What is it now that has you questioning the why and how?
We can, and we should, question our thoughts or plans, even our direction. It is only natural to wonder if our path is moving the right way, or if we should be choosing some other route.
There is a lot to absorb along the way, there always was. Do we pay enough attention now, or did we ever? What have we ignored or looked over?
What didn’t we see?
What needs to be revisited?
We can’t always take it in stride.
10/28/2024 j.g.l.
You catch yourself wanting to say,
to ask, to cry out for help, for attention
or for effect. Even if only to see
if anybody is listening. Yet you don’t.
Anger ignites, anxiety rages, and the
consequences of a handful of
wholly conscious decisions scorch
the fragility of the present. It matters
not what tinder was sacrificed
to the flame, for now it is ash. Now
useless. Consumed. There is nothing
else left. You know, deep down,
what matters is what you ask, or say,
to the one person who has always
been there. See yourself. Be yourself.
© 2016 j.g. lewis
I went out for a walk yesterday afternoon in only my shirtsleeves. The weather of late has been unseasonably mild with decent daily temperatures stretching out over the past week. Yesterday, apparently, was to be the last of it and I was not about to ignore the delightful weather.
It truly hasn’t felt like autumn yet.
Most of the trees in the parks remain a luscious green. There have been few chilly mornings. I keep waiting for the vibrant colours I enjoy each fall. I haven’t yet been inspired to take out my camera to capture the season before we see only the dismal greys of winter.
I eventually settled in at a favorite park, took out my sketchbook and pastels and enjoyed time to myself. St. James Park, over the years, has become a comforting place with the shock of tulips that bloom each spring, its well-maintained flower beds through the summer months, the fountain that doubles as a bird bath, and all the tall respectable trees. Often, I will visit the park and sit with a cup of coffee or become engaged with my camera or sketchbook. Yesterday, unplanned as it was, turned into one of those days.
I did a little thinking about where I am, at times reflecting on the summer that was (and wasn’t). I continue to acknowledge that the relocation I plan with has not yet taken place. My mind has been filled this year with expectations of a move back to a city that brings me familial and familiar comfort. The timeline, now, is not what it was at the beginning of the year, and it looks less and less likely that I will end the year in the place I want to be. There is so much uncertainty right now, but not my resolve to get out of the crowded city I have come to know for, essentially, a decade.
I have become content here, but it does not feel like home.
After a while, yesterday, with the sun occasionally shedding its light I realized I was no longer sketching. I was only sitting and thinking and slowly becoming aware of the sounds that surrounded me. For the longest time I had been oblivious to the continual din of downtown traffic.
It might have been the sound of leaves changing colour that alerted me, or the slight gusts of wind that disturbed the trees and sent the foliage falling to the sidewalk. It was the moment I realized that autumn had finally arrived.
I am still here.
10/24/2024 j.g.l.
I'm like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
It’s one of those places you pass by as you walk or drive down the street, a neighbourhood restaurant like so many others.
Now, I’ve never been inside the Morning Glory — it’s on one of those streets where I rarely travel, and really not that close to my neighbourhood — but it was one of those places I intended on getting to someday.
Unfortunately, I will not have the opportunity.
The Morning Glory closed down at some point during these past pandemic months. It is like so many other neighbourhood restaurants or stores we pass by each day in our daily lives.
The past six months have been tough on business, particularly those small and family-owned. Some have managed to hold through the lockdown on by offering takeout and delivery; others have not been as fortunate, even after regulations began to loosen as COVID-19 cases seemed to drop.
The restaurant industry is not the only sector of the economy hard hit by this coronavirus in Toronto and all cities and towns across this country.
You now see the signs everywhere on the streets — “Store Closing”, “Closed”, “For Sale” or “For Lease” — just as you see the empty spaces through the streaky glass windows; places where people used to congregate for lunch on the run, or pick up a coffee to go.
For 17 years, the Morning Glory was that sort of place.
What struck me, as I stopped to read a letter posted inside the restaurant’s door, was the honesty and appreciation the owner had for the Morning Glory’s former customers.
“We have seen our fair share of ups and downs but one thing has remained constant, our community. Our beautiful customers, neighbours, friends and family have stuck with us on this journey. You let us into your lives. Together we shared so much more than just meals,” reads the open letter.
It is devastatingly sad how something unexpected, like this deadly virus, impacts the lives of so many people more than we may ever understand.
It is difficult knowing the Morning Glory will not be the only place in this city, or so many others, which will lose contact with people who became friends over a morning cup of coffee, or light banter over a late lunch.
These were people who were, at first, little more than strangers. They were nameless faces, as the former owner writes in this letter
“I don’t even know all your names. I will know how you all like your coffee and what you eat for breakfast though,” reads the letter.
It is so often said that small business is the lifeblood of this country. Judging by the number of shuttered mom and pop restaurants and corner stores I see now on my daily walks, the pulse of this fragile economy is on life support.
Despite the money being poured into stopgap measures designed by multiple levels of governments to stop the bleeding, we are still unsure of the prognosis.
Nobody has any idea of how long this will last, or the true impact of this pandemic on the global economy.
But we can look locally and see what it has done to our neighbourhoods.
And we can feel for neighbours we might never have known, and maybe make an extra effort to support those operations that are still in business, when we can and if we can.
Look around. This is your community.
I’m like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.