This is the Sea

I'm guessing everyone has at some point in their life looked around themselves and wondered, "How did I get here?" We know David Byrne has, or at least we can assume so based on the 1980 Talking Heads song, Once in a Lifetime.

Sidebar: That song is from 1980? Like, 45-years-ago-1980? Having spent 25 years saying, "The date is twenty-something", now, "1980" sounds more like saying, "1880". Yet, the 1980s are also ever present in my mind, especially with the current wave of conservative governments in the States and Europe. Later in the 80s, as a teen, it was very common to think Mulroney, Reagan and Thatcher were the stuff creepy European folktales were made of. They would seem sweetly naive by today’s conservative standards. Well, maybe not Thatcher (shiver). It is funny to think nostalgically of a time when we wondered if we were running out of tomorrows. These days it’s very common to believe democracy is in its death throes. Some are protesting it, some are trying to ignore it, some are fighting it, but unfortunately, quite a few are profiting from it. Is that how the mind works? Yesterdays are for nostalgia and tomorrows are for hope and fears?

This brings me back to my point (I just knew I’d get there eventually): sometimes you have to look around and wonder “How did I get here?” Sometimes in your life, a change happens and you don’t realize it. Other times a change happens and your world shakes and you know it’s important and even if it took you by surprise it feels inevitable. When Robert Frost wrote The Road Not Taken, was he thinking that his choices made his life, or that we fool ourselves by thinking that our choices make our lives as they turn out to be? Do we even have free will? Does it even matter?

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A Most Useless Rain

When it is boiling hot, you don't really expect steam, until you do. The temperatures in Toronto have been at a steady roast for the last week. My thermometer outside my home office window is in the shade and has been stuck around 33ºC, with humidity at gross percent, the "feels like" numbers are more like 40-42º (around 105ºF). There hadn't been rain in a dog's age, but even a faint possibility was full of promise.

I stepped out onto Bay Street into a haze that had me sweating only seconds after leaving the confines of the atmospherically controlled office tower. I was desperate for a chocolate soft serve (custard cone to Newfoundlanders), which a van parked across the street sold. Side note: how has the cost of a small soft serve cone doubled in four years? Has ice cream pricing started to parallel real estate prices? It had been quietly raining, but the drops seemed to steam off upon touching the radiant asphalt. The streets were wet for perhaps a minute before they simply went dry. It was a bit strange to see wet pavement dry before your eyes, as though the wet was being sucked through the street. In reality, it was floating off, not soaking through. The rain hadn't made a dent in the temperature. If anything, the air felt thicker. In Newfoundland, a warm, but damp day, when it's humid yet foggy, is referred to as "mauzy". I can't say it was something you'd get every year in St. John's. Because everyone seemed to refer to August as the dog days of summer, as a kid, I assumed it had something to do with its closeness, its humidity, like the smell of a warm, wet dog. Humidity always seemed surprising to me in St. John's, as though a place so near the North Atlantic was caught off guard by it. In Toronto, humidity is effectively a default setting. Most of the city feels like a dank basement for weeks at a time. In this current heat wall (a heat wave sounds too pleasant. A heat wall slams you the second you step into it), the rain has no impact on temperature. There is no relief. It's like stepping from a sauna into a hot shower. This combination of heat, humidity and drizzle is the closest I've had to that mauzy feeling half-remembered from summers in my youth.

By the time I had ascended back up the 28 floors to my desk, what was a drizzle had become a squall, with rain streaking sideways and splattering against the windows of the office. Briefly, colours popped back to life. Greens were dark and fresh as produce, while reds shone out and yellows practically glowed. Then the rain stopped. The temperature was unchanged. The humidity had no doubt risen, and the city returned to its sallow grey.