After a little lie-down, biked down to the macaron shop on Harbord that's never open, in spite of posted hours. (Macarons, to quote wikipedia, are a French sweet meringue-based confection made with egg white, icing sugar, granulated sugar, almond powder or ground almond, and food colouring. They're the rage in TO now, but the Harbord ones are the only edible ones I've found.) For a wonder, they were open, and I bought half a dozen as a present for my aunt whose 94th birthday party is tomorrow. And as I was heading back to a north-bound street in that damnable traffic maze section of town, an unfamiliar woman called my name. If I was able to identify people by their faces like the rest of the world, I might have recognized her as one of my upstairs roommates on Brunswick 30 years ago; as it is, she's silver-haired and thinner and not as brown as I remembered, so I didn't know her at all. I still have an inlaid sideboard that her ex J left with me in '89 to be called for when needed, only she never did. (Her ex painted my lofty hallway, and so well that it's only beginning to need redoing.) Alas, no one has kept up with J, and I keep forgetting to ask what her last name is. In these google days it might be possible to find her again.
"Those days on Brunswick were one of the happiest periods in my life," she said, and I agreed-- in spite of having recently read a chunk of my paper diary from '85 and discovering that in spite of memory, there were quite a lot of dark nights and angsts. Well, there was good reason for those, and the highs were there too: the woodblock prints, the handmade shoji screens, films at Cinema Lumiere which was still open in those days, one of the first and most authentic Japanese restaurants in TO fifty yards up the street, and dinners out with friends from work and friends from university, a giddy social life never since repeated.
Then came home and tried to wash sheets and towels at the laundromat- but the south one's change machine was out of coins and the north one doesn't sell you detergent or bleach. So came home and washed my coloureds instead and hung them out on the line-- maybe the last time I can do this until August, because the cherries are now turning red and ready to fall.