Note: the role of Gord will be played by Sheila on this walk; Gord isn’t looking well.
Alert: note the date – summer has officially 3 weeks to go but we know better.
Walking with Sheila will cry out for comparisons with Gord’s ambulations which could have me walking the plank. I’ll try to watch my step.
My plan is to introduce Sheila to the wonders of the Williard Walk which she’s heard so much about and only men know so much about. This starts with a walk north on Ripley Avenue, Gord and I usually head directly to the South Kingsway.
Ripley Avenue is going through a minor transformation with all parking spots getting a clean bill of health thanks to repaving and bright yellow park-between-the-lines. This route must have more cars per parking spot than any other street in Toronto. And, of course, the Cheese Boutique attracts a clientele that hasn’t walked to a store since Henry Ford appeared on the scene.
Back to the South Kingsway now a street that houses the small and the mighty but doesn’t discriminate when it comes to parking. Melding into the morning traffic and leaving the evening rush hour to your once-was-a-lawn driveway can’t be the highlight of anyone’s day.
Speaking of the small, this picture shows an-about-to-be-torn-down up against a neighbourly transformation. (The building to the right will soon lose not only the light-facing windows when the replacement McMansion surfaces and, I’m guessing, but also around $250,000 off any future listing.)
I can clearly envision the conversation between the supposedly little old lady owner of the teardown and the shaking with high commission fever real estate agent.
“Well, it’s time to move; Arthur, that’s my late husband, and I bought this place just after the war.”
“I understand, hard to pull yourself away. Any questions?”
“Well, we want to get our money back, we scrimped and saved to find the down payment and then pay off the mortgage.”
“… do you recall … hmm … what you paid … roughly?”
“No roughly about it, $6,500!”
“A mighty sum at that time, I’m sure. Let’s see, accounting for inflation (agent counts through all her fingers and toes and back again) I can assure you that you’ll get your money,( sotto voce) less an egregious commission, back.”
“What about staging, I hear that a lot.”
“No need, just take what you want and leave the rest.”
“That’s going to be a lot of work, clearing out things. Who will move them?”
“The bulldozer.”
The walk up to Bloor is a gentle incline but you’re glad when you see the Esso station on the corner. And then Sheila points out the pet stores; there are three establishments in the area catering to the pet-o-philes (say that clearly). It’s obviously a dog-eats-a-lot-of-dog-food world.
Sheila also shows me the restaurant Ma Maison on the north side of Bloor. They had (maybe still do) a restaurant opposite Bruno’s plaza (not sure of the mall’s correct name) on Dundas street just east of Royal York. At the time, it was one of the few establishments that had a legitimate French touch so it will be a welcome addition to the area.
Bienvenue!
By now you’re starting to appreciate the difference between an all-talk-and-no-looking walk with Gord and a pause-and-see-everything stretch with Sheila.
As an aside, everyone’s seen that cartoon that highlights the difference between men and women shopping for a sweater? The half dozen red dots on the floorplan indicate the man’s path to and from the parking lot to the store where he buys a sweater versus the several thousand dots that trace the woman’s journey to every store in the mall and the return to the car without the sweater but with lots of other things. Well, this is the walk equivalent. Sheila goes, or at least notes, where no man has gone before.
We start our descent down the Williard Walk and something new catches our eye, (Gord and I have a lot of important things to talk about that takes all our attention: ‘How are you feeling? How’s the dog? Pretty warm for this time of day, eh?” so it’s to be expected that we would miss the plaque honouring Raymond Holmes Souster, a recognized poet from the area and a supporter of the arts.
Towards the end of the walk, Sheila announces, “This is great, but,” checking details that escaped Gord’s and my eyes like the car painted on the garage door, “I’ve been here before.”
I can’t hide my disappointment, I was the one showing her the walk. “But how?” I unbelievably mutter.
“Well, I remember walking on the South Kingsway and saw people seemingly disappear so I followed them.”
And with that Sheila not only points out the hidden Ormskirk Park that Gord didn’t know about but also the steps leading up to Windermere and parts to be known. “I’ll take you there sometime.”