As to *why* I was darning a sock when socks can be had for nothing at the dollar store-- compression socks cannot, and cost $25 a pop. You betcha I darn them till there's nothing left to darn.
Actually was feeling better earlier after my mandatory morning walk. I stopped in to suss out the new Snakes and Lattes place which is always crowded with people playing board games. Had a latte and a ninjabread man (sic) which is a gingerbread ninja and very good. Place is jumping-- reservations recommended for you and your party to play whatever it is you want to play (choice of 1000 games available.) I'm amazed, but then I'm not a board gamer, and apparently this is what Toronto has always needed. I'd hoped there might be something on the order of a permanent floating Settlers of Catan game or something, but nope. Bring your own players, evidently.
Walked the Bloor walk, cruised the used book stores, remembered Patricia Wrede's name but found none of her books. Then I wanted lunch but my usual Japanese restaurant was closed. Stick-in-mud me is always reluctant to try new places, but I went to a new old place instead, the Japanese-Korean place in the old MacDos on Markham. With misgivings: I was at its former incarnation a year ago, and found it beautiful and upscale and intimidating, and of course it closed six months later. Arisu is also beautiful, with Japanese antiques rather than Korean this time, and not quite as upscale price-wise as the other. Ambiance still requires sitting up straight with attention to how you hold chopsticks and tea mugs; fortunately another of the things Kurotsubaki is good for is showing the body language of refayned females. I was next to a booth of young Japanese women, all thin and straight-haired and mile-a-minute Japanese, who did the elegant relaxed thing without even thinking. As with the French, I always wonder Where did they learn these things? Who taught them? I shall never know.
And then I walked home on the dry grey snow-flakey afternoon. A small wind from the '70s was blowing down the street. I must have met similar winter winds in the 40 years since that time but I can't remember doing so. The 80s were snowy and damp; the 90s I was in Japan; the oh-noes were snow over the ankles or too warm. But this was back in university, brown corduroy jeans and lapsang souchong tea and Plato's Apology and Japanese films up at the Science Centre. All those things I smelled on the wind, and then it dropped and I was back here.