My favorite piece of architecture in Hog Town!
They’re right!
Once you become famous people (scumbags?) come out of the woodwork.
For example, I was just in Pavillions this morning at the automated cashier, when I suddenly spied - what I would have to call a vague acquaintance through social circles in NYC over twenty years ago - lurking a few feet away.
With no groceries in hand, or shopping cart in sight, it suddenly dawned on me that he was surreptiously observing me.
Indeed, when I noticed his presence, he started to warble one of those fake whistles as he strode across my path in a sly effort to "unexpectedly" run into me.
What a creep.
I hastily moved on.
Just recently, a middle-aged woman contacted me through my facebook e-mail, and noted that because we were relatives we should stay in touch.
I proceeded to ignore her, at which point, she zipped off an e-mail in which she lamented:
“I’m going to put you on my facebook page” in a tone that appeared to scream:
“So there!
Now, there was no doubt in my mind that I hould give this looney-tunes character a wide berth.
A couple of years ago, I managed to connect with a long-lost brother by mail that I was separated from at about age 7, though, which turned out to be a rewarding experience.
So, one summer on a trip to Toronto, we agreed to meet.
Of course, it was fifty years since we last saw each other in person.
Each morning, I would wake up and catch sight of my brother Wayne trot into the bathroom to wash up - and carefully don a white or blue shirt, jacket, and tie - before heading out the front door.
I was left behind in my PJ's to munch down on cheerios and watch cartoons on the latest amazing invention: the television!
When I strolled up his front walk that fated day, I was immediately taken by the fact, that Wayne was blessed with my mother’s vivid blue eyes.
To this day, I can rustle up an image in my mind, of those remarkable peepers which mesmerized everyone in her presence.
.
At the time of our reunion, my brother was residing on Lamb St. in the East End of Toronto, in a home he and his wife Mary (since deceased) once shared with her father (a Fire Chief).
It was a difficult time for Wayne because - although the quaint little cottage had been "willed" to his wife - after she passed (13 years of marriage) it was discovered that her father neglected to have the will signed anf witnessed by an attorney.
Fortunately, my brother's in-laws had a heart.
Although Mary's two brothers weren’t inclined to allow my brother to take full ownership, they agreed to split the house into three shares - one for Wayne -and one for each surviving sibling.
The brothers initially allowed for a time of mourning, but, soon began to pressure my brother into selling the property.
I noticed right away that in its current state of disrepair that there would only be low-ball offers.
A bit of renovation - and landscaping - might improve its curbside appeal - and likewise - boost the potential sale price.
But, the “brothers” were anxious to get the property off their hands, and move on.
Needless to say, Wayne was under a lot of stress, and depressed at the thought of relocating.
There were so many fond memories of moments he and his wife shared together in their home that were difficult to shake.
To help ease the pressure, Wayne and I would jump in a used vehicle he had recently purchased, and take day-trips North of Toronto where we explored quaint little towns and rummaged through yard sales and out-of-the-way shops.
Ah, we had a common interest in antiques!
My brother was hooked on the horse races, by the way, as were my mother (deceased) and older brother (deceased).
Wayne was a ballsy gambler, too.
When he was down to a couple of bucks, he’d pick a long shot, and end up a winner.
He must have had horseshoes up his a** or - just maybe - it was the luck of the Irish, eh?
I was also amazed at his good fortune when it came to a bet that required the gambler pick three horses - and their correct placement in each specific race - during the course of the afternoon.
Although I surmised that the odds (mathematics bearing down on the situation) were against him - but time and time again - he hit the jackpot.
Whenever I accompanied my older brother to the track (Woodbine) I usually partook in the exciting Sport of Kings.
Unlike Wayne - who based his bets on track record, blood lines, and the competition in the race - I usually bet on a horse based on the name (especially if I got a psychic impression it was the way to go).
Wayne (and the staff at the ticket line) were amazed at my constant wins!
Unfortunately, I am a cautious with my bets.
Because I only plunked down $2 or $3 for a - win, place, or show ticket - my winnings never amounted to more than 30 bucks!
But, at least I didn't go home broke with hat in hand.
But the adrenalin rush when your horse dashes across the finish line is exhilarating.
On occasion when we went shopping at second-time-around (vintage?) clothing stores, I'd laugh when Wayne would make a beeline for the wildly-pattered silk short-sleeved Hawaiian shirts which he teamed up with a jaunty hat and stylish shorts.
I can't stand those shirts!
A few weeks ago he remembered my birthday.
So, I may have to venture into Goodwill or Out-of-the-Closet to locate a snazzy addition for his collection, since his birthday is on the horizon (easy to recall 7/11).
He remembered mine in May, which was a total shocker.
I guess I'll toss in a sexy Birthday Card (he adores women) and a racing form to boot!
It's kind of comforting to know you're not alone in the world, eh?
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