Weirdness Magnet

Do I just run into complete weirdness, or is it because I am looking for something to write about that I tend to notice it more than others? Am I somehow attracting this weirdness, or is it there for all of us to see? Let me relate something I sort of stumbled upon early last week, and you let me know why it is that this kind of thing happens to me.

At the bus terminal where my bus ride ends and my subway journey begins, I often stop to use the washroom (restroom in case you are unfamiliar with the Canadianism). It isn’t particularly dirty, but it isn’t particularly clean. Since the start of the pandemic the chairs in the other parts of the building were taken away and the only other thing in the building is a convenience store which mostly does brisk business in lottery tickets and serves as a place to load up your fare card. There have been a larger number of homeless people bunking there, but nothing else.

On Monday, I sauntered into the washroom (because how else would you enter) and discovered a man brushing his teeth. He had his luggage open and a variety of his clothes were folded neatly on the floor (in front of the urinal). It all seemed vaguely organized, albeit a tad disgusting. I guess I should point out the other remarkable thing. He was only wearing his underwear.

As per custom, we didn’t speak, but I obviously left a bit confused.

Your thoughts?

Glass Bottles

Today’s Perfect Moment is a cool drink of root beer from a glass bottle. Pretty simple really, but full of touchstones for me.

I found this bottle at the Dollar Tree. The Dollar Tree is running a distant second to Dollarama in the Canadian dollar store wars.  I personally don’t have a favourite, but for a time the Dollar Tree was the only place to get cherry coke–now I can’t get it anywhere unless I want the diet or zero version.

I like root beer. I know some of you out there do not, but I do.  Several people in my life have likened it to medicine.  My students have gone so far as to call it akin to drinking Vicks vap-o-rub.  I hardly think that is accurate, but if they don’t want to drink it, that means there is more for me.

As a child, whenever I went on school trips and had to take my lunch, my Mom would buy me Hires Draft root beer. I remember the can well.

Although I purchased this at the dollar store, it cost $1.25 plus tax. Was that a bargain?  No.  I could probably have bought a two litre plastic bottle for almost the same price.  At the very least, I probably could have bought three or four cans.  However, there is nothing better than drinking from a glass bottle***.  Imagine if you had to drink beer from a plastic bottle.  I can’t do it often, but once in a while, it is a worthy indulgence.

I first encountered Dad’s root beer in Japan.  After months of not seeing it, I came across the cans in a store in Kyoto.  I bought a bunch of them and lugged them around from temple to temple and shrine to shrine until I got home and got them cooled down.  Much like this purchase, they weren’t cheap–probably 100yen or 120yen–but every now and then I needed an indulgence.

I decided to put up both the French and English labels.  I wonder why they didn’t translate the expression old fashioned.  Also, once in a McDonalds somewhere between Quebec City and Montreal, I asked for racinette and nobody understood me.  One kind person said “Root beer n’est ce pas?”  Obviously I need to work on my French.

***Probably some people enjoy drinking from a funnel–but that’s another story.

 

 

A Welcome Invasion of Personal Space

The beautiful weather we had in the afternoon of a clear sky and mild temperatures was probably created by the dismal dark and rainy morning. That morning also spawned Today’s Perfect Moment.

I trudged my way up the subway steps, hoping that the rain that pelted me from the bus stop before I entered the subway had magically subsided. While it had slowed to a drizzle, it certainly hadn’t stopped.  I had to wait for 3 stoplights to change to navigate the construction confused intersection at Yonge and Eglinton.  At each corner the rain was somewhat different.  I had an umbrella but hadn’t opened it yet.

Suddenly, a complete stranger sidled up next to me and covered me with her umbrella. This thing used to happen a lot when I was younger and this random act of kindness was not seen as an invasion of space.  People shared umbrellas with strangers in need.

Of course I thanked her and enjoyed standing under her umbrella. I knew, perhaps instinctively, perhaps I heard something in her voice, that she was from another country.  She didn’t say much so I suspected that her English level was not very high.  I also wondered if she was a student at the school I taught.

She left me after crossing the intersection and proceeded to walk in the same direction I was going. She walked at a good pace that I could only keep up with and proceeded to walk to the door of my school.  We shared an elevator up to her floor and smiled at each other as we parted.

I am reminded of How I Met Your Mother when Ted finally met the mother and they shared an umbrella on a train platform. I may have hated the end of that show, but I loved that scene.

I digress

As I said before, this thing used to happen a lot more often in the past. Now it seems like good manners and courtesy are rare.  I still hold doors and elevator doors open for people.  I give up my seat to people in need.  I don’t play my music so loud that it bleeds out of my earphones.

Oh, wait, now I sound like an old person struck with nostalgia for their time complaining about how life was better in the past…..

Okay, sadly, all of that might be true, but at least someone shared their umbrella with me.

 

Random Things

On my way to meet my friends, a woman approached me on the subway.  It was after traditional dinner time, so I probably shouldn’t fault her for being heavily intoxicated.  She claimed to be a biker, but that didn’t really jibe with her riding the subway.

I met my friends at a bar called Hemmingway’s.  Whenever we go there, I wonder what it would have been like to be a writer then.  Did they have it easier than we do now?  Was there a more willing audience?  Were publishers more willing to take a chance on someone unknown?  Without facebook and instagram, how did they pester people into buying their work?

My friends asked me about my blog.  I explained that I enjoyed writing it, regardless of how much response I get.  I might not be a published author, but I am writing words that people are reading.  I am getting a chance to get my voice out there.

I also explained that writing takes practice, and the blog provides practice not only in writing, but also editing, rewriting, and marketing.

On my way home, waiting at the bus terminal for the bus that would eventually get me home, I heard a tap tap tap sound that pulled me away from the book I was trying to read (Kerouac’s Dharma Bums).  I imagined that it was a strong female wearing high heels and dressed in a power suit.  I imagined that she had on a trench coat and probably vaped.

When the tapping grew louder, I craned my neck to see if my observations were right.  She was a beautiful tall woman in rather tall high heels, dressed in black and looking severe.  I had been wrong, but somehow, I didn’t mind.

On my bus, a woman boarded with three young boys who were out past their bedtimes.  They had obviously been to the Blue Jays game (sadly for the boys the home team lost).  They looked as if they had had the best experience of their young lives.  They were exhausted, but their smiles couldn’t be erased.

I left the bus with fantastic music playing in my ears.  My front door and then my bed beckoned….and I thought I should blog rather than sleep.  I won’t know if I was right until tomorrow morning.

 

And So I Walked

The therapy for leg, according to my doctor, is walk.  I was feeling a bit of cabin fever, so that is what I did.  As it turns out, it was a beautiful, not like winter at all, kind of day.  I took a few pictures and I had a few musings on the town I live in.  I have decided to share them with you.  Hopefully, you find them entertaining and not annoying at all.

On what was once the main intersection in town, and now hopelessly crowded and lacking parking and foot traffic (just ask the first panhandler I have ever seen in town today if he was able to make any money) there is this fantastic mural.  It celebrates Canada and our achievements.  The building is a marketing company.  I wonder if they need people for voice work?

The town of Aurora has many (some would argue too many) historical houses.  They cannot be torn down, but sometimes they can be repurposed.  This one was turned into an insurance agent.  They did a nice job of landscaping and setting up parking.  I don’t know if you can see it in this shot, but just to the left, they have charging stations for electric cars (yes, I said stations, plural). 

Howard Johnson’s has been boarded up for quite a few years.  With no buyer in sight, and little need for a motel or hotel except during the hockey tournament, this building will remain for a while.  On a good note, it does not appear to be the home of squatters.  I wonder if it would be possible to convert into condos or senior citizen care?

I guess someone thought it was okay to litter if you litter in just one small space.

So, that is my town.  You haven’t seen the best or the worst.  You’ve just been treated to some of the sights on the 5000 step journey I took on a beautiful afternoon in February.

I Know You From Somewhere

Yesterday, while shopping, something unusual happened. Before you jump to the conclusion that by weird I mean that I didn’t spend any money, rest assured that, sadly, money left my pocket and I didn’t get everything I needed.

I was in a big store that had both groceries and everyday products. While cruising in the grocery section a woman and her cart passed by me just like a car on a road.  When I saw her (and she saw me) we both had a moment or recognition….or something and said hello.

It isn’t that I am unfriendly, but I am shy, and though I see many attractive women during my day, I rarely say hello to someone I don’t know, or who isn’t reading a book.

I had the sense that I knew her, but for the life of me I couldn’t think from where that might be. I started to doubt my feeling.  I rationalized that since I found her attractive, I was just wishing a connection into existence.

When she passed me again, she said “I feel like I know you from somewhere.”

It is hard to ignore that kind of sign. I explained that I too had the same feeling.

We spent a few minutes trying to figure out what the connection was. She suspected that she had seen me at the hockey rink that she took her kid to.  I wondered if we had gone to high school together.  She gave me quizzical looks, and asked where I was from.  I speculated a few places we might have me; the library, the bus, Murphy’s Bar in Osaka Japan (you never know).

Though nothing came of this event, I did appreciate it for its randomness and feeling of “almost”.

 

Lacking Passion

I should start this post explaining that I also write another blog. This blog deals with hobbies–and I have a lot of hobbies.  Lately, though, I haven’t really pursued many of my hobbies.  I also haven’t written that many posts for the site.  I wrote one today that seems to share some of the same aspects as this blog (introspection mostly) and I wanted to write a companion piece for it.  If you are interested in the original post, and I hope that you would be (because I have written some good posts on that site), please check out that post by clicking here, or off to the top right of this blog.

As for the companion to the piece….

I spent some time on Saturday afternoon looking through a packed… cramped… overload…there are just so many adjectives I could use…hobby shop. I enjoyed my time there, but nothing really stoked any interest.  Nothing lit a fire under me at all.  There were so many things I thought were cool, but I easily found a rationale for not buying them or to quickly walk away from them.

On one hand, this is pretty good. I didn’t blow money that I could spend on other things (Christmas, mortgage, food) and I didn’t bring more stuff into my already overloaded hobby room.

On the other hand, this is not how a hobbyist is supposed to behave. A hobbyist is supposed to enjoy the hunt.  A hobbyist is supposed to be looking for things to do and new itches to scratch.  Despite its costs and crowding issues, I do like that I am always pursuing something.  I like feeling passionate about something. anything.  I love reading about it, comparing things, getting excited about it, and chasing it down in stores.  I get rather bummed out when I don’t have something that catches my interest.  It also means that I have nothing to write in that other blog.

Could I be growing old?