Reflections on moving to the Far East

When I got the keys to our new place a week ago, it marked the beginning of a lot of things: the start of life as a home owner, for one.  Among the other firsts is a biggie: by the end of the month, I will no longer call Little Italy home.  Home will be the Far East.  Home will be Scarborough.

To put this in perspective, I have never in 20-going-on-30-odd years of Toronto dwelling, resided east of Yonge Street.  Born more or less at the intersection of Yonge and Bloor, I am a serious downtowner/Westender (admittedly, not quite as hardcore as my mother, who believes the boundaries of Toronto are Dufferin, Eglinton, Greektown and the lake).  A story I often tell is how wonderful it was as a kid going to an elementary school that had an atypical catchment area consisting of the whole city of Toronto.  My classmates and friends were bussed in from High Park, Regent Park, Cabbagetown, Rosedale, the Danforth, the Beaches, or Dufferin Grove.  Yet as broad a sense of the city as this might have impressed upon me, these were nevertheless pre-Mega City years and Scarborough was not really on my radar.

Enter my now fiancé, who was born in Calgary, raised in Scarborough and more recently lived in Pickering.  In the time we’ve known each other I’ve been on more GO Train rides than I care to count, and have a clearer picture of what it looks like east of Victoria Park.  So it was a little less of a mental shift when this past summer we began our house hunt, and decided to focus our search on the east end, knowing that this was a more affordable area than the downtown and that many of our friends and family have settled in the area.

With Warden Ave.—our closest main street—filled to the T with these so-called ‘power centres,’ it’s not exactly the compact urban landscape I’m used to and have grown to love about the downtown.  It’s only been a few days since we took possession of the home, so I suppose it’s natural that the “look” of the neighbourhood still feels a little foreign to me.

But it’s not all difficult adjustments.  I appreciate that there is a sense of newness and of possibility around here, and the beginnings of what feels like community to me.  On our first day at the place, spent scrubbing out the fridge and removing old MACTac from shelving, we had a knock at the door.  A neighbour from down the street had come by to introduce herself and to offer us some tomatoes fresh from her garden.  She told us about a shortcut to the nearest grocery store.  I’ve emailed a local badminton club about joining up (having decided to retire from my too-brief soccer career after spraining an ankle) and emailed the Scarborough Arts Council to request updates on local events and activities.  It helps, too, that we have family around the corner: our new home is located minutes from where my fiancé’s grandmother has lived for about 40 years.

A few times in the lifespan of this blog (notwithstanding the fact that I’ve been an absent author for many months), I have chastised myself for only referring to downtown and westerly things.  So here’s hoping this cross-town move results in an expansion of my Toronto palette, perhaps inspiring some new thoughts on this fair city.

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• Image above from Spacing Magazine’s Town button collection
• Suburbia is back in style! So says the most recent issue of Spacing Magazine: ‘The Return of Suburbia’

A block in ruins

The February 21 front page of the Toronto Star had some arresting images of the fire that all but razed a full quarter of the 600 block of Queen West between Bathurst and Spadina this past Wednesday. I think what got me even more though, was the language in a sidebar describing the damage sustained by each affected business: from “water damage,” to “gutted,” to “collapsed”. There’s something about the word “gutted” that’s especially heartwrenching.

Made a point of passing by the scene of the fire yesterday afternoon. Four and a half days after it broke out, the flames have been extinguished and demolition has begun. The area remains blocked to traffic and yellow “Fire Line — Do Not Cross” tape still sections off a vast portion of the street. My curiosity and need to see these ruins in person turned out to be far from unique: dozens of people and their cameras took a moment this weekend to gape at what remains of the strip of Queen West framed by Pizzaiolio and Organized by Design.

Gutted really is the right word for the state of many of these structures. What’s left of them is just a shell, if that. The former buildings’ insides and outsides are spewed on the sidewalk and street in chunks and shards.

The most incongruous thing in all this mess is the presence of a small rack of relatively undisturbed clothing in what used to be the back of preloved. About ten ‘nouveau vintage’ sweaters are just hanging there in a tidy row. Lightly sprinkled with ash, perhaps; maybe a few frozen threads, but essentially fine— probably still with the price tags on. There’s something ostentatious about the intactness of the stuff. If those sweaters were people, they’d be naive, oblivious, blissfully unaware of everything that has crumbled around them.

But there’s beauty here too (well captured by the Star and countless citizen photographers). Elegant icicles hang from charred bits of structure; what used to be walls or doors and are now pieces of brick, wood and glass fall into interesting arrangements… the odd office chair is visible under the rubble, turned on its side. The scene, moved indoors, could be an installation at the Power Plant. Only it’s a lost slice of T dot (not to mention a few homes and livelihoods). It will be interesting to see what pops up in the next couple of years in this spot, and to follow the displaced businesses to their new homes.

(Image: preloved.ca)

• Duke’s Cycle
• Suspect Video
• CBC.ca story on the fires
• CBC.ca photo gallery
• Toronto Star coverage
• Some Flickr images

Sold Out

Dave Eggers was in town earlier this week talking about his book, What Is the What, newly out in paperback. Sometime last week, I came across a reference to the event online and thought I might like to go. I’ve only ever been to one reading in my life, but I loved Eggers’ memoir A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius (which my roommate bought in an airport several years ago and lent to me afterward), so I thought I would enjoy seeing him speak about his work.

I decided to purchase my ticket the day of the event. I showed up at the church where the talk was taking place only to find, to my dismay, that it was 100% sold out. But not before a rather convoluted trajectory around the city summarized as follows: Jane/Bloor to Bloor/Spadina to Queen/John to Danforth by Chester station, then back home to Little Italy.

I was particularly sad to miss Eggers’ presentation because I didn’t know of anyone else planning to attend, so nobody would be able to tell me how it went. I have had to rely on the National Post’s account instead.  The only good thing that came of the rather failed outing was a brief ride on the subway with someone who had about as much foresight as me in showing up to a bestselling author’s talk sans $5 ticket. It just so happens she is a juggler, and you don’t meet a juggler every day, so that was pretty cool.

I really need to learn my lesson about buying tickets well in advance of an event. I have had next week’s José González show at Mod Club ‘penciled in’ in iCal for at least a month. But I just checked, and it is already sold out.