Posts
The magic of the ordinary captures me every time I allow myself to pay attention. When the subway is crowded I usually pull out my current book and hold it in one hand while strap-hanging with the other, but today I had no desire to do it. I was less interested in the book because I had mistakenly grabbed a book I'd already read. Uncharacteristically I can remember not just the villain of this one but also the exciting, dramatic, near-fatal kidnapping that ends the book, So I wasn't too eager to contort myself to read-while-standing.
Instead, I held the strap with one hand and was content to balance, eyes closed, for the length of the journey. It was much more restful than trying to read. At each station I would let my eyes flicker open enough to see the dozens of potential passengers on the platform and to wonder how they would fit into our crowded car.
Finally a seat opened up and as I sat I watched the crowd exit through the platform crowd pushing to enter. Clueless passengers sometimes block the area, making the shift even more difficult.
At Bay Street station a young Asian mother entered (with difficulty) pushing a baby carriage with one hand and, with her other, holding the hand of her four-year-old daughter. She left the car a few stations later, and as the train pulled out I saw the young mother and her charges on the platform, standing near the elevator. The four-year-old was intently watching the train leave, one hand raised in a tentative but friendly good-bye. I waved back but she didn't see me. It didn't matter, since she was waving to the train, not to any specific passenger. Bye-bye train.
On the same platform ten feet along was a young father with a nine-month-old strapped, facing outward, to his chest. The baby was also waving good-bye. I could hear those two parents engaging the attention of their little ones (say bye-bye to the train) because I remember doing the same thing with Sam and Georgia when they were little. Bye-bye train.
Walking east on Dearborn Street I passed a message pinned to a telephone pole. It was an arrow cut from yellow construction paper, and it was taped to the pole with the point of the arrow headed west. Drawn on the arrow in red magic marker were four hearts—three small-ish ones along the tail of the arrow and one large one that filled the point. What was the meaning? My dear love lives this way (west of me)? Go this way to find your (or another's) heart? It wasn't a commercial message, unless it was informing the neighbourhood that delicious, loving, heart-filled lemonade could be found at a stall over there by Broadview.
My best guess is this: a little boy/girl was announcing to the world his/her (their, in current parlance) love for the boy/girl who lived one house to the west of the artist. It was a bold and fearless pronouncement of love. If gnomic.
These were the magic adventures of that day. How can one fail to be moved by such visible signs of our connection? Perhaps similar moments would be clear to me even if I were driving a car, but I doubt it. Navigating Toronto traffic, I would not be free to notice anything else, no matter how magical.
Food blog: http://fastandfearlesscooking.blogspot.ca
No comments:
Post a Comment