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I was eleven years old when my parents loaded me, my grandmother and aunt into our ‘65 Buick and drove downtown from Toronto’s west end to see “that sculpture.” Henry Moore’s The Archer had just been installed in front of the new Toronto City Hall. It was 1966. Within a day of the ceremony, one…

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Our son headed back to Toronto from Yellowknife early in January, this time with a cat handily packed in a pet carrying bag that looked like he was travelling with a duffle bag which moved. Weather delays in the North West Territories (surprise surprise) meant he missed his flight from Calgary to Toronto. He was offered standby but in Thomas’…