Author: mckillop_vfr@yahoo.ca

June 27: The time has come to consider ending it all. I don’t mean this in the throw-a-rope-over-a-beam way, but I feel that I do need to consider abandoning motorcycling.

I rode for 2 years starting when I was 16. I then sold that bike to pay for school tuition and didn’t ride again until I was 28, so I’ve ridden for 40 years and have the scars to prove it. I’ve ridden everything from a Yamaha 100 Twin Jet up to a Yamaha FJ1100 upon which I rode the Peterson Road north of Wilberforce at a steady 140 km/h. My current bike is a Honda VFR 800 with 104,000 kilometers on it. I’ve ridden it to Maine at least 4 times; to the Cabot Trail once; to New York, Pennsylvania and Ohio more times than I can count. I’ve ridden in Europe three times including last year. My trip there with Melinda on a BMW 750 K to celebrate my 50th birthday still ranks as one of the best holidays I’ve had. All of this is to say that I don’t feel I have anything left to prove.

Yet there is a lot to lose and the cost / benefit equation seems to be shifting to less positive territory. Motorcycling is by nature a dangerous pastime. That’s part of what makes it exciting. While some of the danger can be mitigated by the right equipment and experience, I ride less often than in the past, so I feel that my skill set is subtly declining. Aging eyes and slowing reflexes don’t help.

I know from experience that it now takes far longer to recover from injuries. Minor injuries can become hugely inconvenient, but a more significant injury might be debilitating. As a friend said: “I’m not worried about dying on a bike. I’m worried about not dying; being seriously hurt and becoming a long term problem for my family.” I couldn’t stand being in a place where I was forcing others to provide me with care.

My riding friends are intent on riding until they drop – presumably from non-motorcycle related causes. One suggests that riding a bike “too fast” is a way to stave off Alzheimer’s. Having a passion for something gives us a reason to live, and motorcycling is nothing if not a passion. Motorcycling is part of who I am; part of my character. While the motorcyclist in me might feel a smug satisfaction to dying at age 83 in a flaming bike wreck in the south of France, we can’t necessarily pick the time and circumstances of our passing to suit the narrative we construct for our lives.

And so I have a conundrum: does the potential cost – monetary or mortal – outweigh the psychological and adrenalin – producing benefits to riding ? I’m no longer sure. That said, there was something about the bike trip last year that has me thinking long and hard about doing it again next year. So in the best case scenario (best or worst depends on your perspective), I would have to say that the jury is still out. And the rope remains in the basement…..

 

June 10:  I believe that Toronto was once known for it’s spirit of innovation in “urban thinking”. Jane Jacobs lived here for a reason. The City was not afraid to experiment and try something new and different. There are many examples: the 45 foot by-law height limit and subsequent Central Area Plan brought in during the Crombie mayoralty come to mind. The St. Lawrence neighbourhood development. The “Kings” regeneration project has been hugely successful and brought thousands of new jobs and residents to King-Parliament and King – Spadina. But somehow that willingness to think outside the box has also yielded some very mixed results.

For example, our approach to bicycle lanes seems to me to be constantly changing. The City’s streetscape is often a hodgepodge of different attempts to find a home for street trees, newspaper boxes, benches and light poles. Depending on where you might be within the City, their location can change for no apparent reason other than the fact that the design thinking changed. To me that means that the City looks shabby and poorly organized, and the overall quality of the urban experience is diminished.

So it was with some interest that I read an interview with Jorn Weisbrodt, the Artistic Director of Luminato in today’s Globe and Mail. While he was speaking primarily about artists and the arts, I believe his thinking is more broadly applicable. He said, in part:

“When I came here, someone said to me that Toronto is already world-class, the world just doesn’t know it yet. And when I heard that, I thought it sounded really bizarre. I don’t think that is actually possible. If you are world-class, it means that the world talks about you. Certain criteria go with that. Toronto may be on the cusp of breaking through to be a world-class city, but that’s something the people of Toronto and the politicians need to want. They need to take steps to make it happen.

…Berlin became (a) haven for artists not just because it was Berlin but because the government was very smart after the wall came down. They let people take over empty spaces in East Berlin. They deregulated a lot. They let nightclubs take over these amazing spaces. I don’t think Toronto necessarily understands the mechanisms so well.

…The Hearn Generating Station is a huge gift to the City because of the possibilities that the space has and what it could be. It could be unique in the world. Toronto does too much 10 years too late, and things that other cities have been doing. These comparisons that people make, that Toronto is the Little Apple, or that the University of Toronto is Harvard of the North. Stop comparing yourself to others. That’s what people in puberty do. Grow up – be your own person and seize the opportunities where you can actually be (what you are comparing yourself to). Artists will always gravitate to somewhere where there is originality, where there is courage and where there is the possibility of greatness.”

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/arts/theatre-and-performance/jorn-weisbrodt-looks-back-on-his-legacy-at-the-luminato-festival/article30375308/

June 4:

Anthropomorphise: to attribute human characteristics to gods, animals and inanimate objects.

People have been doing it for years so I know that I am not alone. Pets are given names and welcomed into the family. Those names often reflect character traits we determine by assigning human values to their behaviours. Most of my cars and motorcycles have had distinct personalities. I’ve had my Honda VFR motorcycle for 15 years and I talk to it like a respected old friend. The Benzes were quiet and dignified, the Alfas energetic and outgoing.  When special effort was needed, I urged them on as if they could really hear, and when they broke down I cursed them. We all do it.

After recently writing about Leaside, I’ve been thinking more about the character of houses. Many of the houses are almost 100 years old, and like senior citizens, they portray a calm and respectable dignity. There’s a consistency to their size and appearance that makes them comfortable with each other. When I worked with architects, I often heard them allude to a “conversation” between buildings, and although they didn’t mean it literally, I think it nicely captures the  interplay between houses that we feel in our neighbourhoods.

Like groups of people, neighbourhoods have different personalities. Long Branch is an older area; many of the houses were cottages outside the city. There’s a real mix of scale and building materials that makes it funky and vibrant. The conversation there is like a cocktail party with a mix of guests. Cabbagetown, where I lived for 2 years,  is much older and has a completely different scale and texture. Brick Victorians and row housing makes it feel tighter and more enclosed. These guys have seen it all and they can tell you a really interesting story if you are prepared to listen.

Lately in Leaside there has been a rash of demolitions and rebuilding.  Having a power shovel appear on your front lawn must be the house-equivalent of terminal cancer in humans; you know that you are about to die, you just don’t know when. I often hear those houses saying: “No wait. There must be some mistake….”

I do not understand the attraction of a larger house – at least, larger than a standard Leaside 3 bedroom, 2 bath house. And I struggle with the concept of demolishing a perfectly serviceable home and essentially throwing it in the garbage, only to replace it with something new. New homes are often designed to mimic older homes. This is in part due to zoning that regulates the height and setbacks, and it might also be a genuine desire on the part of the new kid to “fit in”. The trouble is that most of the newer homes try to affect permanence and solidity with faux stone and stucco; it doesn’t work. I might be more comfortable with the loss of a still-useful and comfortable home if the replacement was a well-thought-out and distinctly designed asset to the neighbourhood, but most of them use the same design and same layout and same building materials and so they come off as lame repetitive imitations.

At night, when it’s dark and quiet, I imagine the houses chatting about the day just passed. If a neighbourhood is a conversation among homes, what voice do the newcomers bring ? What do these homes say about the values and beliefs of their owners ? What will they be saying in 100 years ?

May 22: OK Kiddies, pay attention. Today we have a history lesson and it will be on the exam.

Leaside is a relatively unique neighbourhood in the City.  The land for its’ development (1,025 acres) was assembled by the Canadian Northern Railway in 1912. The railway retained Frederick Gage Todd, a student of  Frederick Law Olmstead (who designed Central Park in New York, among other places), who then drafted a plan for residential neighbourhoods, commercial districts and industrial areas, all in support of a new railway yard and station in Leaside.

The plan was influenced by the design principles of the “Garden City” movement that emerged in Britain at the turn of the last century. The Garden City movement was promoted by Ebenezer Howard and others as a utopian model for the development of new towns.

British cities of that time were dangerous and horrible places to live. Living conditions were abysmal; there were virtually no social services; disease was rampant, the air and ground were polluted. Like all megalomaniac City Planners, the Garden City proponents believed that a well-designed living environment would lead to a healthier and happier populace. Their prototypical cities were designed with separate residential neighbourhoods mixing a range of housing forms. Broad curvilinear boulevards ran through the neighbourhoods and connected to the industrial areas. Homes and jobs were in balance and there were designated areas for shopping and city purposes. All of this was placed at a distance from the main city, and surrounded by permanent open space – hence “garden city”. This approach is foundational to much of the city planning thought of the 50’s and 60’s which sought to separate uses and create an “ideal” place to live. Don Mills is a classic example of that era.

Development of Leaside didn’t start until the 1920’s, and not all of the plan was realized. The key neighbourhoods and the industrial areas were put in place. As planned, Leaside was home to a major rail terminal and maintenance operation. The former locomotive shop has now been converted to a grocery store, and sadly, the station itself is long-gone but the railway remains a presence in the community. Other early industries included the Durant Motor Company, Canada Wire and Cable, and Sangamo Meters (who had a steam locomotive beside their factory as an emergency generator). Leaside was also a key provider of ammunition during the first World War, and is believed to be the landing point for the first air mail shipment in Canada.

Almost all of the houses in Leaside were erected between 1928 and 1953. My home – the Garden Court apartments – were built in 1930. Three farmhouses that belonged to the original settlers (John Lea Jr., James Lea, and Thomas Elgie) remain in place. Several blocks of houses were built by the industries so that their employees could live close to the factory. Virtually the entire neighbourhood, including several apartment blocks, is two or three stories in height and presents a very modest and consistent appearance.

Many in the neighbourhood are correctly concerned about major redevelopment proposals along Eglinton Avenue, and a growing number of the older and small homes are being demolished to make way for “monster homes” that really don’t fit the character of the neighbourhood. So Leaside continues to evolve. We can only wonder what it will be like in the next 50 years.

Map by J. Naulls. For more information see: http://leasidematters.ca/

May 22: The Garden Court apartments where I live, complete the City Planner’s wet-dream that is Leaside. The apartments were designed by Forsey Page and Harland Steele, the founding partners of Page and Steele Architects. Both Page and Steele died during the 70’s, but the firm continues to practice today. During the 1950’s, the firm employed Peter Dickinson who was responsible for designing many well-known Toronto landmarks including the O’Keefe (now Hummingbird) Centre, and the Benvenuto Apartments. The firm’s current portfolio contains many, more ambitious high-rise projects including the 60-storey 33 Bay Street and the 50-storey West One in the Railway Lands. Times have certainly changed.

Sharp eyes will have noticed that the Garden Court was an anomalous block on the plan for Leaside. It was a large, square parcel that did not integrate with the road pattern or land use plans laid out in 1913 by Frederick Gage Todd. Where other planned apartment sites along Bayview Avenue and Mallory Crescent extend about a half-block back from the street, Garden Court is substantially larger (at about 6 acres) and clearly a different animal. I have not uncovered the reason for this situation; perhaps it was a separate lot that was not part of the larger Lea / Elgie assembly.

Whatever the reason, the apartments were mostly constructed in 1930 – 31. They are all walk-up 2 and 3 storey buildings (some 4 storeys if you count the few basement apartments). The site plan continues the thinking of the Garden City movement. There is a mix of apartments and townhouses fronting the streets. There is a broad walkway perpendicular to Bayview Avenue connecting through the site to Berney Crescent. In the centre of the site is a courtyard enclosed by the buildings and formal landscaping and tree planting. Residents have direct access to “nature” and some of the ground floor units – like mine – have access to the courtyards from both the front and the back.

What this all means is that we seem to have a nice mix of newcomers and long-term residents. There’s a mix of ages, and possibly incomes, although the units are being renovated as they become vacant so the rent level is obviously rising. The courtyard system means that I frequently run into other residents, and we share news and common interests like gardening in the planters (one woman has done all the planting in our courtyard). The fact that we sit right on Bayview makes this the most convenient place I have ever lived – truly that “urban experience” I was looking for when I left the house. I feel fortunate to be here.

http://gardencourtapartments.info/

May 14: Today there are zillions of lime-green Maple florets in the street. In some places they are like a fuzzy green carpet. Soon they will be replaced with zillions of Maple keys as Spring continues to expand into Summer. But right now, I’m reminded of a day decades ago when those little greenies lay thick on the ground.

I was 17. It was the day when I took delivery of my very first motorcycle – my very first vehicle of any kind. I think it cost about $600 and I had worked part time for several years gathering the money to buy it.

It was a bit of a surprise that my parents had agreed to let me have a motorcycle, even though I’m sure that safety was a huge concern for them. People – particularly young people – had discovered small and cute motorcycles (“You meet the nicest people on a Honda” was an advertising campaign of the day.) and they were riding them with very little experience. Drivers did not encounter many “real” motorcycles at that time, and they were not particularly careful around these small newcomers. Safety standards, and helmet laws, were lax or nonexistent so many, many people were getting hurt or killed.

I visited the Yamaha dealer on a routine basis throughout the Winter to make sure that the bike was still there. And finally, as Spring approached, my Dad and I went down to the shop on Birch Avenue and bought it. Although it’s hard to believe now, I think that my 100 cc Twin Jet was the largest displacement bike among my group of friends, although I know I was soon pushed off the throne by other much larger bikes – 150 and 180 cc monsters.

Finally, on a day after school, I went down to the shop and picked up the bike. The first ride was back to Inglewood Drive where everyone was hanging around. I was so proud and happy as I rode up the street to join them on the corner, under the Maple tree, surrounded by a  carpet of green. I remember it as a very happy time. I had a privileged life: I had no real responsibilities beyond cutting the grass at home, and enough money for gas. Although I worked part time over the Summer, I had enough time off to head to the cottage for a couple of weeks, I had a woman who could be called my girlfriend with a straight face, and many friends in the neighbourhood.

We were on the cusp of transitioning from children to adults, and with apologies for overworking the metaphor, the transition of the Maple trees into bloom reminds me very much of those happy and carefree days.

May 9: The Saucer Magnolia are in bloom. Spring is here. Commence wearing shorts, Barbequing, and drinking rose wine.

May 8: Spring is a time of rebirth, of hopefulness and potential. I find it a very positive time, full of the possibility of better things to come. Recently though, I’ve been considering some of the things I already have. The first draft of this blog read like a Hollywood “thank-you-for-the-award” speech, for there are many specific people who have had a significant and positive impact on my well-being. Rather than list them all, and risk missing someone important, I’ve decided on a brief list of things for which I am grateful.

Health: Although I have been hobbled for the last month or so with a sprained ankle, my overall physical and mental health is quite good. I believe I am in a good place emotionally and spiritually, and I have a positive outlook. I’m active and engaged physically and mentally.

Friends: At retirement, many people lose most of their friends. I have consciously tried to retain as many friends from the City as I can. We spent many years together so we have common memories. There’s no need for that relationship to end simply because we are not at work any more.

I am in Alanon because of my Father’s drinking. I have many friends in the program, and a few closer friends I see outside meetings to share support and insight. They keep me focussed on what’s important and right for me.

I’ve also made good friends with a few people in the neighbourhoods where I have lived. Since I moved, this has taken a bit of extra effort, but I still appreciate staying in touch. And there are my really close friends – “the gang” as my Mother used to call them before gangs became a cultural problem. These are the guys I have known forever – some since public school – and who know where the skeletons are buried. We don’t connect often but when we do we share a real affection and concern for each others’ well-being that I value deeply.

Family: My Mother is in her 94th year, and although her memory has begun to slip, she’s still in pretty good shape physically. She’s the one that tried to shelter us from Dad’s drinking, and provide a consistent and loving foundation during our early years. We are lucky to still have her in our lives.

My sister Nancy is a rock. She’s an anchor for me and I am glad that we remain close. She has been there for me at times when others were not available, and her support and love is something I cherish. Her family is a source of inspiration and joy. It’s pretty nice to be the old, weird uncle that gets invited to dinner on special occasions.

My cousin James has been my “brother by a different Mother”. We’ve known each other literally since birth. We are not alike, yet we have shared so much positive energy and growth in our lives, it’s hard to imagine where I would be today without him in my life.

And Marisa, my lovely and wonderful daughter. I realize now that I was not the most attentive Father when she was younger. But we are close today, and it feels like our relationship grows closer each time we get together. I treasure the times we spend together as adults – not Father and Daughter –  sharing lunch and a laugh. Of course, two adorable grand-daughters are a good reason to get together…..

I realize that none of this is earth-shaking. We all have things in our lives that are positive, but sometimes it’s easy to lose sight of them. Maybe with Spring cleaning you can dust off a few of your own.

April 17: I have tried to stay away from commentary on politics or news events. Instead, other than a couple of personal observations about Rob Ford, I’ve tried to provide some diversion or “entertainment” and left the pondering of weighty matters to you. But with the revelations of the crisis in Attawapiskat earlier this week, I feel obliged to say a few things.

I’m aware that there is a long and chequered history of relationships between our peoples and there is some “blame” for the current situation on both sides. That said, our treatment of the First Nations is a travesty. We have tolerated Aboriginal communities with no running water, no sanitary services, no schools, poor housing, lack of access to health care and social services for many decades. It’s complete hypocrisy that we continue to abide third-world conditions in First Nations communities while criticising other countries for their human rights failures.

We stumble from crisis to crisis, apparently lacking a national strategy for making meaningful improvements to the lives of our first citizens. Prime Minister Trudeau has promised a more thorough and considered approach to the situation, and I hope he will deliver, yet I’m cynical enough to feel that we will again be caught in the morass of history and politics and that nothing much will be accomplished. Why does it have to be this way?

Through our elected government we (the taxpayers) are about to spend significant amounts of our money on infrastructure and other measures in an effort to get the economy moving, and I suspect that a majority of Canadians would support spending a large portion of that money to rectify the long-standing issues in aboriginal communities.

If we’re going to be spending billions on infrastructure, why not build sanitary sewers and water systems, roads and air/rail connections to native communities as a priority? Why not train First Nations to build them and housing and schools? They would learn portable skills, and become employed and employable. Why are we not using First Nations communities to model non-carbon energy generation? Surely there’s an opportunity to wean these communities off diesel-generated power in favour of small-scale hydro, geothermal, wind and solar power installations. It might be a showcase for Canadian technology and a good example of what we should all be trying to accomplish.

Why are we not looking for creative ways to support these communities with health care and social services professionals when they are obviously so critically needed? At the moment, many communities lack basic shelter for health care workers, and the pay is not great, so there’s no incentive to go north. The opportunity of meaningful service needs to be cast in a way that overcomes the potential isolation and makes it more appealing than other alternatives in the south. What about refocusing Katimavik or creating similar opportunities for young Canadians to go north and be of service for a year between high school and university? It would benefit them, the communities they attend, and build bridges for the next generation of leaders.

We also need to find a way to deal comprehensively with the fallout from the residential schools fiasco, including teaching it as part of Canadian history classes and providing appropriate and meaningful social services and addictions supports.

Easy to say. Hard to do. Much of what I say is naïve and devoid of any real understanding of the situation, but  I don’t feel that I am alone in wanting to see meaningful progress to address the horrendous state of affairs we see in First Nations communities. I can only hope that the crisis in Attawapiskat marks a new beginning, rather than another failed opportunity.

April 13:  I arrived home from the Dominican Republic at 3:30 AM Saturday, only to discover that the temperature was -3C and there was  still snow in the driveway. Admittedly, shorts were a bad fashion choice, but really – it’s supposed to be spring. Obviously, one hackneyed photograph of a robin doth not a Spring make, but here are some things that do…

Dirt: About a week ago, a flat-bed truck arrived at the Valu-Mart and proceeded to unload the year’s supply of dirt. Not just any dirt. Some of this stuff is top-of-the-line President’s Choice dirt.  I would have thought that a neighbourhood developed almost a hundred years ago would be pretty well supplied with dirt, but apparently it’s not. It will all be gone from the store in a month or so.

Amen Corner: Dad being a golfer meant that I was exposed to the Master’s Golf Tournament very early in life. At first, it didn’t mean much, especially on a black and white TV. But later I came to see it as a full-colour harbinger of Spring.  It’s held in Augusta, Georgia, so the plants and gardens are a few weeks “ahead of schedule” compared to Ontario. The place is gorgeous. I think it’s the prettiest course on the Tour, although Pebble Beach looks pretty good too. The Masters is the first golf “major” of the year and it always reminds me of Dad and gets me thinking about dragging out the clubs and getting ready for the golf season. That said, I played once last year.

Colour: I don’t think that Toronto is a particularly “colourful” city. Our restrained Anglo Saxon heritage defined us as solid and dignified as opposed to flamboyant and outgoing. Winter makes the situation even worse; everything fades to a flat grey or brown. With Spring comes a resurgence of natural colour that changes everything. And then there’s the annual ritual of buying trays of pansies and geraniums….

Rabbits: We are blessed here at Garden Court to have a family of rabbits in the main courtyard. Although they are usually quite timid, I looked out a few weeks back to see one chowing down on the new growth on the hedge. Yesterday I saw a pair cavorting on the front lawn. They were obviously not interested in feeding.

So in spite of the cooler weather, Spring can’t be that far off. With that in mind, I’m off to get my motorcycle out of storage. And buy some dirt.