It is eleven AM on a Saturday in the fall. The city is dampened by reawaken cold and fallen leaves. The noise doesn't travel; even the closest sounds are distant and slowed melodies. I think John Mayer describes this as the 'kind of morning that lasts all afternoon'.
Today I decided to see how many subway stops I could walk when I was feeling tired and anxious. I tend to measure Toronto this way... he lives 6 subway stops from her, I went 3 subway stops to school etc etc. It was a toss up, walk the 4-5 subway stops to the Eaton Centre from campus or pay a slightly unnecessary 2.75$ to sit in a potentially smelling or grungy train. So I threw on my Keds, my pashmina and my Sargent pepper jacket and took to the streets. I was immediately inspired by the diffuse mid day lighting. I felt like I was wrapped up in a blanket watching old black and white films.
My first encounter was with a man by the name of Reg Hart. He operates a creepy artsy movie theatre out of his living room and is known for being very very eccentric. I met him when I adventurously decided to see a Salvador Dali film fest he was putting on. He urged me to head across the street to LCBO asap as it would be closing in a few minutes. After that he spent longer introducing the films with anecdotes and legends than the movies. He is blunt and disturbing, generous, kind and strange. I love that Toronto has a cast of characters like this; well known people across the city who seem impossibly fictional. Like Jack Layton and Olivia Chow. (Honestly, those two are a sitcom waiting to happen). So this morning as I reach the corner of St. George and College I notice a man putting up posters for The Dark Side of Oz, Dali and various other things. I was expecting it to be one of the many u of t students that Reg Hart befriends, but as I walked past I noticed it was Reg himself. I debated stopping to ask for advice about my upcoming Dali presentation, but instead I smiled and said hello as if I was an old friend. And he said hello right back.
Figuring that the universe sought to reward me for my hard work cleaning yesterday, I treated myself to a Venti Gingerbread Latte. Another beautiful part of this city: there is always a Starbucks within walking distance. And, when a Starbucks employee sneezes and you say 'bless you' more often than not they smile deeply and reply 'thank you' in a way that you know they really mean it. In fact, in this city on this kind of day even the homeless people smile at you when you politely refuse to give them change. More than half of them say please and thank you, and a good number will wish you a pleasant day.
Toronto seems to me to be a living and breathing collective. It is somehow not made up of buildings and monuments, but of the people who pass them everyday. Sometimes- when tensions run high and irritability is rampant- this means that the city adopts an attitude, sticking its tongue out at you and throwing a hand in your face. Sometimes it shuns you. It gives you the cold shoulder and it can feel just like being on 'not-speaking' terms with your lover or your best friend. But sometimes, on a beautiful day, the city surprises you. All of its lines lead your eyes and your feet. If you take away the jadedness of it, Toronto is a place full of community, compassion and delight.
Before I sign off I would like to shout out to two people. For one yesterday was my friend Sopha's birthday. I hope she knows that she is at a point in her life full of potential. I have no doubt in my mind that she will be successful beyond measure, and lead a life full of small joys and great love.
For another I must plug Jim Bryson. I have been made fun of for this already, but I sent him an email just to thank him for the CD North Side Benches which is beautiful and he replied with thoughtful and kind words. Granted, he isn't super famous, and it is unlikely that he gets a lot of thank yous but he is a good musician with a good heart. So give him your money. Or just download it and send him telepathic good vibes.
Sam
