Wednesday 26 May 2004
It was a rainy long weekend, but it let up on Monday evening, long enough for the Victoria day fireworks. Last year we saw them from the rooftop of our old loft building with pitchers of margaritas. This year, we got to experience them Beaches-style, watching them from the shore of the lake.
As we walked down the darkened streets to the water, we could hear firecrackers going off in every direction - little pops and whistles and bangs filtering through the trees. Not dozens of them, but enough to tell us that pyrotechnics are more than a spectator sport here. And after the (quite impressive) ‘official’ show, a good stretch of the beach lit up with sparklers and fountains and Roman candles. I imagine every pyromaniac dad in the east end was there setting them off.
And just as cool were the natural fireworks earlier in the weekend… the thunderstorms here are tremendous, and there’s something lovely about listening to the thunder from inside a house.
Saturday 16 August 2003
“The computer’s beeping at me!” said my roommate as I came up the back walkway. It wasn’t our computer, of course, but the UPS it was plugged into, in death-throes mode. But before I’d walked the fifteen feet into the office, it conked. Poor M had no idea we even had a UPS.
We found a radio and a pile of batteries, and tuned in, the dial eerily blank except for about five music stations, CHUM (rebroadcasting CP24) and the CBC.
J arrived a little later after an hour-and-a-half trudge home from work. And then Sean arrived, hauling a small hibachi and a bag of charcoal he’d bought. Dinner was veggie burgers and chili, and a whole lot of ice cream. We sat up on the deck for the first time, surrounded by tea lights in jars.
Afterward, we wandered down to the lake. Our neighbours seemed to go for more elaborate candlelit dinners. Some of them were watering their lawns… so much for conserving water. There was a great clinking of forks and knives from the bistro on the corner, who had stayed open thanks to a gas stove and plenty of candles.
The beach was a lot more deserted than I expected. A lopsided orange moon was rising, and Mars - which I’d given up hope of seeing during its close approach - was spectacular. It was clear enough to see satellites, and some brilliant shooting stars. And quiet. Off in the distance, there was a dim glow from the dark silhouette of the CN Tower, and a red glitter of emergency aircraft-warning lights, but that was about it.
Grinning with the sheer wonder of it all, we headed back home for tea.
We were fortunate, of course. A co-worker of J’s had to help move dozens of boxes out of a friend’s sewage-flooded basement apartment. And we have power again this morning - a lot of the province is still dark.
The whole episode has really spurred us to look into solar power - it might not be that viable for a rented house, but it’s been in the back of our minds - and set a good example when it comes to energy conservation. Oh yeah, and get a windup radio.
Monday 14 July 2003
Our current building on King Street had a façade that was painted turquoise. It was garish but distinctive, and made it a good landmark for pointing out for visiting friends, cab drivers and whatnot.
About a week ago we found out we’d landed a new place out in the Beaches, practically at the eastern end of Queen Street. The very same day, our old building turned white - as if the colour and uniqueness had drained out of it.
It’s been good to us, though, and we’ll miss it.
I will not miss the Indy, which we had to put up with this past weekend; it’s probably a half-mile away, but the droning of engines all day made it sound like we were living next to some bizarre nest of motorized bees. And the crowds that packed the Bathurst streetcar back from the Ex were… a little different, shall we say.
The house itself is in a neighbourhood known as the Beach (or the Beaches), on Neville Park, the easternmost stop on the entire streetcar network. If we lean far enough out the window, we’re probably in Scarborough.
J wrote to the rest of the house:
i think we should call the house, by virtue of its distance from the city
land’s end
Monday 22 July 2002
Friday we went out to the Beaches (or the Beach, if you’re an old-timer in this town) for the Jazz Festival. We’d never been there before, and were blown away - they close about a mile and a half of Queen St, and musicians perform on every block. The music was a mixed bag, but there was always something different around the corner. Samba Squad in particular rocked like mad.
Yesterday we caught Dusk Dances at Dufferin Grove Park. Corpus Dance Projects puts it on every year, staging a number of short dance pieces, each at a different site in the park; the parks themselves change from year to year. Sean and I - not exactly fans of dance - never miss it. This time, there was a set from a Maori group from New Zealand (ahh, so that’s what poi look like!), a lovely aerial duet with live cello, a fun little number that mocked the recent municipal strike, and to cap it off, Corpus themselves performed their signature “A Flock Of Flyers”. Five dancers represent a Canadian Air Force squadron who have been grounded by budget cuts (their motto: “We may not have planes, but we have ideas!”) and perform various manoeuvres under the orders of their leader, Commander Hup.
On the way home, Sean and I spent a long time discussing the purpose of art, and the difficulties of getting a message across in a work - and passing on knowledge in general. Much philosophizing followed… I’ll have to devote another entry to this some time.
Right now I’m just stalling - gotta head out to the bank and it’s pouring outside. Cool lightning tho. :D
