Sylvain and I have spent a lot of time discussing what has gone wrong in our previous relationships. One pattern he knows I don’t wish to repeat is my tendency to do more compromising of my lifestyle than the other person, more crawling into his world than he does into mine, more giving up of what makes me me than is healthy. When Sylvain was nothing more than a profile on a dating site making a bid for my attention and I gave him many reasons why I doubted we had anything in common, he said that was okay. The water in his fish bowl was murky and stagnant. He would come to my fish bowl and see what it was like.
Yet once we became involved, I found myself readying myself to move to his town. Why do we see me there and not him here? For one, he has built a lovely wheelchair-accessible home where the co-housing arrangement with his sister and parents is working just fine. For another, he has a good job he isn’t itching to leave. When we met, my house was already up for sale and I was feeling it might be time for me to make a career shift of some sort.
Until my house sells and I make a decision about where to live next, whether to visit my mom in Arkansas and if so how long to stay there, we are seeing each other every other weekend. Weekend one was spent in Niagara Falls. Meeting on neutral territory was a good idea. For weekend two and three, I rented a car and drove to his city. At the end of our long Victoria Day weekend, Sylvain said to me, “Next time I’m coming to your fish bowl.”
Because my 1908 house is not accessible, this means booking a hotel room for 3 nights. Clearly it makes more sense for me to go there where lodging is free, but Sylvain knew it would mean a lot to me for him to come see and get to know the town I will probably soon be leaving, the community that feels like one big extended family to me.
He arrived just in time for dinner; I was making chicken quesadillas for him and veggie ones for me. We unfolded the ramp he rented for the weekend, allowing him into the main floor of my house (bathrooms are upstairs and in basement–none on main floor). He got to meet Owen, who bruxed and boggled under Sylvain’s skritches. Owen has never boggled for me!
After dinner Sylvain patiently watched as I did some weeding of the front yard in anticipation of Saturday’s open house. Oh, and yes, I did find someone to cut the grass in back. I arrived home Friday to find a KW Contractor paper in my mailbox, opened it right up to the landscaping ads and called one then another number until I found someone able to come immediately. A very nice young man named Brad came within two hours and mowed the virgin jungle that hadn’t been cut at all this year. Coming away with a big, bleeding raspberry bush gash across one arm, Brad earned his fee.
Saturday was a gorgeous, sunny day that included strolling the entire length of King Street through Uptown Waterloo. Sylvain had his first ever panini at Princess Cafe. He saw my indie cinema and bookstore, my organic food mart and the dress shops where I get my sewing ideas. By happenstance, my friend Katryn passed by on her bike and said hi. At another point my friend G1 honked at us as he passed by with his friend and neighbour J.
One thing Sylvain had his heart set on was taking me shopping for something to wear. Oh, weeeeelllll, if you INSIST. And so we hopped across the street from the hotel to the mall. We were meandering in and out of shops feeling cotton sundresses in American Eagle, trying in vain to find something in stock in my size and the style we both liked in La Senza. I haven’t met too many men who enjoy going from store to store, waiting outside dressing rooms, understanding when a decision isn’t forthcoming. That’s Sylvain’s idea of a fun time.
Just as we were turning into another store, I thought I heard my name being called. Before I could decide whether I really was being hailed, I heard my name again very clearly.
“Kelly?”
I turned to find the source of the woman’s voice and met the gaze of someone I was pretty sure I’d never seen before. I stared at the lovely young woman who was walking through the mall with her family and hoped she would forgive me for not remembering where we’d met. That is one of those incidents that makes two seconds feel like an eternity.
She took me off the hook. “You don’t know me from anywhere,” she said.
Pause. Ok, then… how on earth?
“I’m a blog stalker. I’ve read your blog. I recognized you from the picture he took.” She explained whose blog lead her to mine and said she’d been reading for a few months.
I was speechless. Wow kazow! Kikipotamus the Hobo: recognized in public. How cool is that? Kat introduced herself and I introduced Sylvain.
“The rib is better,” he said to her, patting his right side.
We continued with our shopping but for the rest of the day, we kept coming back to that event, going over it again and again. Wow.
We ended Saturday night with gelato in Uptown, running into four of my female coworkers who were also headed to Whole-Lotta-Gelato. The gelateria has a step out front, so Sylvain asked me to choose a flavour for him. “You know me, I trust you,” he said.
“No, I don’t know your tastes yet. I’ll write down the flavours and come back so you can choose.” I carry a small notebook and pen in my purse, so I jotted them all down and sprang back onto the sidewalk to read them off and get his order. Back in the long line I studied the list of flavours, trying to make up my mind. The couple behind me got my attention. The husband asked me, “Excuse me. I don’t mean to be rude or nosy, but… why do you have all the flavours written down in a little book?”
I told him. They smiled. We passed them again on the sidewalk later and exchanged wishes for a fantastic evening.
Over paninis in Princess Cafe, watching the crowd come out of the cinema after Waitress and Away from Her, Syvlain commented, “I think I see what you mean now. This town does have a different feel to it. There’s a certain energy. I can’t really put my finger on it.”
Yeah.
Last night there was an email from my realtor, a report from the open house:
I had 6 couples through.
Interesting. The first lady loved it, the 2nd client was from apartments out the back and when he saw her name on the sing in sheet, he said she should have the house , waitress , works very hard etc…..he knew her, she is getting pre-approved this week.
there was a father with a son in University and thought this might be a cheap way to go and get some other students to live with him…still undecided.
An older couple , but the stairs …..no, no.
An invester , going to get back to me this week and another I assume nosy neighbour.
We shall see.
Bringing together a rich and diverse musical experience from five different countries and spanning several decades, the members of Son Ache met in Toronto to interpret and compose their favourite music; Cuban son montuno, the root of contemporary salsa. With their combined years of experience playing traditional son, the Son Ache sound is solidly based in the Cuban guajiro tradition of guitars, percussion and voices; and, reflecting the particular strengths of the musicians and the chemistry of the group is revitalized by incorporating more aggressive, high-energy rhythms. The result is a contemporary urban ‘edge’ that broadens the appeal of sw»to a wider audience of dancers and music lovers.
