Steaks!
We (along with my older sister and her husband), took my mom and dad out for supper at the Innsville Hotel, an old-school 1950s steakhouse out along highway 8. In the days before the QEW route between Toronto and Niagara Falls, the Innsville was sort of like 19th century coaching house. For cars. With steak.
The steak was bloody and good, and the decor decidedly vintage. Lots of driftwood was in evidence. It was very nice. I'd not been there since my grandfather's 80th birthday, in October of 1989.
The girls got Shirley Temples, and grilled cheese sandwiches served up in little cardboard trains. It's been a while since I was at a proper independent steakhouse, instead of a chain with the identical kitsch on every wall.
At some point during my illness, I was kidnapped and replaced by someone's 10th grade geography teacher, circa 1981. It is also gradually being brought home how far I had, in fact, declined. Taking care of Claire in the afternoons the last two days has been totally worn out, and I still sound like a croaking frog. I have a follow-up doctor's appointment tomorrow.