One Sunday afternoon in Toronto a young couple out for a walk (what else?) came upon Virtue St. Intrigued by the name, they turned along it, and subsequently reported to us that it’s straight and narrow and comes to a dead end.
You may have a fondness for munching peanuts or pretzels or potato chips, but true Maritimers prefer a tangy odiferous seaweed known as dulse—and the farther they stray from home the greater the craving. A Saint John, N.B., woman, whose husband was moved to Toronto, wrote home to her mother, asking to be kept supplied with the delicacy. Came a morning some time later when she answered the doorbell to find the postman wearing the most peculiar look and proffering a parcel that filled the whole porch with the unmistakable odor of sea,' salt and salmon. “Oh,” the woman apologized. "That smell must be driving you crazy. You see it’s . . .”
“I know, lady,” the postman said beseechingly, “I’m from the Maritimes too and this dulse has been driving me crazy since I picked up the parcel at six this morning. Could I have just a little piece, please?”
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Tourist row in the heart of Victoria features shops selling old-English china under old-English signs in premises affecting mock-Tudor store fronts. Right in the middle of them is a bargain shop offering cut prices on billy cans, old army blankets, rubber life rafts and the like, whose proprietor felt so terribly out
of place he finally got a new sign done in antique lettering: Ye Olde War Surplus Shoppe.
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A North Bay, Ont., woman was a daily visitor to her husband when he was a patient for an extended period in the DVA Sunnybrook Hospital at Toronto, a year ago. Recently they returned from the north so he could spend a couple of days having a checkup, and the wife was touched by the number of people, among both patients and staff, who remembered her. When later she boarded a bus at the hospital door to go downtown she was truly convinced that Toronto is just a great big friendly village after all, because
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the bus driver beamed at her and said, “Well, you haven’t been here for a long time, have you?” She started to say no she hadn’t, then exclaimed, “Now surely you don’t remember me?”
“No, ma’m,” agreed the driver, “but that ticket you just put in the box went out of date months ago.”
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Personal ad in the Edmonton Journal that restores our faith in a hoary legend:
Unlike the front page of this magazine, the back page doesn’t have access to long-range weather predictions, so we’ve no idea what kind of a summer Vancouver’s having as we write this. But we do know it got so hot one day last summer that a Parade scout there discovered a workman in a construction yard painting the bottom of a wheelbarrow while lying under it, just to keep out of the sun.
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Ottawa’s professional stock company, the Canadian Repertory Theatre, produced seven years of entertaining shows and a string of young actors who have gone on to big things in television and theatrical drama in Toronto, Stratford and New York. But now it is no more, alas, and the other night a few of its former actors still in the capital were mourning the old days but consoling themselves by stringing off the well-known names, such as Christopher Plummer, Betty Leighton, Gerry Sarracini, Eric House .. . After they ran down, one of the mourners cheerfully added that he’d also seen another CRT grad on television. He was doing a commercial, tasting precooked pudding, beaming and exclaiming, “Mmmm—good!” A shudder ran through the group. Then one remarked comfortingly, “Well, at least he’s eating.”
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