? Not so much. To her credit, the lady tries to control them, and we’re forever hearing her yelling at the dogs: “Reese!! Candy!! NO BARKING!!” If it’s obvious they’ve scared the kids, or if they just won’t shut up, she at least puts them in the house. But still. I’ve taken to walking the length of the fence, just to make sure it’s good and solid with no Reese-sized holes anywhere.

But even the dogs are not the worst part. What are the odds of having TWO next door neighbours, one on either side, who have decided rather than smelling up the insides of their own houses with cigarette smoke, to smoke exclusively on their respective back decks? I mentioned townhouses, right? Every time one of them is out there smoking, it drifts into my house through the open windows. I keep telling myself that the level of carcinogens in the second-hand smoke has probably been considerably diluted by the time it reaches us, but it still lingers in my mind that if I can smell it, there must be some chemical trace working its way into our systems.

By contrast, I love my across-the-back-fence neighbours. They have three kids, maybe 6, 8, and 11, and the dad is some sort of special detective. I think the mom stays home. They’re warm and friendly, and I always enjoy chatting with them. My boys stand on the slide and climber in our yard to be able to talk to the kids, and even the older kids are nice and friendly. Unfortunately, they’re also separated by an eight-foot fence, and it’s about a 10 minute walk around the block to get to their secluded little cul-de-sac. I watch the kids from their side of the fence running rampant through their yard, and wonder about cutting a gate into the fence, or at least setting up a ladder, or something. It really bugs me that there are no kids here in the neighbourhood – the kiddliest neighbourhood in Ottawa, for goodness sakes! – with whom the boys can play.

I love my house, I really do. But I want to live in one of those neighbourhoods where you sit on your porch in the late summer evenings, drink in hand, chatting with the neighbours while the kids run in a pack from house to house. I want to have kids showing up at the door at all hours, looking to play with Tristan and Simon. I want road hockey games in the driveway and tag in the park. Sheesh, we haven’t even been invited (nor, to be fair, have we invited anyone) to a playdate with one of Tristan’s classmates.

Sometimes, even as a grown-up, it’s hard to make friends.

Ottawa’s Hidden Treasures – Hogs Back Falls

I love the light in September. It’s warm and golden, and instead of glaring overhead it comes dappled through the leaves at a gentle angle. And then, of course, the trees are starting to change colours, green giving way to gold and even scarlet.

Stone steps, Hogs Back

Every year in September, when the light gets like this, I get drawn to Hogs Back Falls. It’s one of my favourite places to go for an easy hike right in the city, a little oasis of trees and rough-hewn paths along side the Rideau River where it splits from the canal at Mooney’s Bay. I was telling the boys this morning that I’ve been drawn there in every season, but I never miss a walk at Hogs Back Falls in September, and I usually can’t resist bringing my camera along with me.

This was the boys two years ago, in September 2005.

Sharing birdseed, 2005

We forgot to bring birdseed to feed the nuthatches and peanuts to feed the chipmunks today.

Back in the day, we’d walk along the wide gravel path at a snail’s pace, first pushing a stroller and then holding the hand of a creeping toddler.

Simon at Hogs Back, September 2005

Suddenly, taking these two intrepid on a hike is a lot of work. Paths must be followed, rocks climbed over, trails explored. The boys surged ahead while it was me who brought up the rear, sweating lightly despite the early autumnal chill. And this used to be such a leisurely stroll!

Tristan and Simon, Hogs Back Falls, September 2007

Hogs Back Falls

Fall colours

No doubt, Hogs Back Falls is gorgeous any time of year. But on a sunny September day, when summer forgets to submit to fall and the air is warm and golden, it may just be one of the most beautiful places in the city.

I heart Geddy Lee

I danced.

I screamed.

Okay, truthfully? When the house lights went dimmed, and the crowd started to scream, and the band came on stage, and the lights came up as Rush crashed into the first few bars of Limelight, and they were RIGHT THERE less than 100 ft from me, my barely repressed inner 14 year old girl and my inner geek rose up and took over in one hormonal moment of overload.

I wept.

It was, in short, a concert worthy of waiting a lifetime for. Three hours (minus a short intermission, thank the gods who watch over pregnant bladders) of solid, grooving, driving rock. Almost all my favourites, plus guest appearances by Bob and Doug McKenzie (does it get any more Canadian than that?) and the kids from South Park (!) and the Best Drum Sole EVER, even according to my father, the former professional drummer. You can read the Citizen’s slightly more objective but no less favourable review of the concert here.

I’m sure the Player to be Named Later was completely perplexed… between the throbbing baseline reverberating through my sternum (my ears are still ringing), the dancing, and me screaming myself hoarse, the poor baby was more than a little confused. He danced right along with me for a lot of the night, though, so I think we’ll have to replace our Wiggles DVDs with some Rush concert tour DVDs for this one.

An interesting aside: this may be the first event I’ve ever attended where the line-up for the men’s room was three times longer than the line-up for the ladies’ room! After I noticed that, I looked around the stadium, and sure enough the guys outnumbered the girls easily 10 to one. It was also the first concert I’ve been to in a long time where people actually stood through the whole thing. In our section, aside from the opening song, people mostly stayed in their seats, but toward the end of the second set when they launched into Spirit of Radio and followed it up with Tom Sawyer, we were all on our feet and stayed that way right through the end of the encore.

Today, I was standing in the checkout line at the grocery store when I noticed the guy in front of me wearing a tour T-shirt from the concert last night. We got to chatting, and agreed it was an all-around amazing show. I was basking in the rehashed memories when the clerk packing my bags, a fellow of maybe 17 or so, looked at me and asked, “What’s Rush?”

Ouch. Oh well, I may be too old to be culturally relevant anymore, but after watching old dudes rocking the house on stage last night, I’m okay with that.

RUSHing

I’m *so* excited!

I bought my tickets back in April, but I swear, I have been waiting to see this concert since I was ten years old. Finally, tonight, we’re going to see Rush! With 100-level seats, no less! I’m beside myself with anticipation.

I’ve always loved Rush.

RUSH - Moving PicturesFor my 12th birthday, my folks replaced my little suitcase record player with an actual real stereo – the kind with the smoked plastic box lid, and honest-to-goodness speakers. And they gave me two albums, AC/DC’s Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap (I still remember my mother blanching when she read the lyrics on the liner) and Rush’s Moving Pictures. I’ve long since outgrown my AC/DC phase, but Moving Pictures is still one of my favourite albums of all time.

When I was in high school, my first serious, painful and perhaps even partially requited crush was on a boy named Greg who played the clarinet in my music class. While I remained a band-class geeky good girl, Greg went from clarinet player to headbanger, hanging out in the smoker’s pit and wearing almost exclusively those black concert T-shirts with the white sleeves. Although we were never officially a couple, we were almost inseparable around the time I turned 16, from sharing a locker to spending endless hours loitering in downtown doughnut shops… talking about our mutual favourite band, Rush. Twenty years later, Rush’s Freewill and the 2112 album still evoke the then-delicious smell of cigarette smoke and cold air on his leather jacket as I wore it to class. I blame him for my lifelong affection for bad boys with good hearts… and for deepening my appreciation of Rush’s back catalogue.

All these years later, though I’m no longer charmed by the smell of cigarette smoke on black leather, I still consider Rush one of my five favourite bands of all time. Really, it’s a bit of a surprise that I haven’t seen them before now. Only Paul Simon and Billy Joel remain on my all-time must-see list. (I have eclectic – some might say antiquated – tastes in music!)

When we went to see REM in 2004 (scratching out another favourite on my lifetime concert to-go list), I was extremely disappointed when they played only two or three songs from their back catalogue. I mean, no Shiny Happy People, no Orange Crush, not even Everybody Hurts. So tonight, I’ve got my fingers crossed to hear a few faves. If I hear at least a few of these, I’ll go home happy:

  • Spirit of Radio
  • Freewill
  • Red Barchetta
  • Limelight
  • and my favourite of all, Closer to the Heart.

What’s the equivalent to Rush in your life? First album, most evocative song, must-see but not yet attended concert?

The end of Storyland?

I read in yesterday’s paper that Storyland, near Renfrew, will likely be closing at the end of this season, and the news made me sad. First the Hershey chocolate factory in Smith’s Falls; now this.

Storyland is truly one of Ottawa’s hidden gems, tucked away in the woods near a scenic overlook on the Ottawa River, 40 minutes from the city. We paid our first and now maybe only visit to Storyland last summer, and I found it a sweet and nostalgic place; a downmarket cousin to the fancy and expensive theme parks in most metropolitan areas.

There were two things I loved about Storyland. First, it appealed to me because it reminded me of my own childhood favourite places, where the slides were metal and coated in chipped (and likely lead-based) paint instead of modular plastic in primary colours. Like this!

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The other thing I loved about Storyland was its simple and authentic charm, and its inherent lack of glitz, loud music or moving parts. If Disneyland is a $200 computerized, interactive, automated remote control toy, Storyland is a free wooden train set discovered stashed away in your grandparents’ basement. Not only is it filled with character, but it’s staffed by characters – literally. The (mostly young) staff are dressed in character costumes inspired by Mother Goose and the Brothers Grimm and Disney alike, and are open and friendly and unselfconscious about their attire.

There are playgrounds and paddleboats, a bouncy castle and mini-golf. What really gives the place its charm, though, are the little features tucked away on easy to follow paths, like this wishing well:

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Or Cinderella’s pumpkin carriage:

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Or the three little pigs:

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When I was growing up, my favourite place to visit was a little park in my hometown of London, Ontario called Storybook Gardens. I’d like to bring the boys back there some day, simply because of the many happy memories I have of going to Storybook Gardens at least once, and usually many times, over the course of a summer. Storyland is like the country cousin of Storybook Gardens, just a little bit more wild and unkempt, but maybe a little bit more fun because of that.

I’m sad to see Storyland close its doors. Maybe I’m just nostalgic, but I’d like my kids to spend more time in charming places like this. Matter of fact, gems like this one – relics of the 60s and 70s just like me – are probably tucked away in hidden corners all over the place. Is there one near you?

Edited to add: Hooray!! On May 10, 2008, a small article ran in the paper stating that Storyland has a new owner and will re-open on June 21. Yay!

A very expensive (but fun!) Saturday

We had a fun and adventure-filled but ghastly expensive day on Saturday.

In the morning, we visited the Ottawa debut of A Day Out With Thomas. Those of you who have been around for a while will remember the absolute magic of our first adventure with the Very Useful Engine, two years ago in St Thomas, Ontario.

Our latest adventure was not quite so magical, but a fun morning for the boys. In addition to a rather uninspired 30 minute train ride through some scrub and industrial land, there were train tables, temporary tatoos, arts and crafts, and of course, a giant gift shop filled with all things Thomas and Friends. Tristan’s waning interest in the big blue engine was rekindled, but Simon has always been less of a fan than his brother. In the gift shop, he looked around for a while before asking, “But where are all the Star Wars toys?”

In the afternoon, we went with Granny and Papa Lou to one of my favourite summer traditions, the Ottawa SuperEx. While the SuperEx never lives up to what I loved about London’s Western Fair from my childhood, I still look forward to it every year. I love the grease, the sleaze, the colours, the carnival food, the excess of it all.

The boys don’t really need me to ride the merry-go-round with them anymore, but I still do.

Merry-go-round

But mostly, they ride by themselves.

Driving

I'm flying!

They weren’t big enough to go on the bumper cars by themselves (they couldn’t have reached the pedals even if they wanted to) but Beloved and Papa Lou were willing to go along for the ride. My mom and I watched from the sidelines and laughed the whole time – of the four of them, I honestly couldn’t tell you which one was having more fun.

Bumper cars
Bumper cars

I think my favourite part of the SuperEx are the games of chance. My mom and I are usually pretty good at the squirtgun games, but this time it was Tristan who won his own stuffy.

Granny and Tristan

And no matter how expensive the day might have been, all the money in the world can’t buy memories like these.

Bumper cars

Ottawa’s hidden treasures

After more than 900 posts, I’m always looking for new stuff to write about. Now that I’m in vacation mode (can I get a ‘hallelujah’?) we’ve been doing what I love to do… touring around the city, doing all of our favourite summertime things. And in doing so, I realized that there are a lot of wonderful things to do in this city with families, some better publicized than others. And that writing about all of Ottawa’s “hidden treasures” would give me lots of inspiration through all four seasons AND encourage me to get out with the boys more. Granted, none of the stuff I’ve been thinking of blogging about is truly “hidden”, but how often have you heard about something in or near your neighbourhood for years and never actually gotten around to checking it out yourself?

And thus, an idea is born!

The outing that inspired this brainwave was a trip to the Ottawa Farmers’ Market at Lansdowne Park. I’ve been inspired to try to buy locally, but it hasn’t been easy. In the height of strawberry season, my local Loblaws offers only berries trucked in from the US. The open-air market in the Byward Market, a mere half a block from where I work, doesn’t restrict vendors from outside our geographical area. I’ve been to the North Gower farmers market and was disappointed by the selection, and the Carp market is more than an hour round-trip.

And then I finally got around to checking out the Ottawa Farmers’ Market last week. Granted, it’s practically downtown, not exactly conveniently located for a suburbanite like me. And the day we decided to go, the neighbourhood was packed to capacity for the FIFA Under 20 World Cup semi-finals (bad timing on my part.)

But the selection! Not just cukes and tomatoes, but potatoes and onions and lettucey-type greens. Beans and snow peas and zucchini. For the first time, I could buy an entire week’s worth of vegetables from a farmers’ market. I saw after the fact they also have horse-drawn wagon rides through the Glebe… next time, for sure.

One day, I’ll get brave and actually buy some of my meat from the farmers’ market, but for now I’m happy to savour locally grown and freshly picked produce… cuz nothing tastes better than a toasted tomato and salt sandwich (bacon optional) with a tall cold glass of lemonade.

So, it probably cost me an eigth of a tank round trip, and the price is quite a bit higher than in the grocery store, and the selection is excellent now but not so great early in the season. This “buying locally” thing isn’t cheap or easy… but it’s a start, right?

Go Sens GO!

When I heard that there would be a rally to cheer the Senators on to a Stanley Cup victory on the very day I was home with the boys, I couldn’t resist bringing them downtown for what could be a once-in-a-lifetime event.

It was hot – damn hot, to quote Robin Williams – and crowded, but still a wonderful experience to be a part of a crowd of 6000 Cup-crazy fans. The boys had their new Senators jerseys on, fresh from Saturday’s inagural wearing, and “Go Sens!” written on their cheeks in, well, in my eyeliner.

Does it get more Canadian than poutine at a Stanley Cup hockey rally? Kerry was kind enough to share hers with Simon.

We had three generations of bandwagon hockey fans cheering for the Sens: Tristan and Simon, me and Papa Lou!

The boys had fun, but spent an inordinate amount of time looking at the backs of people’s knees as they sweated in the newly rechristened ‘Sens wagon’.


There were lots of smiling faces, and plenty of funny expressions of fandom. This guy who was standing near us had both!

I’m pretty sure this guy had sunstroke by the end of the rally.

This was the best moment of the rally. (Well, this and when Lucky Ron sang Stompin’ Tom Connors’ The Good Old Hockey Game!) They set off some daytime fireworks and unfurled this 60 foot Sens banner over City Hall.

Edited to add: Kerry’s got her take on the rally and more pix on her blog.

Birth of a hockey fan

So we’re not exactly sporty people. Beloved, bless his literate artsy heart, couldn’t care less about the difference between an infield fly and a hanging curveball. The athletic education of the boys has fallen largely to me, which, if you know me at all, is pretty darn funny. Pity my poor boys, who are just now learning how to catch and have yet to have their first experience standing on ice skates, let alone actually learning to skate.

But this exciting spring, with playoff fever spreading like malaria through the capital, I’ve taken it upon myself to teach them the finer points of bandwagon hockey fandom. I’m a professional in this particular sport. I can count on one hand the number of regular season hockey games I’ve watched in their entirety, but each year as the lilacs bloom I find myself glued to the screen, cheering on the home team. (In no small part, I’m sure, because in my heart Sens playoff hockey is hopelessly tangled with one of our best family memories.)

I’ve never lived in a city with a championship team before. I was a rabid Blue Jays fan in 1992 and 1993 when they won the World Series – I barely missed a single game of the entire 162 game regular season in 1992 – and when they won they weren’t just Toronto’s team but Canada’s team. But we were still five hours down the road from Toronto and although I made my way downtown to the massive victory party in the Byward Market when they won, it still wasn’t quite the same.

There’s something charming about how a winning home-town team brings the community together. The plethora of cars with Sens flag whipping in the wind, the home-made signs on lawns and windows, the otherwise staid civil servants wearing hockey jerseys over their business suits. The Sens are within a single victory of their first-ever Stanley Cup playoff in modern history; how could an irrepressible joiner like me resist feeding off of – and feeding in to – that energy?

A couple of weeks ago, when the Sens made the first round of the playoffs, I started talking to Tristan about hockey, and about the Sens. I knew his schoolmates would be talking hockey, and I wanted him to be able to join in the conversation. Yesterday, with the Eastern Conference final on the line, I asked they boys if they wanted to watch the game with me. (Simon used to be a Leafs fan, back in the day.) To my great entertainment, Tristan was beside himself with excitement, counting down the minutes to the puck drop.

We stood together in the living room, trying to sing along with the national anthem. Well, Tristan did a fine job singing along, but I could barely croak out the words around the lump of pride in my throat. The national anthem chokes me up at the best of times (I’m such a sentimental patriot), but standing there hand in hand with my boys, watching the Sens in front of the madly cheering hometown crowd, was just one of those moments.

The goal nine seconds into the game didn’t dampen Tristan’s enthusiasm in the least. He watched the first period with a rapt attention that surprised me, and in between muttering encouragement to the players on the screen he even composed a little song about the Sens winning. It was, in a word, adorable.

He only agreed to go to bed at the end of the first period after I promised to tell him the score as soon as he woke up the next morning. His disappointment at the loss was mollified by the promise of a daytime game on Saturday, one he could watch in its entirety.

Make room on the bandwagon – I’m off to see if I can find a Sens jersey, size extra-small.

Thomas the Tank Engine is coming to Ottawa

Parents of preschoolers, consider yourself warned: Thomas the Tank Engine’s popular “Day Out With Thomas” is coming to Ottawa this summer!

Props to Nancy for sending me a note yesterday. The Day Out With Thomas extravaganza will be held on August 17 -19 and 24 – 26 at the Ottawa Central Railway’s Walkley Yard. (Never heard of it? Me neither. It’s just across from the Home Depot near South Keys.) Festivities include a half-hour ride on a train pulled by the Very Useful Engine himself, a chance to meet Sir Topham Hatt, and of course the largest Thomas memorabilia gift shop on the planet.

Tickets went on sale this morning, and I couldn’t help myself -I picked some up for the boys. They aren’t cheap at almost $20 a person, but the boys still enjoy Thomas enough that it will make for a memorable summer event.

Not nearly so memorable, of course, as our first and only previous Day Out With Thomas adventure back in the summer of 2005. We trekked eight hours across the province to St Thomas for that one – and it was truly worth it. The boys still look at the pictures and talk about the day we met the real-life Thomas the Tank Engine. (Funny for me to look at those pictures now and see that Tristan is then the same age that Simon is now. Time flies!)