3 Comments

  1. Sylvia
    August 25, 2017 @ 8:22 pm

    In those early days, I didn’t know how much my life would unravel living in the house on Harvard Street. I had bought it quickly, in a bidding war, and immediately knew I was in over my head. But I needed to please my realtor (we’d been looking for over a year for the “perfect house”); I needed to please my parents who had offered a substantial down payment as an early inheritance (what had gotten this whole “buy a house” thing going, and truly, how could I say no?); I needed to please my boyfriend who was tired of my 500 square foot apartment; I needed to please everyone but myself. Even though I harbored thoughts of friends gathered cozily around the gas fireplace, hosting family dinners, and having a garden of my own to grow flowers and vegetables, when it came down to it I just wanted to read and knit colorful sweaters and leg warmers, not be a responsible home owner. But I did it, and waited, and waited, and waited for that proud home owner feeling to come (I guess you might be suspecting that it didn’t show up, right?). See, little did I know what was to come and what would happen to me living in that house. Was the house cursed? Was I cursed? Am I making more of a spectacle of this than it was? I don’t know, but in the time I lived in the 1100 square foot raised bungalow on Harvard Street, I tragically broke my ankle (it was dangling from my leg, yes it was), terminated an unwanted pregnancy (too much information, I know), and got bit by a friend’s dog. None of these events transpired in the home itself but it did get me wondering about my future happiness and how that happiness was likely never going to happen living in that house. So reader, I sold it. And I am a happy renter, now and forever. Amen.

  2. Jacky
    September 7, 2017 @ 8:46 pm

    So odd, to be moving into a new house for the first time in my life with a man! We were middle-aged? (If we’re kind to ourselves.) “Living in sin”? Didn’t feel a bit sinful – just exciting and young.

    It’s a lovely place. Light, airy, spectacular garden. Les and I didn’t expect we could afford a palace in the Beaches; were planning to buy north of Kingston Road. But this had a sitting tenant paying rent in the basement apartment, and the bank said no problem at all. We had a month overlap on the closings, so we were able to have the whole house painted while it was still empty. Fresh yellows, blues, greens, mauve in the kitchen – Les picked that.

    We bought a new leather sofa, big and cushy, and had it delivered before we moved in. We’ve lived on that sofa more than 10 years now. It’s showing its age.

    So are we.

    I guess we knew we would grow older in this house, but did we really understand we would grow OLD? That like the sofa we would wear out? That our hides would turn loose and wrinkly and our bottoms would sag?

    This summer we got a builder in to refresh the house. We paid someone to make the garden look spectacular again. And I am resolved to go out this weekend and buy a new sofa. We will not ease silently into decrepitude and resignation! We will be young again! (Even if it kills us.)

    Watch out world, the McCurries are coming!

  3. Christine
    October 18, 2017 @ 1:26 pm

    In those early days I didn’t know who I could be, how I could be. It was full of promise. I could make friends again. I could be hugged again. I didn’t know how to love the weird bits I carried around, I thought I was all the wrong shape. I didn’t know how cold Montreal could be. I didn’t know the depths of her snow. I didn’t know Alexia had all the complexities of the rest of us, with the shininess of the rest of them. I didn’t know I’d keep meeting shame, over and over again. I didn’t know sleeping on the top bunk would suck so much. I’d slept on top bunks so much of my life. I didn’t know I’d crack my ankle. I didn’t know how much drinking I was about to do. I didn’t know how lonely I was. I knew I had hated Guelph. I didn’t know that meant I had hated myself. I saw the box and was comforted. Someone like me. Someone from away. I didn’t know you could be from here and away and make it look so vapid. I was a hole in her life, a mockery. I was a mess she dragged around and it must have been so embarrassing for her. For all of them. I made it work, I floated. But I’d take a lot of it back. It hurt me a lot, to be so ashamed all the time. To be the crazy one. I lashed out. I had to. I had smothered myself so completely. I didn’t know I had twisted this all up inside and came out warpy. I missed being loved. It took a long time to find that again. It took a long time not to think I must be ugly because they were all so smooth. They weren’t smooth. They just were disgusted at how I made them look. The poverty within them I hung around my neck.

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