foto friday: the bay

It's shocking that department stores stay in business since most furniture, appliances, clothing and electronics can now be found at other, more specialized, megastores for much less.  Still, department stores continue to be one of the last habitats that one can find elderly women grazing peacefully on weekday afternoons.

My great, great aunt Dodie, who passed away when I was 18, took me to department stores when I stayed with her.  Since she also took me to the ROM, Queen's Park, and Centre Island, I naturally assumed The Department Store belonged on a shortlist of Toronto's attractions. We'd wander down the cosmetic aisles, explore the toy department,  and visit the artificial trees displays at Christmas.  Once, only once, when I found a $20 bill on the sidewalk by sheer luck (also due to generally looking down when I walked to avoid stepping on cracks) I was granted permission to spend it.  All of it.  Thus began a long, rewarding relationship with shopping.

I set about spending this small fortune on practical items, and bought a white pair of gloves.  I'm pretty sure Dodie encouraged me to buy a pack of underwear while we were at it which can only lead me to believe that I forgot to pack more than one pair on that particular visit.  After these investments I wildly spent the rest on a chickadee ornament (made from real feathers!), a plastic toy from Wendy's, and chocolate.  There was none left.  Thus began a long, debilitating habit of guilt/reward-based shopping.

When recounting the story later to my mother, I made a point of mentioning the gloves first. 

Something old-world and glamourous still captivates me when I walk through a department store.  Maybe it's in the wide, white aisles, the complimentary lighting, the posters of famous actresses-turned-models shot with even more complimentary lighting, the offers to try the elegant new fragrance from this designer, the life-sized Barbies styled in the daring new line from that designer, or the Pavlovian effect from first tasting buyer's delight/regret.

More likely, it reminds me of Christmas and of walking hand in hand with Dodie.  When I see elderly ladies grazing peacefully on weekday afternoons, I think of her.

foto friday: dodie's chair

My great-great aunt Dorothy is a legend. We all called her "Dodie" since my grandmother (when she was a child...that's how far back Dodie goes) couldn't pronounce Dorothy. Dodie lived through two world wars, scarlet fever, and 20+ years as a retired, single woman living in a high rise at Yonge & Bloor. She passed away when I was 18 but she's still one of my heroes.

When she, in her 80s, was diagnosed with cancer she invited family members to her apartment to pick out what they'd like to take. The thought horrified me, mostly because it was my first old-person-almost-about-to-die situation since my grandmother died when I was 8, and partly because I just wanted Dodie to stick around. Forever. I didn't want her stuff, I wanted her.

When I was younger (5? 6 years old?), as we walked through Queen's Park to feed the pigeons, I asked her, "Dodie, when I have kids you're going to be their great-great-GREAT aunt, right?" Dodie squeezed my hand and answered, "We'll just see, won't we?"

Now here we were, her closest family members, in her apartment on Isabella street, half-visiting and half-scoping the place. I remember sitting near her oversized armchair, on the floor, with my back against the arm while she played with my hair. She asked me what I wanted to take. I said nothing. "Pick something out, for me. It would be nice for me to know what you took."

In the end, I asked her travel journals and photo albums, and a poem about the city of Toronto she had written and my uncle Jeff had framed. I remember feeling pleased that it pleased Dodie to have me ask for those particular things. To me, Dodie was a world-traveler but was also a Torontonian at heart. Just like me.

Along with those prized possessions, I inherited a few pieces of furniture after she died. They've resided with me in four apartments and, now, in our first house. One of them was her oversized armchair which we've opted to reupholster and put in our (current) guest room/(future) baby room.

And when our baby is old enough, I'll tell stories about great-great-GREAT aunt Dodie. We'll sit in the oversized armchair and look at travel photo albums.

Anyone know of a reputable reupholsterer?