Further to my post about wildflowers, I decided to gather some when Greg and I were at the farmers’ market at Liberty Village  last weekend. There’s a low fence around the parking lot where the market takes place and on a whim I plucked a few cornflowers, some huge red clover and a head of Queen Anne’s lace from the scrubby unmowed grass. I came home and popped them in a small vase and took some quick photos, hoping that I’d get some good ones; the colours match my shower curtain and I’ve been looking for some decent artwork to hang in the bathroom for a few years now.

I’m pretty happy with how these turned out. I’ve never really considered myself a photographer; being totally of the point and shoot attitude, but the macro on this little Sony Cybershot is pretty rocking.

Cornflower close-up.

Red clover close up - holy petal striations.

Bouquet featuring Queen Anne's lace.

Cornflower and clover close-up.

In wide use since the mid-1800s, elevators enable people to gain access to areas of multi-floor buildings without having to use the stairs. This device is incredibly useful for anyone moving large or bulky items such as boxes, baby strollers, shopping buggies, beer kegs, large dogs or refrigerators.

Although the western world has lived with the elevator for over 150 years, it appears that some basic rules and etiquette continue to be neglected. Miss Shirley will enlighten you.

First, when you approach the elevator and press the button to call the car to your floor, step back once you have done so. While it seems like the most basic of common sense, if you stand directly in front of the doors, the people already on the elevator will not be able to disembark. Which means you won’t be able to get on, you stupid nimrod!

Second, once you have entered the elevator, select the floor you want and move as far into the car as possible so that others getting on behind you have room. Do not, Miss Shirley will repeat this, do NOT block the goddamn doorway. If you desire to remain close to the door, either because you are phobic, someone else on the elevator smells bad, or because you are getting off before everyone else, wait and let the other people on first. Miss Shirley, who lives on the 2nd floor of her building and who is usually accompanied on her elevator trips by two large dogs, often lets others onto the car first so that she does not have to push past them 30 seconds later to disembark. Also, elevators are not like airplanes – if for some reason the door closes before you can get on, the elevator will be back in a couple of minutes.

If you are transporting a bicycle in an elevator, it behooves you to pop the vehicle up onto its rear wheel and place it as far into the back corner of the car as possible to prevent other riders from brushing up against the wheels and getting dirty. Also, and this should be common sense, but Miss Shirley often wonders how much of that actually exists out there in the world, don’t push past other riders to get to the door – let them off first if possible.

Finally, when you are riding the elevator, pay attention to the display that indicates which floor the elevator is at. Every version of the uppity box has one of these, even older models, although most of the new ones are of the fancy digital variety with a big huge lit up display that shows the floor number, in addition to the lighted button panel. If you live in Miss Shirley’s building and get off the elevator on the 2nd floor because the door opened there to let Miss Shirley on, it is not her fault if you are a dumbass who does not pay attention, and finds themselves wandering up and down the 2nd floor hallways looking for the ground floor lobby.

Miss Shirley also encourages you not to frantically press the “close door” button when you see someone approaching the elevator because you don’t want to ride with them – unless it is that bitchy lady from down the hall who will trap you and gossip at you for half an hour. If that’s the case, you have Miss Shirley’s blessing to close that door as fast as your little finger can jab at the button. Also, do not push the buttons for all the floors just to piss people off, unless you are under 10 years of age, in which case, fill your boots, although Miss Shirley will still exercise her curmudgeonly right and chastise you if the opportunity arises.

Thank you for riding the elevator with Miss Shirley today – it has been delightful.

Miss Shirley’s Urban Wisdom was the name of a recurring series of posts I made back in my LiveJournal days. Meant to be a snarkier more cynical version of Miss Manners, writing these pieces and directing my wrath at somebody’s boneheaded behaviour toward something creative (instead of finding a big stick…) was a catalyst for me and hopefully an amusement for my readers.

I’m not a huge fan of Christie Blatchford at the Globe and Mail. She’s a little … shrill about most things. But although some readers hate it when she writes about her dog, these are probably my favourite articles of hers. Saturday’s article, in particular, hit a nerve.

As my dogs get older, there’s not a day that goes by that I am not thankful for their continued existence. The vet once told us that we’d be lucky if Bowie made it to 10 years, because of his size, but we’re currently working on 11.

But they’re both slowing down. They don’t want to run and play as much as they once did. They often don’t have the patience to be petted and mauled. And when either dog gets injured or ill, or even sometimes when I walk past and look at them sleeping, I have to shake the fear, nay – the sheer dread,  of the inevitable out of my head.

When they’re gone…

No. Stop it. Not gonna happen. Never.

But it will. And somehow we’ll deal. Hopefully.

In the meantime, I make a point of enjoying every minute with them. Even if all they’re doing is sleeping; sprawled out on the floor, feet twitching, eyes rolling under their soft eyelids, barking at imaginary squirrels, chasing imaginary balls, nomming imaginary snacks.

People say it’s impossible for a dog owner to claim to love their dog as much as a parent loves a child. Those people are idiots.

However you feel about gentrification – and it has it pros and cons – it has to be said that part of its purpose is to clean places up. Clean out the grubby building, the grubby litter, the grubby people and all that grubby scrub at the side of the road. Gentrification means pristine lawns and swept walks. Sure there are flowers, but they’re there on purpose – well trimmed and watered and chosen to make a statement.

Another shot of this crazy plant. It's about 4 feet high.

With all the new condos going up around our hood, one of the things going missing is the wildflowers. There used to be a stretch along Dovercourt that was old derelict factories – it’s full of ugly faceless townhouses now – that was just covered in cornflowers and Queen Anne’s lace in the summer. Most of Joe Shuster Way was a vacant lot for a few years, and before they dug a ginormous pit there, it too was full of flowers in the summer. Along the fence there would be buttercups, daisies, more corn flowers… and some huge things I couldn’t identify but that were mighty in size.

Waiting to see what the bulb-like thing at lower right turns out to be.

These images are from some scrub around the bus shelter at Dufferin and Queen. It’s a strip mall layout, slated to become – guess! – condos, although with the current recession, that plan might have gotten scrapped. I’m always pleased to see wildflowers in places like this; not only taking root in the cracks in the concrete, but thriving, huge, 3 or 4 feet high.

Most people probably think of them as ugly weeds, but I enjoy them far more that I do an overly thought-out “landscaped” arrangement of mundane but acceptable flowers from the garden centre.

Nobody scrubs up better than Antarctica.

]]> http://leavesandpetals.com/2009/07/01/the-cleanest-continent/feed/ 0 saveyourfork globe_soap http://leavesandpetals.com/2009/06/18/out-of-the-closet/ http://leavesandpetals.com/2009/06/18/out-of-the-closet/#comments Thu, 18 Jun 2009 20:43:19 +0000 Sheryl Kirby http://leavesandpetals.com/?p=295 ]]>

Some people are naturally pack-rats, saving everything, dragging it with them from home to home throughout their lives. Others though, are purgers, overcome with the need to be free of the stuff they no longer use, need or love.

I’ve never seen the point of keeping “stuff”. Sure, I have a few items that I keep for sentimental reasons, but the overall quantity is small, and the pieces have real meaning. When we moved a few years ago, I took the opportunity to get rid of piles of things I knew I’d never use again – moving to a significantly smaller space, I didn’t have much choice – but I got rid of furniture and CDs and books without regret.

The only thing I sometimes regret purging with such strident rules is clothing.

Moreso than any other item we own, clothing has the power to tug at heartstrings and provoke memories. The dress you wore on a first date, a boyfriend’s favourite comfy sweater. I assume this is why brides spend tens of thousands of dollars on a wedding dress they’ll wear for a few hours and then save it in a special box, long after the marriage has dissolved.

I think of this because I was cleaning out my closets recently – a semi-annual purge where I look at each item with a critical eye. Do I still wear this? If not, why? Does it need mending or is it beyond repair? Has it become too big or too small as my weight fluctuates? Is it something that I bought because it caught my eye but never really made me feel comfortable?

This recent clean-out was soul-revealing. In the pile was the last item from my goth days, a black carwash dress that I certainly got my money’s worth out of. But while most of my wardrobe is still black, this just wasn’t me anymore and I hadn’t worn it in a few years. A green paisley skirt – what made me think I’d ever wear that? A couple of linen blouses, picked up at Winners, that never quite fit right, pooching across the upper chest in an excess of fabric. Remember ladies – Winners might be a great deal, but there’s usually a reason stuff ends up on the racks there and it’s seldom because of overstock. And that comfy beige cotton hoodie sweater that made my boobs look enormous and drained all the colour out of my face.

No regrets.

Of the things I do regret giving away, there are a few. I spent the 80s running a vintage clothing store and for years my wardrobe was comprised mostly of stuff from olden times. Two fabulous 1940s jackets that made me look quite fierce, eventually got too snug around the middle for my “maturing” frame. A black silk velvet opera cloak with a rabbit fur hood that made me feel like Snow White’s stepmother – it was always tight across the shoulders and when a petite friend admired it I was happy to pass it on, until I watched her traipse up the street in the rain, splattering the hem with mud. Nooo… you must love it, you must take care of it… it’s not just a coat – it’s a piece of art, saved from the raggers shredding machines by someone who cares about keeping history alive.

Also, the 1950s leopard print swing coat with the huge collar and the cropped sleeves. Some things do come back into fashion after all. Oops! And my little leather biker jacket with the spiderweb made out of chain across the back – most memorable for the subway ride when some douch got his Rolex caught on it. I especially regret not taking better care of a rare monkey fur muff. Rescued from the shop when a group of rabid animal rights fanatics started harassing vintage store clerks in Kensington about the fur coats we carried, it became mine simply because we couldn’t sell it to anyone but a collector. After years of storing it improperly, the skin split and couldn’t be repaired.

Watching shows like What Not to Wear and seeing people my age or older who still dress they way they did on their youth, I am glad that I’m a purger, and not someone who hangs on to every little thing. I’m happy not to dress the way I did 20 years ago, whether that was the styles of the time or more vintage gear. Those looks only works to a point and once you become “of a certain age” (or a certain size), it’s more seemly and appropriate to dress in a more current style. And that ballgown collection I had in the 80s was never a very practical thing to move around with – all those damned crinolines.

But I have fond memories of many of my lovely vintage pieces, and I can’t help but wonder if they’re still out there, being enjoyed by someone else who cares for and appreciates them. Or if they ended up back at the raggers to be made into mattress stuffing, or even across the world at a street stall in some third world country where people pick through “dead man’s clothes” for something to wear.

It wouldn’t have made sense to keep all those things – opera cloaks and corsets, or that pink balloon skirt… they’re from another lifetime, and in giving them away they hopefully created fond memories for someone else. But every now and again, I can’t help wishing I still had them, even if it’s just so I could rub my cheek against the soft fabric, or inhale the smell of long-ago perfume.

As of today, the City of Toronto requires all retailers to charge 5 cents for a plastic bag. Paper bags that do not have plastic handles or grommets are exempt.

Many grocery stores have charged for bags for years so most people are in the habit of bringing their own bags, backpacks or carts – or picking up a cardboard box at the checkout. I have no issue with this practice; for grocery shopping I am a hard-core bag bringer – my pair of tired old cotton twill bags from the Hudson’s Bay Company date back to 1991. I will undoubtedly shed a tear when they give up the ghost, mostly because the handles are the perfect length.

But while I am a bag-bringer, I am not normally a bag-carrier. That is, I don’t keep an extra bag tucked into a purse or pocket for those last minute or impulse purchases. I should. I will have to start, but part of me is still rebelling. I am a bag-refuser – if I can tuck a purchase into a purse, backpack or another bag, I absolutely do. But remembering and carrying an empty bag can be an inconvenience, and unplanned purchases can start racking up the bag charges pretty quickly. And how is it fair that someone like me, who over the past two decades has likely kept thousands of bags out of the landfills and oceans, should be treated the same as those folks who would never bother to use a reusable bag until they are forced to?

It’s not as if I don’t have plenty of reusable bags. One of the perks of my job is the occasional bag of gifts and swag and they almost always come in a reusable bag now. I’ve taken to leaving them in the laundry room for my neighbours, I have so many.

The kicker came today – first day of the ban. I was at a local drugstore chain buying a bottle of water (also evil, apparently) and a box of allergy medication. Both easily fit into my purse, but the cashier said, “If you spend another $1.50, you get a free reusable bag!” I looked as she gestured to a rack of those awful square bags (ironically, also made out of some kind of woven plastic) brightly branded with the store’s logo. Beside the fact that I don’t need yet another reusable bag, especially a hard-to-fold ugly plastic one (fabric ones fold more easily and can be washed – negating the plastic industry’s dire warning that we’re all going to die of salmonella from dirty reusable bags), I certainly don’t need a bag that massive for one little box of pills.

This bylaw is confusing and inconvenient and never at any point addressed the fact that many people reuse plastic grocery bags for garbage or other items (I use mine to freeze bread, then use them again to pick up dog poo). Now people will have to spend extra money on garbage bags – that will clog up the landfill just as grocery bags do – and buy plastic bags when they need them. On top of that, stores are already cashing in on the bylaw by trying to force useless and unnecessary bags on their customers – if they make a minimum purchase.

I see a lot of stores making money on this bylaw. I can also see that pile of plastic bags every family has under their kitchen sink replaced with an even more unweildy pile of reusable bags (still made of plastic!). What I don’t see is any great improvement to the environment.

Ugh, I’m a bad blogger.

The intention of Leaves and Petals was always to be a place where I write about stuff I think is cool, but not food-related. Except all I ever seem to think about is food. And keeping up with TasteTO plus the occasional post to Save Your Fork takes up most of my time.

I had intended to keep a photo blog of spring flowers and changes, but that doesn’t seem to be working either. I’ve been buying flowers, and admiring gardens, just not taking photos of any of it.

I did however, swipe one lone lily of the valley flower that was poking out from under a fence the other day. I figured that if it wasn’t actually in the owner’s yard, it was fair game. I took a big whiff, inhaling the lovely scent – and apparently plenty of pollen – and hours later discovered I was having an allergic reaction.

That has not gone away in three days.

Which of course, totally serves me right for stealing someone else’s flowers, but still… ow. I thought the flowers were my friends – I never expected they’d turn on me.

Spring has finally sprung and flowers are popping up all over the neighbourhood. Crocuses are the first ones to show and I’ve been wandering the neighbourhood, admiring all the blossoms.

No idea what these are called, but they're everywhere right now.

Crocuses are the first sign that winter is over.

The variegated ones are my favourite.

Although the brilliant purple ones are impressive too.

And early irises are the most striking of all.

]]> http://leavesandpetals.com/2009/04/10/april-a-study-in-purple/feed/ 0 saveyourfork aprilflowersblue aprilflowerscrocuswhite aprilflowerscrocusvar aprilflowerscrocusmix aprilflowersiris http://leavesandpetals.com/2009/03/10/leash-laws-exist-for-a-reason/ http://leavesandpetals.com/2009/03/10/leash-laws-exist-for-a-reason/#comments Tue, 10 Mar 2009 20:34:50 +0000 Sheryl Kirby http://leavesandpetals.com/?p=271 ]]>

I was devastated when the news on television last night announced the death of a Toronto man and his two dogs when they were hit by a train. The man was walking along a train track in mid-town when one of his dogs ran onto the track. He jumped into the path of an oncoming train to try to grab the dog. His second dog followed behind him. The man and one of the dogs were killed instantly, the second dog was put down later on when it was determined its injuries were too serious.

The police that the various news reporters talked to cited trespassing as the main cause of the accident. The tracks are fenced off, but many people clip holes in the chain link fences to allow access to either cross the tracks or to walk alongside them. This isn’t unusual, it happens everywhere – we have a train track nearby and people constantly hop the fence to save themselves the extra two minutes it would take them to walk to the same spot via the streets. And until it was fenced off, many people in the neighbourhood with dogs, us included, would walk along the service road that ran alongside the tracks.

But while this is indeed a dangerous practice – it’s not what got them all killed. What got that man and his two dogs killed was not having them on a leash.

I don’t care how well-behaved or well-trained your dog is – it is not safe to let them off leash anywhere outside of your own private, fenced yard or a fenced off-leash area of a park designated for that purpose. I’m astounded at what can only be called the stupidity of so many people.

We live in a building where many tenants have dogs. It’s partially why we chose this building. But many of the people do not bother to leash their dogs at all, assuming that their dog will come when called. Often, they don’t.

If the dog is larger and more aggressive (seriously, are there no sensible pit bull owners out there?), then I’m forced to have to try to control my own dogs while fending off some dickhead’s macho mutt. And if it’s a small dog, I have to worry about whether it will get hurt if I give my dogs some slack and let them play. Because you know damn well that if one of my dogs got into an altercation with someone’s purse puppy, I’d be the one standing behind the “defendant” podium at small claims court, even if they were at fault for illegally allowing their dog off leash.

Keeping dogs leashed just saves so many headaches – it’s kept us from getting skunked on more occasions than I can count; kept both of my dogs from getting hit by cars; and probably keeps them a lot healthier overall, just because it’s easier to stop them from eating crap off the road (a curse on all the assholes who eat take-out chicken wings and toss the bones onto the sidewalk).

My two dogs are always leashed outside of our apartment. Occasionally I let them walk down the hall from the elevator leash-free, but it’s a treat, not an everyday occurrence, and happens only if there’s no one else in the hallway.

By nature, dogs hunt and sniff around and explore, but domesticated dogs are not the same as wild dogs. And even well-trained dogs sometimes have a mind of their own. I feel terrible for that man and his two animals, but I’m angry as well – it didn’t have to happen, and if he had been a more responsible dog owner, they’d all be alive today.