I wrote this over three months ago in July but never published it….
Leaving my neighbourhood of Bloor and Christie, after having lived there for four years, and moving into a new neighbourhood fills me with mixed feelings.
I am flooded with memories….
The neglected house across the street - where all sorts of noises at all times during the night were a regular occurrence, the drunken old man incident, loud construction at unreasonable times (very late, very early)…The top attic window - the panes/frames rusted brown, green paint peeling off the wooden slats of the front facade - looks like something out of a horror/suspense film, and I imagined that a surly recluse lives up there, never going out, only occasionally peering out the window, because they had some sort of deformity and fear of others.
The next door “student” housing - more people have moved in and out than I care to count, the overgrown lawn which stuck out, being sandwiched between master gardens. There was that one summer where no one in that house took out the garbage, green bin or recycling out to the curb to be picked up — it became a game. Who would roll the bins out onto the curb? The occupants of the house? The landlord that never came around? The next-door neighboors? When maggots eventually settled in the open green bin, swimming on the surface of accumulated rain water that had turned pink from god knows what, I finally gave in and dragged the bins to the curb, not being able to stand the stench of the filthy brew. Quite often there were loud parties and music blaring at 5 am on a Monday, and Pasquale our landlord would frequently find the empty beer bottles thrown onto the garage roof when he cleaned the eavestrough.
The other next door neighbours - an old Italian couple and their two adult children. R. the avid gardener(gardening since she was 5. She is now a young 70 years old) , her husband who sits outside on the porch and smokes and doesn’t say much. The grandchildren come visit frequently. Gringo the female orange cat that strolls around the three houses like she owns it (including treating my garden like her personal litter box, especially as of late, as if she knew I was moving and went all fuck you, you’re leaving so I am shitting in your garden bed….biiiooootch). One particular grandson, in his twenties now, has a stereo attached to back of his low-rider bike and works as a butcher at the local supermarket. Always sweet, he takes pride in the various cuts of meat on display at his work.
The across the street neighbours from Korea with the dogs, shitzu puppies and mother shitzu frolicking on the porch. They seem to have a lot going on, and this rotation of visitors.
The various neighbourhood kids roaming the streets, playing street hockey or jetting down on their scooters or other form of wheels.
The Clinton Street Festival - past three or four summers. The north side of Clinton is closed down so that the Father Brigade can line up their gas BBQs and giant soccer balls bigger than the children roll down the street…always have missed them due to external and medical circumstances. i.e. kidney infection.
Gardening with Pasquale and talking to him about random subject matters: the state of the world, how the pipes of the house are shit, how to cook zucchini flowers, him sharing with me how he used to bike a lot…. Watching him lift way too heavy objects from the second floor, waiting, waiting for him to tip over from the weight of the concrete slabs.
Shooting the shit with Pina and Rosie next door. Sometimes drinking beers (more recent development) and stooping - watching people walk by and talking to random strangers, giving them due where credit is due i.e. nice dog, great hair.
Seeing the same woman walk her poodle every morning and every evening around the same time. She always seems to be wearing a green shirt. The dog is ever well-behaved and graceful unlike the yippy shitzu puppies across the street.
“Rape” Alley between the house and the laundry mat. There’s a house, with a side door open for business, where they always seems to be a dog outside on the patio barking incessantly at night, and presently has a number of cages filled with chirpy birds on their patio.
The corner produce store that sold a lot of cheap vegetables and fruits (best prices on organics and local often enough!), where my attendance or lack there of would be noticed.
The Korean clothes alteration store that I always pledged to bring my stuff to, but never did.
P.A.T. Central. My go-to-place for kim chi, local vegetables and frozen dumplings and ramen when I wanted convenience food.
Tacos El Asador. The men working there are always cool in demeanor. The spanish/hispanic/latin channel and dubbed Spanish blockbusters are always on TV. The ambience always young, festive and fun. Comfortable. As comfortable a crammed little room with picnic tables can be. The women in the kitchen constantly churning out orders without stopping. This was the go-to-place where I went when I was/we were lazy or wanted to bring people there who have never tasted a pupusa.
The orange sign Korean Soon Do Bu/ Stone Bibimbap restaurant across from Clinton’s. Love that place times a million. The servers are super cute too…young though!
Chomp-chomp. She’s from around those parts. Native Bloor and Christie-an.
My first live-in relationship and the end of one.
Ceiling fan whooshing above.
Stooping: new thing. Have spent the last two months just sitting on the steps, sipping beers, water, and shooting the shit. Saying hi to neighboors and passer-bys. Day and night. Particularly developed a penchant for 1:00-3:00 am stooping, lying on my back, listening to music, nibbling on some garden produce, and making out as many of the stars as I could with my poor night vision.
You’d think I moved far, far away. But really it is only a ten minute bike ride away or so….but you only really get to experience the idiosyncracies of a place when you an inhabitant.
*******
I love my new neighbourhood, (did live at Dundas and Dufferin for one month plus 4 days or so in the summer…but it turned into a total gong show) as it may be my most favourite place in all the city! Bloordale for life! (edit: i stand corrected. i don’t live in bloorcourt)
