15 October 2026 – At a first quick glance, walking along East 10th, I think it’s just another Hallowe’en-themed front yard — the usual cliché cemetery.
Then I step closer, and realize we are being offered quite a different category of deaths.
18 August 2026 – Every now and then, I challenge myself to live up to the Marcel Proust quote on my home page: “The voyage of discovery is not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.” What a concept! It is within our own power, to make the “old” endlessly new.
I decide to walk myself north along a very familiar stretch of Main Street — with new eyes. I start at 30th Avenue.
I am almost immediately rewarded with Kissing Crows.
I love everything about this sign: hand-lettered, informative, friendly, giving good reasons please to honour the request.
The cycle shop’s storefront, right next door, is very classy, very handsome…
but I still love the laneway notice best.
Slight deviation at East 28th. A few steps eastward, to enjoy the north/south contrast either side of the avenue.
On the north: a grotty old, environmentally-worthy old, recycling depot. Thank you, Joe.
On the south: the cool elegance of Mercurial Boutique Clothing, with its “curated” (I quote) collections.
I check a few price tags, out here on the sidewalk, and quietly slink away.
Back to Main Street!
All the happy combinations on offer, up and down Main: not just of what to buy/eat/do, but of choices within each category, often in the same location.
Here, for example, you can drink draft beer or, if you’d rather, Vietnamese coffee. (Or a fresh avocado smoothie.)
Happy customers inside, choosing their favourites; happy woman outside, scrolling her phone as she walks.
There is ramen…
there are records…
and there’s the reminder of a late-summer sale.
There are animals — to inform us, to amuse us, to loosen our purse strings.
The tattoo parlour skunk…
the fitness studio ants…
the welcoming Maneki Neko cats…
and the welcoming dachshund.
People linger, this pleasant summer afternoon.
They linger over everything from sidewalk books…
to a sidewalk coffee (which he is enjoying with his own hardcover book, thank you very much).
I almost linger myself right through this doorway…
because the Regional Assembly of Text is one of my favourite places in the whole city. Run by two Emily Carr University grads, it offers a whole world of everything relating to print and text, some vintage, some current, much of it locally made.
But I don’t fall through the door.
Instead, I find myself nipping eastward ’round the next corner. My new eyes are having a good time, but my old ears suddenly don’t want all the noise of an urban main artery.
Once off Main Street — just like that — my new eyes and my old ears are both equally happy.
3 July 2026 – It’s the motion that first catches my attention.
Not what is moving; just the fact of motion. Then I register what is moving. Lots of little white tags, dancing with the breeze that flutters through the branches of this tree.
Odd how one’s attention moves through stages, refining focus.
Next, I register the tree trunk, with its arc of red & white letters.
Finally, I tip back my head and start a flutter-dance of my own, reading tags.
31 March 2026 – Good grief, I sound like an infomercial. But what’s a girl to do? There I was, after posting Old & New, minding my own business, waiting for a #99 at Ontario & Broadway.
Just across the corner, I see this:
What?? I investigate.
A whole new, and agreeably perplexing, category for Old & New.
Very old stop sign, its official cap long gone, plus, up there on top, a very new burst of mystery greenery.
Nothing special about either the stop sign or the greenery, except the combination of the two.
What knocked the official top-of-sign off the sign? What then deposited enough city grit & grime in the sign pole to form a growing medium? How long did it take? What then (wind, bird, Act of God) deposited mystery seeds — plink!!! — so precisely into that growing medium? When did that happen?
We’ll never know, and it doesn’t matter.
We can just take it as it comes. A mystery gift from the city, to us.
"Traveller, there is no path. Paths are made by walking" -- Antonio Machado (1875-1939)
"The voyage of discovery is not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes" -- Marcel Proust (1871-1922)
"A city is a language, a repository of possibilities, and walking is the act of speaking that language, of selecting from those possibilities" -- Rebecca Solnit, "Wanderlust: A History of Walking"