destruction before creation

In order to rebuild, something will get destroyed.

A clearing is created so a thing - newer, stronger, taller, smarter, brighter, faster, better? - can take its place.

It could be anything. A building, a machine, an idea, a movement, a recipe, a car, a plane, a planet, a generation.


Bit by bit, things crumble. They fall. They erode. They rot.

They disappear.

It has happened before and it will happen again.


But it has never happened this fast.


Revolutions and evolution, wars and battlefields are all around us.

They bring change, for better or for worse.




Maybe it's the world.
Maybe it's your neighbourhood.
Maybe it's your life.




Rebuilding starts with a blank page.

A clear mind.
Zero balance.
An empty lot.

Destruction before creation.

groundhog alley

While on my way to Fresh Co. the other day to pick up a few things after work, I heard rustling in the tall grassy weeds that line the sidewalk in front of an abandoned warehouse building on Dundas West. It sounded like it could have be a squirrel, only bigger. I stopped briefly and watched the plants move. Then I kept going.

On my way back from the store, on the other side of the street, a man and a woman were trying to coax a groundhog off the road so he wouldn't get run over by a bus.

I can only assume it was the groundhog I'd stopped for just fifteen minutes prior. Like I said, it sounded bigger than a squirrel. While I was picking up grapeseed oil and eggs, the little fella made it all away across four lanes of traffic. He was Frogger.

I stopped to help the two coaxers get the not so little rodent onto the grass. He was so freaked out that he couldn't get his chubby body up onto the curb. But after a few scrambling attempts he managed the leap and at least we had him on the sidewalk. Poor thing was scurrying this way and that, not know where he should be. I called home and got my husband to text me the number for the Toronto Wildlife Centre which is (416) 361-0662 if this ever happens to you.

It was 5:55 p.m. and they are only open until six. I got an answering machine and pushed a few options before hanging up to give my full attention to the critter. Even though I wanted to help, it wasn't like anyone had been bit by a rabid raccoon. By this time, he had made his way down between a couple of houses and was heading for the back alley.

Then the woman said, "I'm not getting nailed for trespassing for this guy, see ya." With that, the man left too. But I followed the groundhog and watched him tuck between a garage and a fence on the other side of the alley.

He looked so mixed up. His torso waddling back and forth. Panicked. Stressed. Disoriented. He didn't know where he was and he didn't know where to turn. Maybe he was a she and she just forgot where she was supposed to be.

We've all been there.

I went home and quickly emptied my grocery bag. I took the bag, the cat carrier and an umbrella and headed to the door.

"What are you going to do, bag him?" my husband asked.

I had no idea what I was going to do.

But off we went. We found him where I'd left him. He still looked dazed and confused but it appeared that his breathing had slowed down. We stared at him and he stared at us. All of us just staring and blinking at each other, wondering what was going to happen next.

What happened next? We walked home.

The next day I looked but couldn't find him. I know this because I took the alley instead of the street. What I did find, is that the alley is a much calmer ride. It's quiet and serene and there is no one back there.

Because of a displaced (or so we assume) rodent I was taken off my usual course. I looked up at the big yellow sign that said: SLOW, and thought, why haven't I been taking this way all along?

no parking

The notice in the elevator was titled: Bicycle Storage in Parking Garage. The one pager went on to say how, according to Section 4.3a of the Condominium's Declaration, each parking spot shall be used and occupied only for the parking of a motor vehicle.

Rules are rules.

Clearly, in the picture above, you can see how my non-motorized vehicle is an issue. The rubber tip of the handle bar leaning up against the wall. Its problematic tires touching the cement floor. It is casting shadows on the wall and creating a distraction from the number painted two feet above it. (Just in case we forgot which spot was ours.) I mean the thing is just sitting there, paralyzed, and taking up space that could be used for...a larger motorized vehicle I suppose.

The bicycle is a menace. An eyesore. Dangerous and unsightly, hazardous and unsafe and needs to be removed.

We have lived in this condo for a year and a half and this is the first talk of parking spot regulations. There are two floors of parking in the underground, roughly 350 units in the building, which makes for, I'm guessing, about 75 or 100 bikes.

The aforementioned notice went on to state that several bikes have gone missing and have been vandalized. That is unfortunate. However, I've had bikes stolen (while locked) from outside my place of work and from my old apartment where the bike was locked to the wooden stairs outside the front door. The thieves took apart the wood railing and stole the bike. At least they left the wood so we could put the railing back together. Once, just my gel seat was stolen. That's just weird.

At the condo, I stopped locking my bike (to itself) a few months ago because I'd seen other bikes unlocked. And nothing happened. My philosophy is if someone wants my $99, twelve speed from Canadian Tire that badly, they should take it.

In the condo's defense, there are several bikes other than mine down there leaning against walls, taking up space behind parked cars. Can you believe some bikes are even using kick stands? Standing upright in an empty spot that should only be used for a motor vehicle. There are two adult sized bikes and two kids bikes leaning up against each other, against a wall, in a spot where there is no car. A whole group of them, bunched up together in an empty spot...the horror!

And that's only P1. I've never even seen P2. Who knows how many unlocked bikes are loitering around down there.

I get that vandalism and theft if bad.
What I don't get is why I am being offered the following two options:

(a) pay $5/month for the use of bike racks that have been installed (which is why the notice was delayed until now), with a $40 mandatory payment up front to cover the storage from September through April

(b) put the bicycle in the storage locker

Here's the thing...

(c) I am not going to pay an additional $5/month to park my bike in a rack that I never wanted and do not need

(d) The storage locker is already full of camping equipment, Christmas ornaments, golf clubs, winter boots, etc., you know...stuff you store

And in fact, there are more than two options.

I could park it outside the public bike stands on a busy street.
I could ask the neighbours with a garage, if I could use a few feet for my bike.
I could put a bike rack on the car and store the bike there.
I could lock the bike to the car itself.

But I am not going to do those things.

What I have opted to do, is bring my bike up to the apartment every evening when I get home and lug it down through the stairwell every morning when I leave. It's not so bad. There's no additional cost. I feel in control. Exercising my rights as a tenant. Because it's up to me what I put in the entrance way of my apartment whether it be a welcome mat, a coat rack, or a bike.

Incidentally, CBC radio ran a great series called Know Your Rights - an on-the-ground and in-the-field exploration of our rights as Canadian citizens where host Craig Norris navigates the complex world of what we legally can and cannot do in our country.

I haven't listened to the whole podcast yet but I intend to, just in case things escalate with the condo board. I'm guessing they'll have something to say about me bringing my bike up in the elevator. The Declaration likely states something about how the elevator is to be used only for human or canine occupants. Wait till they see my pony.

I'm not even one of those hardcores that cycles all through the winter. Up the street Set Me Free bike shop offers free winter storage if you do your Spring tune up with them. Sold.

Rules are rules.
And some people have nothing better to do than to enforce them.

water ways

I took this picture last month at Grenadier Pond on a bike ride through High Park. My husband thinks it's a small bass. The little guy swam right up to the cement wall of the pond, close enough for me to snap this mugshot.

On another hot summer day last weekend, I went to the same spot and didn't see any fish. What I saw was the water level four inches lower than a month ago.

Disneynature's Oceans nailed it. An extraordinary nature documentary containing unprecedented footage of the world's oceans. See it. It will give you a glimpse of what is goes underwater, on this planet. If it doesn't leave you changed, watch it again.

We've gone to space, only to look back at earth and see how much of it is...water. Our structured ways on land mimic microcosms existing in oceans. We hunt, gather, work, and play, much like creatures of the sea.

Only they are much better managers than we are.

The Great Pacific Garbage Patch is a section of the ocean where currents bring trash to an area estimated (depending on your source) to be the size of Texas. I'm fairly certain the hammerheads, blue whales and sea turtles are wondering (a) what the hell is this enormous pile of floating junk and (b) just how did it get here?

I'm also pretty certain you won't find a 696,200 square km slop of sea sludge (that's Texas sized or, twice the size of Germany) anywhere on earth, any time soon.

But we, an indifferent people, made up of up to 70% water, are allowing this to happen.

If we are running out of it, and if science and technology have come so far, why are we not making water?
If it were only that simple.
It's not.

I like to skydive, a decadent and privaledged pastime, and my view of Lake Erie from 14,000 feet is extensive and expansive. It's one of the smaller of the great fresh water lakes left. I'd stick close by if I were me.

I cycle along Lake Ontario everyday on my way to work and I walk along the boardwalk pictured below. Last week a guy was fishing here, in downtown Toronto. He hauled up a big walleye (I think) that must have been at least six pounds. He got someone to take a picture of him holding it, then tossed it back in the water.

Like him, I wouldn't eat it.

But I'm not hungry.

What does a photo like this do to people desperately lacking in resources?

The drought in the eastern Horn of Africa is being reported as the worst humanitarian crisis in a generation. Here is a link to CARE Canada's blog that I found via an email from Gap Adventures asking for donations to help build two water stations in Kenya.

To learn more or donate, click here.

Sadly, this is only the tip of the (melting) iceberg.

camp

Earlier this morning I stepped on to my balcony to snip some parsley for my tuna salad. The cool, fresh, air smelled like camp.

As a kid, I spent two weeks every July from the age of seven to fourteen at summer camp. It was the highlight of my year. Trident Church camp was, and still is, located at Crystal Lake, 23 km North of a small community called Canora, in South Eastern Saskatchewan. http://www.uocc.ca/en-ca/about/camps/trident.asp

This morning, the sense of smell took me right back to those memories of a knock on a cabin door with a counselor shouting "dobre ranok!" (good morning, in Ukrainian). I remembered the wake up shake up exercise routines, the breakfasts in the dining hall with giant boxes of Rice Crispies and jugs of milk. Lunch and dinners of cabbage rolls, perogies, and borscht and evening snacks of cinnammon toast and hot chocolate. We walked to the beach for swimming time, and had dancing, singing, and language classes, we did arts and crafts where we made Easter eggs, matchstick crosses and did embroidery. We ran around at bedtime giving (and getting) good night kisses before the counselors got too pissed off.

As I got older, I graduated to staying in "Cabin 14", where I shared clothes with my cabin mates from the big city. We tucked our suitcases under the bunk beds where cigarettes were hidden discretely in side pockets. We snuck out after lights out, through the fence and across the highway, getting eaten alive by mosquitoes while smoking said contraband.

One year, someone brought a ouija board and we tried to summon spirits of the past. It was church camp after all.

Every year, a tearful good-bye followed the final performance where we would show off our cultural song and dance in full costume.

Today, older still, my office is a two minute walk to Lake Ontario, very near to where one would catch the ferry to get to Centre Island. Today, clumps of kids, pictured above, sat cross legged on the grassy patch beside the ferry terminal. They wore matching T-shirts and protective hats, counselors were wrangling and pointing with clipboards in hand. You could smell the sunblock from across the street. Perched on the edge of the GTA, these kids were not going to have the same experience as me, but their excitement was palpable. They were at camp! Little people creating memories of a summer adventure.

A couple of weeks ago, a lot of Toronto, less our mayor, celebrated with Pride and brought new meaning to the word, camp. Go see for yourself. http://www.pridetoronto.com/

As Canadians, we are conditioned to enjoy the outdoors. Mostly because there is so much of it. We minimize our needs and pack up smaller versions of necessities to be closer to nature. There is something, obviously, very freeing about going to camp, or camping. Letting go of the comforts of an urban lifestyle and rediscovering the wonders of our environment. Sleeping in a tent, lighting a campfire, eating in the open air, the sound of a paddle dipping into water, diving off a dock.

This weekend, I'll pitch a tent and sleep outside. I'll eat at a picnic table and walk barefoot on the sand. I'll smell like bonfire, muskol and sunblock and I will love every second of it.

Camp out.

solstice focus

My sister once told me, we don't multitask. What happens is we do a lot of things, really fast, one after the other. Makes sense. However, I am not convinced this is practical. Or healthy. Or even useful.

It's likely why I sometimes end up at the wrong subway stop. It's why the milk ends up in the cupboard and the cereal in the fridge. Keys left in the keyhole...overnight. Typos and missed appointments suddenly have explanations.

But in all this multitasking, there is one big thing missing.

Focus.

I have been doing a lot of things really fast, one after the other for most of my life. But the past month has been a bit...full on. It is precisely why I have not been doing a lot of other things like playing tennis, or reading, or spending time with my family, or writing in this blog. A lot of the things I have been doing are assignments and projects for my job. A job that, usually, requires a fair amount of focus.

Pissing and moaning aside, one of the more enjoyable things I've done recently was make this video, a lifetime achievement tribute for Patrick Brown, former CBC foreign correspondent.

It takes a certain type of person to do a job like that. A person with talents that include language, storytelling, being a quick study, a quick wit, having a sense of compassion, humour, resonance, integrity, humour and adventure. That, and you also have to be intelligent, courageous, driven, passionate, and of course, focused.

Earlier this month, Mr. Brown was honoured for his lifetime (which incidentally, is not over) of achievements, by the Canadian Journalism Foundation. After the video, he walked up on stage at the Royal York to accept the award, and what did he do?

He thanked everyone else.

Ça c'est de la classe. Perhaps humble, perhaps modest, it's also true. You can't do these things alone. You need all those aforementioned traits, but you can't have a career like that without help. Without asking questions, constantly. Without creating your own opportunities. Without trying and without failing. Without working in teams. Without pushing. Without striving for excellence and truth.

Without focus.

There is a mountain of footage that didn't make it into that video. A lifetime really. Several lifetimes in fact. Terry Mosher, a long time pal, said many honourable and flattering things about Patrick. He also said, "He's a guy who enjoys the simple things in life. Good conversation. Meaningful moments."

Patrick said it best himself, in a piece for cbc.ca regarding his coverage of Elvis Presley's funeral, "This profession exposes us to a great deal of misery, but also to wonderful moments when the human spirit seems to triumph over everything that is mean and destructive in the world." To read the full column, Elvis Made Me What I Am, click here.

I have terrible eyesight. When I look out into the world without corrective lenses I don't see misery or wonder or triumph. I see colours, lights and darks, sometimes shapes. I am forced to do nothing. I cannot do one single thing because of a complete and pure absence of focus.

Today is the solstice.
The strawberries are ripe.
Summer has arrived.

We can only do one thing at a time.

So, like a berry, pick one...and focus on that.

grapefruit fanta

I slept for most of the flight here because it was early last Saturday morning. But when the cart came by for last call, I saw the woman in front of me order a tomato juice.

"Tomato juice please," I said.

"Juice? We have orange, apple, cranberry or tomato. Or grapefruit fanta."

I still had my ear plugs in but yes, that's what he said.

"Sure, I'll try one of those."

"If you don't like it I won't be offended, but I stand by my word."

Turns out when you mix apple juice, orange juice and tonic water, it tastes like a grapefruit soda.

"For twelve bucks, I can make you a wicked cocktail."

The attendant gave the same pitch to the guy behind me. And the recipe for the cocktail: add a bit of rum, vodka and grand marnier. A splash of cranberry makes it ruby red.

Then I took a bus to Banff and have been in the Writing With Style workshop all week in the building pictured above.

This afternoon, I climbed Tunnel Mountain, a 1.8 km hike. A struggle in places because the snow is melting and it was mucky and wet. It was sloppy and icy but there were trees to hang on to and they've put railings up near sharp drop offs. I thought I might slip and fall. But I made it to the summit, and from there, I could see the the other side. I saw it for what it was - a completely different point of view.

Vast, expansive, endless.

It might be a struggle. It might be mucky and sloppy, and I might slip and fall. But I have new knowledge, lots of ideas and plenty to read. I've got a lot to hang on to. And I am open to the possibilities of things I haven't thought of on ways to approach my work.

I mean, who knew apple, orange and tonic would taste like grapefruit?

The possibilities are endless.

Drink up.