October 29: Over the last 3 weeks I’ve finished my move from the townhouse to my new apartment. During that time, I’ve been thinking about the many times that I have moved and the emotions that those moves have stirred up.
I remember sitting on Mum and Dad’s blue down-filled couch watching the furniture being moved into the house on Inglewood. I was 5 and would live in that house for 20 years. After landing my first full-time job, I moved to a second floor apartment on Walmer Road that had a small fireplace, an even smaller balcony, and hideous bright yellow paint on the walls. That could be fixed with a coat of paint, but the gold shag carpet haunted my days there.
Another couple of moves and I was living in a third floor one-bedroom on Parliament Street just south of Carlton. This was, and remains, one of my favourite places to live because it was right in the middle of the action on the street. I could walk to work (at City Hall in those days), and then shop for dinner on the way home. It really taught me the joys of living in a city environment. After a couple of happy years there, Mum and Dad helped me to buy my first house on Martin Road, not far from where I’m living now. It was a power of sale deal for $55,000 and it needed a fair bit of work to bring it up to date.
I took advantage of a Federal make-work stimulus program to build and addition on the back and relocate the kitchen to the front of the house. But unfortunately, no amount of work could replace the stairs which were so steep that they would not have been out of place on a submarine. Only after falling down them a few times did I figure out that the best way to descend was to stick your toes out to the sides and walk down like a duck to make sure that your whole foot landed on the step.
After Melinda and I got married in 1987, we moved to the Lakeshore in Etobicoke and lived in a quintessential 2 bedroom post-war bungalow. There were 3 rooms in the basement and a separate bathroom, so Marisa had her own kingdom as she grew through public school, high school and university.
I’ve been in Garden Court for 6 years now and have (mostly) enjoyed being back in a very urban environment. When I look back on all these moves, I associate them, with fundamentally happy periods in my life. Usually they signified a new start in a fresh environment and an opportunity to create a new life experience. Moving has been a transition from one way of life to another, full of hope and promise. It’s exciting to be starting afresh, even if the hauling of boxes is somewhat less than enjoyable.
This most recent move has been all of those things. I really enjoy the space, and I think I now have it more or less set up to my taste. Most of the time, I can find the things I’m looking for, and there’s space for painting and maybe even playing a bit of bass guitar. Unfortunately, it’s on the second floor so I already miss the day-to-day interaction with all of our friends around the townhouse door. We were a regular stop on the dog-walking circuit and we made many friends in the brief time we were there.
But being off the ground feels like withdrawing from people, and that feeling is heightened by the end of my relationship with Kate and the resurgence of the COVID virus. We are again facing a lock down that begins with the onset of winter. The whole situation feels ominous to me at this point so the hopefulness and promise of my move to a new place is tempered with concern. After so many happy moves, this is a new experience for me – one I don’t particularly enjoy.