It is a dark, dreary, dank, damp, dreadful day here in Toronto. And all of us aging beasts here in this house are feeling its effect. I have been shuffling around like someone at least ten years older than I am. Everything aches — knees, feet, back, legs, even the follicles of my hair. It makes me grouchy and sad and not very creative. So I can’t expect a lot from this writing. Besides, I walk around now with the dark cloud of losing my beautiful home hovering ever closer over my head.
The cats are just as grouchy. Rose, with her degenerative knee joint (maybe she’ll have to get a “Harriet” put in) is sitting on the back of the couch grousing about her condition. She, with her back to the table, pretends that she’s not talking to me but if I don’t respond with a “You ok Rose?” she starts moaning louder. Poor girl, she’s already suffered the embarrassment this week of not being about to jump up on the bed. Every morning while I’m up there doing my meditative body scan, she comes up to join me and do her own version in her own way. That morning, I heard the click-click-click of her nails on the floor then her her lift off from her back feet and then her nails clutching at the blanket and then the plop of her fall. She was so embarrassed. She crept away afterwards, head down, sad that her life had come to that reality. I could have warned her that this aging will get worse before it gets better but I was meditating and didn’t want that negativity to creep into my thoughts. But, then today, with that memory still fresh, she had to contend with Nick. To compensate for his own misery over this day, he decided it would be a good idea to rev up his testosterone and attack his sister. Is that a sign of his own aging process? Gads, I hope not.
I think all three of us aging beasts need some sunshine and a new home. The reality of our impending homelessness hangs over the air in this place just like the teetering stack of boxes in the corner — all reminders that tempus fugit. I am thankful to dear Len who gave us tenants a reprieve so we don’t have to move until May or June. Wiggle room is always appreciated at times like this. Especially when there’s a 1% vacancy rate of rental properties in Toronto and unbelievable, skyrocketing prices. It’s down right shocking. The other day I saw a room for rent for the same price that I now pay for this amazing apartment. But, I am keeping the faith — some days anyway. That’s when I am absolutely, positively, 100% certain that I will find the place for us, in this neighbourhood and at a price the will still allow me to feed the cats and me — or, at least the former.
When I say that to some people — well, actually most people — they’ll look at me like I’ve been visiting the marijuana cafe at the corner a little too often. They also feel they have the obligation to shatter that dream by telling me a horror story about someone they know who ventured into this same rental market and came out poorer and unhappier and probably aged beyond recognition. Yesterday the story was of a woman’s daughter who, with her diligent partner, arrived at rentals as soon as they were listed and would find lines of people already there to look at the property. Alas, alas, what are we to do?
Well, we aging beasts here today will choose to keep the faith and believe our “fairy tales” of our future come May. And, maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to start visiting that cafe on the corner. I wonder if they sell marjuana Temptations?