Don’t it always seem to go, that you don’t what you’ve got til it’s gone?” – Joni Mitchell
Tuesday late afternoon I had seen my naturopath, who put me on a multi-vitamin, calcium and magnesium. She also told me that I was having issues with toxicity and cellular metabolism. (Damn! I knew those Friday margaritas would come back to haunt my ass.)
After my appointment, I had the brilliant idea of trying to catch a last minute pedicure somewhere. I’d been fighting another sinus infection and having basically felt like ass for two weeks, I thought it would be nice to have a pre-vacation day spa treat. I’m trying to get better at giving myself small pleasures here and there.
But practically speaking, I wanted to get my gorilla legs waxed. I had to let them go a week longer because of an ingrown hair. Ingrown hair + waxing = OH.MAH.GUH.
So I ended up getting a booking at a relatively new spa called Elixir. Indigo had spoken highly of it, and since they are one of the first, if not the first spa in the city to feature products with non-synthetic ingredients, I decided to give it a try. The receptionist told me that if I could get there at 5:45 p.m., I could get both waxing and a pedicure done.
Traffic was ok until Richmond Street. I don’t know what was going on, but it was brutal. Also, it doesn’t help that there is a particular kind of absent mindedness that comes with sinus infections. Frankly, it takes the concept of "space cadet" to a whole new level. I ended up getting parked pretty far away from the salon, thinking I was much closer. But given the traffic situation, it was probably just as well. Soon after I hit the street, I knew how long the walk would take me. I wasn’t so sure about the drive.
I arrived at the spa after 10 minutes of power walking in office clothes, impractical shoes and searing summer heat. I’d made it for 6:00 p.m. and was told I could only get the pedicure. So I said that I wasn’t comfortable with that and honestly, you’d have thought I’d hit the receptionist/owner with a two by four.
I dunno. Call me crazy, but I don’t think it unreasonable to not want your hair man-legs handled and massaged. It kind of kills the essential girly factor of a pedicure don’t you think?
Anyway, after my pouting and the fact that the six o’clock appointment was late anyway, they fit me in, which I greatly appreciated. Suitably buffed and puffed, I departed an hour and fifteen minutes later and decided to go the side street route back to my car and walk by my old apartment.
It was interesting seeing how much the neighbourhood had changed. I arrived ten years ago, just prior to its renaissance. Back then, it was seedy and worn out, just on the verge of the trendy loft conversions that would expand Queen West’s cool factor beyond Bathurst Street. Now it’s chock full of smart shops, mature trees and insanely priced real estate.
I arrived at my old apartment, which was the top floor of a small house. I noticed that two of the rose bushes I had left behind were flourishing beautifully, and I have to admit that I got a little misty thinking of my cat Mojo and all the time he spent out on the porch. This was the first real living space I’d ever had. Before that, all I’d known were cramped dorm rooms, so despite its size, I relished having my own kitchen, bathroom and company.
I’ve now lived in my current home six years, nearly twice as long as I did in my old apartment and yet my time there seems longer. So many important things happened to me. I tried to get an acting career on its feet, I became ill and more importantly, recovered. I had my first really serious relationship which ultimately was not a good one, but the experience let me see the real love I had gained when I met the Marine. I learned the joys of a purely self-directed lifestyle, something everybody should try at least once.
Mulling all this, I noticed the garden was more manicured and that my composter was gone.
As I started to walk away, I had one of those “Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaait a minute” moments. Something was still bugging me. Something was off.
And when I walked back I realized what it was. The tree was gone. The tree that was in the bottom west corner of the yard, that was three feet in diameter and that had to be at least 150 years old was gone. I’m trying to figure out how this happened. Toronto is renowned for its strict laws banning the cutting down of trees in the city, particularly old ones. I wondered if the tree had maybe been damaged in the storms we’ve had over the last few weeks. Maybe it was threatening a power line? Who knows?
I remember one of the big selling points to me about my current home was the fact that a similar tree was in the front yard. I didn’t think I’d luck out and get two old trees in a row. I love it. I feel like it watches over our house. It’s exactly the way I felt about the tree at my old apartment. It seemed immovable and timeless.
At one time, all the land from my old apartment to way past my home was rolling forest. There’s so many old trees from that forest that were kept as part of my neighbourhood. As silly as it sounds, I wonder if the trees lament their old world. There are times when you see glimmers and feel brushes of it; heading out on an early summer morning with the sun in a prism through the leaves, in the fall when the boughs roll and toss in unison with the wind, in the spring when the pent up energy of the buds is about to burst and the whole neighbourhood feels like it’s just about to take a huge inhalation of breath right before it jumps into summer.
I was thinking of this as I looked at the now treeless stamp of earth, a little too manicured, a little too controlled, but could only muster the verbal profundity of “You a**holes.”
My heart now as heavy as my swollen feet, I walked to my car and drove home, happy to remove my shoes which for some reason were causing me extreme pain. Turned out the esthetician had pumiced my feet to within an inch of their lives. I had swatches of exposed skin, red and indignant as a raw steak slapped on a countertop.
Sometimes, a day off feels a little too well earned, know what I mean?
Tuesday late afternoon I had seen my naturopath, who put me on a multi-vitamin, calcium and magnesium. She also told me that I was having issues with toxicity and cellular metabolism. (Damn! I knew those Friday margaritas would come back to haunt my ass.)
After my appointment, I had the brilliant idea of trying to catch a last minute pedicure somewhere. I’d been fighting another sinus infection and having basically felt like ass for two weeks, I thought it would be nice to have a pre-vacation day spa treat. I’m trying to get better at giving myself small pleasures here and there.
But practically speaking, I wanted to get my gorilla legs waxed. I had to let them go a week longer because of an ingrown hair. Ingrown hair + waxing = OH.MAH.GUH.
So I ended up getting a booking at a relatively new spa called Elixir. Indigo had spoken highly of it, and since they are one of the first, if not the first spa in the city to feature products with non-synthetic ingredients, I decided to give it a try. The receptionist told me that if I could get there at 5:45 p.m., I could get both waxing and a pedicure done.
Traffic was ok until Richmond Street. I don’t know what was going on, but it was brutal. Also, it doesn’t help that there is a particular kind of absent mindedness that comes with sinus infections. Frankly, it takes the concept of "space cadet" to a whole new level. I ended up getting parked pretty far away from the salon, thinking I was much closer. But given the traffic situation, it was probably just as well. Soon after I hit the street, I knew how long the walk would take me. I wasn’t so sure about the drive.
I arrived at the spa after 10 minutes of power walking in office clothes, impractical shoes and searing summer heat. I’d made it for 6:00 p.m. and was told I could only get the pedicure. So I said that I wasn’t comfortable with that and honestly, you’d have thought I’d hit the receptionist/owner with a two by four.
I dunno. Call me crazy, but I don’t think it unreasonable to not want your hair man-legs handled and massaged. It kind of kills the essential girly factor of a pedicure don’t you think?
Anyway, after my pouting and the fact that the six o’clock appointment was late anyway, they fit me in, which I greatly appreciated. Suitably buffed and puffed, I departed an hour and fifteen minutes later and decided to go the side street route back to my car and walk by my old apartment.
It was interesting seeing how much the neighbourhood had changed. I arrived ten years ago, just prior to its renaissance. Back then, it was seedy and worn out, just on the verge of the trendy loft conversions that would expand Queen West’s cool factor beyond Bathurst Street. Now it’s chock full of smart shops, mature trees and insanely priced real estate.
I arrived at my old apartment, which was the top floor of a small house. I noticed that two of the rose bushes I had left behind were flourishing beautifully, and I have to admit that I got a little misty thinking of my cat Mojo and all the time he spent out on the porch. This was the first real living space I’d ever had. Before that, all I’d known were cramped dorm rooms, so despite its size, I relished having my own kitchen, bathroom and company.
I’ve now lived in my current home six years, nearly twice as long as I did in my old apartment and yet my time there seems longer. So many important things happened to me. I tried to get an acting career on its feet, I became ill and more importantly, recovered. I had my first really serious relationship which ultimately was not a good one, but the experience let me see the real love I had gained when I met the Marine. I learned the joys of a purely self-directed lifestyle, something everybody should try at least once.
Mulling all this, I noticed the garden was more manicured and that my composter was gone.
As I started to walk away, I had one of those “Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaait a minute” moments. Something was still bugging me. Something was off.
And when I walked back I realized what it was. The tree was gone. The tree that was in the bottom west corner of the yard, that was three feet in diameter and that had to be at least 150 years old was gone. I’m trying to figure out how this happened. Toronto is renowned for its strict laws banning the cutting down of trees in the city, particularly old ones. I wondered if the tree had maybe been damaged in the storms we’ve had over the last few weeks. Maybe it was threatening a power line? Who knows?
I remember one of the big selling points to me about my current home was the fact that a similar tree was in the front yard. I didn’t think I’d luck out and get two old trees in a row. I love it. I feel like it watches over our house. It’s exactly the way I felt about the tree at my old apartment. It seemed immovable and timeless.
At one time, all the land from my old apartment to way past my home was rolling forest. There’s so many old trees from that forest that were kept as part of my neighbourhood. As silly as it sounds, I wonder if the trees lament their old world. There are times when you see glimmers and feel brushes of it; heading out on an early summer morning with the sun in a prism through the leaves, in the fall when the boughs roll and toss in unison with the wind, in the spring when the pent up energy of the buds is about to burst and the whole neighbourhood feels like it’s just about to take a huge inhalation of breath right before it jumps into summer.
I was thinking of this as I looked at the now treeless stamp of earth, a little too manicured, a little too controlled, but could only muster the verbal profundity of “You a**holes.”
My heart now as heavy as my swollen feet, I walked to my car and drove home, happy to remove my shoes which for some reason were causing me extreme pain. Turned out the esthetician had pumiced my feet to within an inch of their lives. I had swatches of exposed skin, red and indignant as a raw steak slapped on a countertop.
Sometimes, a day off feels a little too well earned, know what I mean?
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