My day had its usual inauspicious beginning. I woke up feeling well-rested on perhaps just more than six and a half hours sleep, which is just about right for me. I did my morning ritual: got out of bed, brushed my teeth, etc., made my bed, showered, cleaned the apartment, had breakfast, finished yesterday's paperwork, then went out. I had the morning off so I stopped in with my building manager to confirm that the rent cheques had been deposited so I could figure out my bank balance, given that I was expecting direct deposits from work and from Taxation Canada. At the bank everything was confirmed and all my ducks are in a row and the young lady at the bank was very kind and patient and good-humoured too. A couple of blocks later I was inside St. Andrews-Wesley Church taking in the breathtaking stain glass windows:
These Google images unfortunately do not do the windows justice. They are huge and the colour and light so intense and dazzling and I always feel inspired to paint when I see them. It is like being a tourist here in my own city and I am reminded of the many beautiful churches I have visited in Mexico.From there I visited the framing and art shop where I might be displaying some of my small paintings. The owner is away this week so it was wise not to bring any paintings with me, besides which I would like to retouch some of them first. Here are some samples from my website:
The images aren't great and some of them need a little extra work and I don't think I will bring in all of them but the art is nice to brighten my blog and make this post a little less boring, dontcha think?From there I went next door to Melriche's Coffee House. I was the first artist who ever showed there in 1994, and the exhibit provided me with an agent who secured some sales and a lovely commission that paid for my first trip to Costa Rica. I have since done perhaps seven or eight shows in Melriche's where today I sat with an iced Americano at a good table finishing a drawing of an African bird, Carmine Bee-Eaters :
And there I began a new drawing of a Rainbow Bee Eater, their Australian cousin:
In Australia they are called Rainbow Birds where apiarists used to shoot them because they ate...bees. They are now a protected species. I phoned my assistant apartment manager, who is also Australian, to tell her that all my banking stuff is in order and to thank her. We ended up having an interesting conversation about mental health recovery and gratitude. I forgot to tell her that I was drawing an Australian bird.
Then I took a walk through the neighbourhood of the West End. I noticed, critically that the Barclay Square heritage park is being used as a dog park again, just after they had finished fencing it off and restore the damage already done to this beautiful green space by dogs (it is not a designated off leash area for dogs.) Then, shortly after I turned the corner, almost as if Karma was settling a score with me, an obnoxious little white dog (you know the kind, usually owned by little old ladies, tried to bite my ankle. His little old lady human took him aside to scold him, I turned around to thank her for her "apology" and she actually did apologize. I didn't get bitten, I still like dogs (cats, too), and I still wish they wouldn't let dogs in that beautiful park space.
At noon today I met one of my clients. We went to a local grocery store and at the next check out or so the lady working at the cash, a pleasant Eastern European woman in her fifties was happily holding the restless baby of a customer while she sorted through the details of paying for her groceries. The image is still in my mind: this beaming, happy cashier in her uniform holding in one arm the now content baby while with her free hand operating the cash till and the phone.
There was also a tall First Nations man, living on the street I suspect, bringing in empties and becoming loud and aggressive towards a young woman of colour with a small child. Later we saw him again out on the sidewalk, yelling quite loudly at no one and everyone, agitated and aggressive and lacking the supports that he needs to heal and move forward in his life. Simultaneously we found ourselves watching our backs till we were well away from him.
On the bus, a young couple monopolizing the courtesy seats with their baggage managed to make room for us to sit down after I asked them. When I asked the young lady where they were going she said in awkward English "The eastern side of Canada." I asked if she meant the Maritimes and she said Toronto. Sensing her unease about her English I thought it better to leave her be. Then an elderly woman getting by with a walker got on, sat next to them and started talking to them out of friendly curiosity, switching to fluent French when she saw they were struggling with English. They relaxed and loosened up with her and it was quite a delight watching them together. She wished them bon voyage as she left, pausing to compliment the butterfly tattoo on the back of the neck of a young woman standing nearby.
On my way to my next work site, I paused to pick six stalks of lavender growing in the middle of the bike route on Tenth Ave. and put the flowers in my pocket. When I find public plantings of lavender during the summer I pick a few stalks, put them in my shirt pocket (the fragrance is heavenly) and when I get home put it in my fruit bowl. As well as providing fragrance they also repel bedbugs.
At my other worksite, one of the clients was weeping loudly and openly and with a good team effort two of my coworkers and I, taking turns, were able to comfort her and help her calm herself. Then another client tried to test my limits when he tried to throw a napkin into the waste basket. It missed and fell on the floor. He did not get up to put it in properly and, given some previous altercations this person and I have already been through about control and authority I decided not to jump to his bait. We continued, with another client to chat and visit over coffee as though nothing had happened. Later, when he decided to go to his room for a nap, he stopped and put the crumpled serviette in the waste basket.
In the living room we sat and watched the World Cup with a client who said he might come out with us for coffee once the last quarter was over. I am not a sports fan, and even though I am relatively okay with soccer even the Beautiful Game, with the exception of this match, usually cannot hold my attention. We watched Brazil beat Colombia and I found myself wondering about the role of colour in sports uniforms. The Brazilian team wears brilliant yellow and white and they are dazzling to look at, while the Colombians appear sombre in dark blue and red.
I walked most of the distance home through the light drizzle without umbrella or jacket and passed again the place where I fell two weeks ago almost to the minute. I re-injured my right knee, still recovering from a sprain, and was worried that it would get worse. It is fortunately almost recovered. Today I watched carefully for the place where I fell, and I did feel light-headed. I walked by, unfallen this time, in plain view of the building where my mother died twenty-three years ago.
It is great to be home. I am considered poor. I have more than what I need and in my eyes I am very wealthy. It has been a beautiful day and I said to one of my clients that all you have to do is spend eight hours a day outside and you will never be bored.
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