The city of Toronto's planning department, as in duty bound, is constantly sending me notices of meetings at the Cttee of Adjustments, always of recent home buyers who want minor or major variations of the bylaws so they can have a third floor or an extension at the back or whatever. These are delivered to people within a one or two block radius, I think, but I'm not going to fash myself with what happens to a house across the street and twelve numbers up. Got another of those yesterday and would have binned it right away, but curious, thought to see who was building in the wintertime during a virulent pandemic. And a good thing too, because it turns out to be a cheque for close to $250. Only explanation on it is the terse note: tax rebate. But what taxes? Property tax rebates are handled by simply not withdrawing the usual installment. And though I know I've had water and garbage rebates in the past, they never took the form of a cheque. Of course I'm glad to have it, only... there's no ATM nearby to deposit it at. Or not at my current range of doable walking. Which today got me up to the end of the street for a prescription that hadn't come in, and two pricey bottles of wine to gift my next doors on either side. Pushing a rollator over rock salt and unshovelled slush is not fun.

The more so as today was a bad stair day, where both knees pang when going up and down, or occasionally when walking on the level. And since the dry cough, sneezing, and back pain are still with me, I cancelled my physio for tomorrow. This ought to ensure that I rise hale and sound with the sun bright in the day, but I'm not counting on it. But if it works, I might venture over to the laundromat to wash my sheets and blankie (yes, I have a blankie, the terrycloth sheet that, balled up, provides the cushion that all side sleepers are supposed to hold on to) and a couple of sleep hoodies as well.

However, in nice news, incandescens' present arrived this morning. Worried about that 'don't leave it near the radiator' message, I opened it up right away. Rum soaked raisins and marzipan figs. Yumm. And then a box of hazelnut truffles from South NND left in my mailbox, with a card thanking me for being so patient with Sadie the Dog. I texted her back with my thanks and the assurance that Sadie is a Very Good Dog and no trouble at all. (Unlike the Local Playwright's untrained chronic barkers across the street.) But as she's currently in Alberta, I'll have to wait to give her her wine.