Of The Chill People

Instead of watching the first all-teen U.S. Open final since 1999, I was invited to enjoy a friend's updated backyard. Since I hadn't seen them in over a year, it was churlish to refuse. But our plan for me to watch the match on my laptop while they made banh xeo (Vietnamese crepe) didn't happen. We were engrossed catching up on personal news. I only had one of genuine interest: for the next while, I won't be spending too much time in Toronto.

They had spent thousands more since last time in DIY renovations to re-build their deck, add new fencing, trellises, as well as shrubbery and flowers. There were also luxury, spa-like furniture such as chaise longue, a hammock, and a pair of hanging chairs. This was in addition to tens of thousands in fixing up the main floor as well as the basement. But all of it transformed a tiny house in a working-class, industrial neighbourhood into a welcoming home.

Though they were of modest immigrant background, they didn't squirrel away every dime. Maybe they will have less money for retirement, but I couldn't help contrast this attitude with some of my family members. These relatives did not beautify their house despite decades of residence, but only spent money on essential items like roofs or windows. Recently, they paid for some landscaping and a vegetable garden. The pleasure they've gotten from this frill made me think how much more enjoyment they might have gotten from their place over the years with a few more non-essential luxuries.

A few weeks later, I visited another friend for a home-made Sunday lunch. I wondered how their early retirement was going. First, they had become a plant parent. Second, they delayed their return to university (because of the pandemic) but had enrolled in several classes including language lessons at Alliance Française. Third, they will be travelling cross-country by train to Vancouver in November before Via Rail mothballs this trip. The sole source of irritation was the late-night comings and goings of delivery people who were subletting the nearby frat house for the summer.

As we chatted, I thought about their life. On the surface, they seemed to be similar to myself: unassuming, introverted, averse to crowds. Yet they had quietly built an admirable existence: living in NYC for several years in the late 90s, spending weeks in silent meditation retreats or at half-empty Cuban hotels in the off-season, mastering Hebrew and Arabic to study ancient Judaic philosophy (and the latest Middle-Eastern tweets), the early retirement, and so on. They showed that you don't have to be "busy at living" to be living. I need some of that silent strength of character.

I followed Lowther Avenue and Barton on my way home passing by leafy streets, vintage homes, Huron Street Playground, Gwendolyn MacEwen Park, and St. Alban's Square. The condos at 387 Brunswick Ave., formerly The Loretto College School, also caught my eye. I liked these renovations more than those that only keep the front façade.