His "Meal"

Mon, 14 Sep 2009 12:09:53 -0400

Yesterday we headed to Toronto's Harbourfront area to check out a combination Vegetarian-Jazz festival. It was my wife's birthday and it would have been a tragic waste to spend one of the last warm days of the season inside.

We're not vegetarians by any stretch. I'm a stubborn carnivore; however I'm trying to become more aware of what I'm putting into my body. I found the veggie booths interesting, although my palate requires a major overhaul in order to enjoy most of the protein replacement foods that were offered. Ugh! hemlock oil... still can't get the taste out.

But we did enjoy the music portion. I don't like all jazz music, but this was tasteful. Some jazz is over the top. I can't get into a piece that has no melody, and if a solo consists of a player endlessly running through crazy scales to impress the audience, they've lost me.

I was impressed by this band which consisted of young players in their early 20's, very accompliced musicians for their age I thought. They played interesting jazz renditions of songs by Radiohead and Red Hot Chili Peppers.

Harbourfront is an interesting place. If you ever spend any time in Toronto, its well worth checking out. Restaurants, pubs, street magician's, bands, booths, a sailing school and of course great shopping all great highlites. The area draws people from all walks of life. The rich, the not-so-rich, and the unfortunates.

It was when the family all sat on the green synthetic grass lawn enjoying the music that I first noticed him. He took off a slightly shabby jacket and spread it out close us. There was something about him that distracted my attention from the music.

He looked homeless. It seemed it may have happened recently. His ballcap was slightly worn, as were his shoes. His pants and shirt weren't clean, but not filthy. He looked to be a young man in his early twenties. As he sat watching the band and listening I saw a slight smile cross his face. He was enjoying himself.

Corn on the cob was available in one of the booths. As the music played people slowly realized this and one by one went to pay $2 to get their own.

I watched him as he watched others eating their corn. After a time he took scant change from his jeans pocket and sat their counting it out, deliberating with himself.

He got up and for the first time communicated with anyone around him.

He asked me, "Could you please watch my jacket for a minute, I'd like to save my spot?"

"Sure, no problem", was my response.

He returned a short time later with his corn and sat back down on his jacket. His consumption of it seemed beautiful somehow to me. I was surprised at how slowly he ate the rows one by one. There were long paused between bites. There were times when he seemed to study the cob. At times he placed the cob on his shirt so he could politely applaud when a song had ended.

After a long time his "meal" was over.

I wondered at what cost was his meal? What proportion of his "income" had he utilized?

My soul was warmed realizing he was able to enjoy the festival, music and beautiful day along with the rest of us. I also thought about the coming winter months and the challenges faced by those who, either by choice or circumstance live on the streets of our cities.

When the jazz was over everyone slowly dispersed.

A little later we were entertained by a street magician; my kids giddly after being selected from the crowd to assist.

When the day was over we walked along the waterfront towards our van, and I couldn't believe what I was seeing and hearing.

Teenage girls standing by a park bench yelling, "Take a picture of us with the bum Daddy! Take a picture of us with the homeless guy!"

And there he was, laying down on a bench in the shade not bothering or hurting anyone. The young man from the festival; victimized by heartless young girls for their cruel entertainment.

He sat up, embarassed, staring at the ground. He rose to his feet and disappeared into the crowd.

I stood there and wept.

I do as I write this....

A Drive in the Country

Thu, 13 Aug 2009 12:08:45 -0400

I just love going for country drives. This is especially true during the summer. I enjoy seeing young fouls bucking around in the fields, crops nearing maturity, huge rolls of hay drying in the sun.

One of my favourite routes is to take the "long way" using Hwy 7 to the cottage on a Friday afternoon. Usually, the trip takes about 2-1/2 hrs.

Typical remarks made by the family along the way-

"Look honey! See that hawk soaring up there?"

"Hey kids, look at the cows. Did you see the big black one?"

"How about that school bus that's for sale? Someone converted it into a crane."

"You're joking....."

Sadly, I am not.

What's with all this stuff that I see at the end of everyone's driveway in the country? Talk about depressing. When did it became so de rigueur to put all your castoffs beside the road? Its not just here and there, its everywhere. RV's, motorcycles, puppies, cars, tractors, boats, trailers, ancient U-Haul trucks, campfire wood, even manure. Oh, yes! How much of that could I squelch into the back of the Safari? Hmm.... move over kids.

The "for sale" signs are also horrible. Hand painted with black lettering on a weathered piece of wood, or better yet that lovely fluorescent orange spray paint on the windshield of the Firebird?

There never seems to be a price listed on anything though.

If things were changed up a bit I may not complain so much. The problem is that I keep driving by the same crappy articles that have been out by the road for months, even years.

How about this idea? Take out an ad in a newspaper, or put it on ebay. Oh, I see.... You'd have to actually evaluate what the realistic pricetag would be for such a unique find. Can't commit to one? Or, does the price of the article vary with your mood or situation? or what the sucker daring to pull up to the "find" is driving?

When I was younger, I used to pull over occassionally to look at some of this stuff. Far too many times my experiences when doing so left me regretting the choice. If not interested (which was the case more often than not) I ended up getting an earfull from an irate seller. "You shouldn't have wasted my time!" or "Why'd you stop in the first place?" So much for country hospitality.

So now I don't stop.

Ever.

Sad thing is, I never see any farm-fresh vegetable stands along this route anymore. I'd buy some of those. You know,...something I actually need?

About 5-10 or so's Open Salon Blog

His "Meal"

A Drive in the Country