Not
a very long street, just off a major arterial, it is shaped like a
question mark. At the conclusion of the bulge it meanders into another
street. One half of the street backs onto a heavily wooded ravine, a
neighbourhood treasure, though few of the street's residents quite
recognize its value, nor make use of its propinquity. It cleanses the
air everyone breathes, it hosts birds and wildlife and presents a
treasury of wildflowers throughout the seasons. At
one time the street, part of a larger suburban community, shared a
small-town address. It has long since been subsumed into the greater
national capital of the country, through a wide-ranging amalgamation of
communities and even farms. The street and the houses on it were built
two and a half decades ago. The domiciles are comprised mostly of
single-family, detached dwellings, with a handful of semis verging on
the main thoroughfare. Many
of the residents are the original home purchasers. They would comprise
roughly 50% of the residents of the street. The semis appear to have
changed hands far more often than the detached homes. And those homes
that have been re-sold have often enjoyed a succession of owners. The
original home owners who moved into their houses when their children
were small have mostly bid farewell to now-grown children. The
street represents an amalgam of family types, and there is a
significant percentage at this time, of retired people, singly and in
couples who, though their houses are meant for family occupation, still
opt to remain in their too-large, but comfortable and familiar and
valued homes. It is a very quiet street, with little traffic other than
those who live there. The house fronts are diverse, and attractive. Most
residents take care of their homes, seeing them as their primary
investments. Furnaces have been replaced, and air conditioners, and also
windows. Kitchens and bathrooms have been remodelled, and people have
added decks and occasionally airy 'summer houses' to the backs of their
homes. One-third of the homes boast swimming pools, in-ground and
above-ground. Most
people take pride in their properties, and feel they must achieve lawns
that are weedless and smoothly green. Some painstakingly remove weeds
by hand in the spring, others hire lawn-care companies to spread
chemicals on their lawns. Invariably, the people who look after their
own gardens and lawns have superior gardens and lawns. Each house has a
large tree planted in front; maples, ash,crabapples, spruce or pine,
fully mature. This
is a community that is truly mixed, representing people from around the
world, come to Canada as immigrants, settled and making the most of
opportunities open to all its citizens in a free and open society noted
for its pluralism and dedication to fair representation. There are the
extroverts and the introverts, those who prefer not to mingle, others
who do. They are herewith loosely sketched:
This is the ninth part of the anatomy of The Street.
Another family on the opposite side of the street again, who had originally bought the house they still live in. Their children were fairly mature, already attending high school, when they made their move. The father francophone, the mother as anglo as you can get, Canadian-style. The children moving easily between both worlds, but attending a French-language school. Both boys, neither of whom were seen very much out on the street. Nor, for that matter, were their parents the type to be out and about; very interior, cloistered people.
It took quite a few years before the father seemed to be able to become sufficiently relaxed with his neighbours to lend himself to a casual chat. If the wife happened to come face to face with another neighbour, an acknowledgement of the other's presence was clipped and precise, with no opportunity to open up for a casual encounter. When neighbourhood canvassers came along representing one charitable enterprise or another the response was always the same. No interest in responding, no intent to make a contribution. Thank you very much.
He was a long-time employee of the city's public transit system, had worked himself into a supervisory position. The reason he was seen often outside the house was that he immersed himself in the serious business of tending to their lawn. It was of utmost moment that the grass be mowed at the same time, same day of the week. It had to be immaculate to reflect their house values and it was generally agreed that it was the best-looking lawn on the street. The lawn, not any gardening was the primary concern.
And their two vehicles were needful of constant cleaning and washing. An act of love, it appeared, his dedication to maintaining the cosmetic appeal of the cars. A religious act of selfless attention to the well-being of their instruments of passage through life's material demands; to work and then home again, and in the reverse. She worked as an office secretary at a school, but not the school their children attended. She was physically larger than her husband, pleasant in appearance, and their regard for one another obvious.
He was of medium height and spare, with a lean face and a tentative almost-smile. When he spoke it was with an air of seriousness, with a dollop of skepticism. He became animated only when he spoke of grass, cars and his work with the transit commission. When the drivers went on strike and people would grouse about the inconvenience, he became a union spokesman, to those with whom he would converse, explaining the discontent of the drivers and the support staff.
The boys graduated from high school, got jobs of their own and gradually migrated away from their parents and their home, finding their own apartments, sharing them first with friends and then with live-in partners. Eventually, both left the city to find work elsewhere, occasionally returning, singly, for brief visits with their parents. Who were extremely proud of their boys as was evidenced by the way the father would occasionally refer to their new lives to the few neighbours with whom he had become comfortable.
The neighbour who lived directly beside them spoke to his own neighbours about having been informed that the man of the household had been diagnosed with colon cancer. He was being treated, and was rather ill. He would be seen, months later, wan, outside his home, attempting to reintroduce himself to the tasks that had given him so much pleasure, previously. While he was still in treatment mode, he never exited the house but to attend hospital, after surgery.
The little old woman who lived halfway down the street, and who regularly went out each April to canvass for the Cancer Society thought now was her opportunity; they wouldn't refuse a donation this year. But they did. The woman of the house broke down, telling the canvasser that her husband was ill, was recovering from an operation. The older woman comforted her, said she'd lost both her parents to cancer, but they were elderly. She assured the weeping woman that her husband would recover his health.
And he did. But they still refused to contribute to any charitable fund, much less that of the Cancer Society. It was good to see him become himself again. And finally it was as though nothing amiss had ever occurred. He looked like his old self, and comported himself accordingly. Back to tenderly and meticulously tending the lawn. Washing the cars. Speaking with confidence now to the few neighbours with whom he had finally established a speaking relationship.
None of the neighbours has ever been invited to venture into their house. One neighbour was taken on a tour of the backyard, however, having expressed curiosity at the materials used in the construction of the new deck the couple had had built for themselves at the back of the house. The backyard was as neatly trimmed as the front lawn. Because of his long-term employment and the benefits that had accrued to him, his months of recovery time were covered by his union contract. And then, he retired.
They have taken up bicycling, the husband and wife. Not in the area; they bought a bicycle carrier for the back of one of the cars, and off they go, to return hours later, solemnly removing the bicycles from the racks on the car. Disappearing back into their home, until next time they went off for another recreational ride. Once a week, same day every week.
Precisely where, no one knows.
This is the ninth part of the anatomy of The Street.
Another family on the opposite side of the street again, who had originally bought the house they still live in. Their children were fairly mature, already attending high school, when they made their move. The father francophone, the mother as anglo as you can get, Canadian-style. The children moving easily between both worlds, but attending a French-language school. Both boys, neither of whom were seen very much out on the street. Nor, for that matter, were their parents the type to be out and about; very interior, cloistered people.
It took quite a few years before the father seemed to be able to become sufficiently relaxed with his neighbours to lend himself to a casual chat. If the wife happened to come face to face with another neighbour, an acknowledgement of the other's presence was clipped and precise, with no opportunity to open up for a casual encounter. When neighbourhood canvassers came along representing one charitable enterprise or another the response was always the same. No interest in responding, no intent to make a contribution. Thank you very much.
He was a long-time employee of the city's public transit system, had worked himself into a supervisory position. The reason he was seen often outside the house was that he immersed himself in the serious business of tending to their lawn. It was of utmost moment that the grass be mowed at the same time, same day of the week. It had to be immaculate to reflect their house values and it was generally agreed that it was the best-looking lawn on the street. The lawn, not any gardening was the primary concern.
And their two vehicles were needful of constant cleaning and washing. An act of love, it appeared, his dedication to maintaining the cosmetic appeal of the cars. A religious act of selfless attention to the well-being of their instruments of passage through life's material demands; to work and then home again, and in the reverse. She worked as an office secretary at a school, but not the school their children attended. She was physically larger than her husband, pleasant in appearance, and their regard for one another obvious.
He was of medium height and spare, with a lean face and a tentative almost-smile. When he spoke it was with an air of seriousness, with a dollop of skepticism. He became animated only when he spoke of grass, cars and his work with the transit commission. When the drivers went on strike and people would grouse about the inconvenience, he became a union spokesman, to those with whom he would converse, explaining the discontent of the drivers and the support staff.
The boys graduated from high school, got jobs of their own and gradually migrated away from their parents and their home, finding their own apartments, sharing them first with friends and then with live-in partners. Eventually, both left the city to find work elsewhere, occasionally returning, singly, for brief visits with their parents. Who were extremely proud of their boys as was evidenced by the way the father would occasionally refer to their new lives to the few neighbours with whom he had become comfortable.
The neighbour who lived directly beside them spoke to his own neighbours about having been informed that the man of the household had been diagnosed with colon cancer. He was being treated, and was rather ill. He would be seen, months later, wan, outside his home, attempting to reintroduce himself to the tasks that had given him so much pleasure, previously. While he was still in treatment mode, he never exited the house but to attend hospital, after surgery.
The little old woman who lived halfway down the street, and who regularly went out each April to canvass for the Cancer Society thought now was her opportunity; they wouldn't refuse a donation this year. But they did. The woman of the house broke down, telling the canvasser that her husband was ill, was recovering from an operation. The older woman comforted her, said she'd lost both her parents to cancer, but they were elderly. She assured the weeping woman that her husband would recover his health.
And he did. But they still refused to contribute to any charitable fund, much less that of the Cancer Society. It was good to see him become himself again. And finally it was as though nothing amiss had ever occurred. He looked like his old self, and comported himself accordingly. Back to tenderly and meticulously tending the lawn. Washing the cars. Speaking with confidence now to the few neighbours with whom he had finally established a speaking relationship.
None of the neighbours has ever been invited to venture into their house. One neighbour was taken on a tour of the backyard, however, having expressed curiosity at the materials used in the construction of the new deck the couple had had built for themselves at the back of the house. The backyard was as neatly trimmed as the front lawn. Because of his long-term employment and the benefits that had accrued to him, his months of recovery time were covered by his union contract. And then, he retired.
They have taken up bicycling, the husband and wife. Not in the area; they bought a bicycle carrier for the back of one of the cars, and off they go, to return hours later, solemnly removing the bicycles from the racks on the car. Disappearing back into their home, until next time they went off for another recreational ride. Once a week, same day every week.
Precisely where, no one knows.
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