It’s about 9:30 on Saturday morning and I struggle out of bed.
I’m feeling good so I’m thinking about jogging around the lake. My gear reminds me of my old school gym strip and laundry is added to the day’s list of to do’s. I can’t find any white socks (clean ones), this is enough to stop me in my tracks. Do I wear black socks? I didn’t want to go for a run that badly anyway.
I move onto the Saturday morning routine, Globe and Mail and a solid breakfast. I don’t have either so this forces me to change again. I pull on whatever and I’m gone.
A house is being slowly renovated on the other side of the tennis courts. The outside has been sitting rapped in Tyvek for a couple months now. Today is the start of the siding as the beginnings have already taken shape. As I walk by the craftsman (I use the term loosely) have taken a break to gain some perspective on the work undertaken thus far. They nod in appreciation that everything is level and that they should carry on.
I reach twelfth and an old woman crosses the road towards me. I smile and say good morning, she asks if I can spare a quarter. My smile quickly deteriorates to a smirk as a say, I’m sorry no.
From twelfth to Safeway the streets are awash in the smell of urine. My appetite dwindles as I hit the grocery store. I’d chosen to go to Safeway today rather than a little farther down the drive mostly out of laziness, I want to spend my morning eating, reading, and drinking, not walking.
As I round the corner into the Safeway parking lot an old man is being hurriedly drawn by his dog back home. The owner lives near me and I talk to him from time to time, I been formally introduced to the dog and his name is Buckley. Buckley likes to help carry the groceries; he’s got a Michalina’s frozen dinner in his mouth.
Safeway is the same as always. The king crabs look like they haven’t survived the night as there all upside down in the bottom of the tank. In the deli an old women is telling anyone that walks by that the small sandwiches are priced incorrectly. She holds up a 16” sandwich and says, this is nine dollars, this one (6” sandwich) is not nine dollars, they’ve made a mistake. I get the impression she’s not even considering purchasing a sandwich but she’s relishing the discovery.
I make it to the cashier and I think she remembers me. I’m always trying to limit the number of bags I take; I’ve brought my backpack so I manage to leave without any.
As I leave the automatic doors of Safeway a women on a crutch begins to walk to intersect me. Sir, sir she calls, I keep walking and look straight ahead.
A man crosses the street from Toby’s over to the phone both in my path, he’s got a colourful rectangular box in his hand. He’s wearing a track suit and has just picked up the phone. Before he starts dialling he puts the phone away from his ear to ask me if I’d like to buy some protein bars. At my first rejection of his offer he tries to sweeten the deal, the whole box for ten bucks buddy. At my second rejection, never letting the phone out of his hand, he says, there’s sixteen bars here man. He gives up and starts dialling.
Now if you’ve made it this far you’re probably realizing that yes these are small events but none of them are that interesting.
So I’m standing at the NW corner of twelfth and Commercial and as I look both ways to check if traffic is going to stop, I see a man in his late twenties crawl out of the bushes a couple house west. The man is in his late twenties has scruffy hair (no scruffier than mine each morning) and more importantly is not wearing anything. He pushes himself up from all fours to standing and starts taking stock off the situation. Arms on his hips he just looks around. Twelfth is not a quiet street, a steady stream of traffic is passing the man, but he doesn’t get even the slightest reaction.
Being a city dweller myself, to do anything but walk on would be to admit that I care enough about anything to stop and stare. This doesn’t stop my from cocking my head to check if he’s moved just before the sightline disappears.
Further along Buckley has made a pit stop at a house on 13th. His fur is receiving some kind of medical treatment from one of his regular stops. I’ve passed said practitioner talking with Buckley and his owners many times. He not only helps Buckley out but is constantly making aesthetic improvements to his car.
The remaining blocks pass uneventfully. The dogs are playing with their owners in the park. The siding is steadily progressing up the almost finished house and two work people have joined the crew. A women and her child are loading there car for the day, the child runs (kind of more like a bounce right in front of me). I look at the mother smile and avoid the kid. The mother frowns at me.
The only person who said good morning back today was the clerk at the grocery store. I know that good morning is a small deviation from her normal script of how are you doing today but I still think it doesn’t count.
Now it’s time to brew the coffee, make the juice, fry the eggs, cook the sausage, toast the toast, and read the paper.
