The Toronto Tales (Working Title) (A Serial Novel)

We were quiet for a long time after Jennifer spoke. It was about an hour later, around 10:00 am, when we reached Victoria Street, crossed under it and the elevated railroad track by Kolb Park, when the first member of thee group spoke.  "I was born with a congenital heart defect," a young man in his mid thirties, thin and pale started abruptly. "Obviously it affected how much I was able to do as a kid - but I liked being inside, I mostly wanted to read comic books and watch movies, and I didn't really care that much about other kids." He had fine, longish black hair, sparkling pale blue eyes and a relatively steady gaze, which he occasionally turned towards the group as he spoke. "But I wasn't afraid to go outside or anything. We'd take family trips and while I often preferred to stay in one place reading, and I wasn't able to go on the more lengthy hikes they sometimes took without me, I was happy to participate in most activities and I enjoyed

 We didn't stop at the Bingemans parking lot, but kept going. We passed through more parking lots, the water slides in the distance and a pond with a jet fountain in the foreground. People were milling around, enjoying their summer vacation. We passed unremarked, just another group of tourists hiking the trail, albet with a lot of gear - perhaps they thought we were practicing for a longer hike. I didn't know which of these assumptions might be true.  We continued on through a pretty park area next to a campground, absolutely bustling with activity, noise and smells. It exhilarated me to see so many people in motion, in travel, in living something different from their normal days, and I thrilled to be a part of it. The next long while, we followed the trail between empty fields back onto industrial buildings off Shirly St. I knew we were eventually come to Stanley Park Optimist Natural Area, where I had been a few times with my husband on practice drives, and on my bicycle far

 At the end of my street, turned right and followed the Spur Line trail along the railroad tracks. On our left was a high concrete wall lining Uniroyal Goodrich Park; on our right the tracks and the long yards of Victorian houses on Waterloo St. I walk on this path all the time and I felt a strange sense of being deeply in routine and also experiencing the extraordinary. We turned left and headed east again where the path met Guelph St., and we followed this street for a long time, path rows and rows of large and small houses, a gas station, a park, a fire station. We had just crossed Lancaster and were nearing the industrial era where the road dips under Highway 85 to come out at Bridge St. Before we reached the underpass, Jennifer made a left turn into North Ward, a small, older suburb with pretty Victory houses mixed with industrial buildings, embellished and made unique over decades of varied ownership.  A couple blocks in, she stopped at a small house with blue siding and a wooden

 I finally have some quiet hours in which to write. Much has happened. I will start where I left off last week, ready to go but not sure where that was to be! I woke early on June 15 feeling clear, fresh and afraid. Yes, afraid, for how could I not be? The weather - clear with a cool morning wind - inspired my sense of adventure, but I also felt fear, not knowing what was to come but knowing it would involve leaving the safety of my home, my neighbourhood, my family and friends and routines. My pack was ready and I moved it onto my porch. My husband came out and sat with me in our plastic Muskoka chairs while I ate a filling breakfast. It was very early for a night owl to be awake, and he looked sleepy and disoriented and anxious. I felt for him - how hard it must be to let me go in this way, and not know where I was going. At 8:00 am, a group of people turned the corner of our block, under the great pine trees at our neighbour's house and moved at a relaxed but synchronous pace to

The last few months have been disorienting, but good. I had to return to whatever I might call my normal routine - work, domestic tasks, time with family and friends, various entertainments and going outside to walk, or drive with my husband. These are the things that make up my middle aged life. A life many would think narrow in scope, but one that satisfies me in many ways. I may be satisfied because I don't know better; I am sure I am satisfied because I choose to be; perhaps I am satisfied because I have a wonderful imagination, a great enjoyment for the ordinary pleasures of life and a philosophy of finding and cherishing meaning and beauty.  Among these activities of my normal life, I also collected the items from Jennifer's list. I didn't rush, and took my time to choose products that I liked and felt were of high quality. I added to a growing pile in my attic, until one day in early spring, when the wind carried both cold and warm at the same time, and my heart bega

 Success! I'm not sure I would describe it as lucky, since I took the only course that was within reason, given how little information I had in my search for Jennifer: I returned to the park. Perhaps it was lucky that she was there again, though how luck comes into any of this, I don't really know. It's all very mysterious. But I was successful, because I found her again, and because now I won't lose her. I drove out to Breithaupt park around the same time as I did yesterday, this time needing to leave my work for an early lunch. It was quite cold and the path was difficult to navigate after an overnight freeze left a layer of light powder on top and icy roughness underneath. I had to be extremely cautious coming down the big hills and it was hard work getting up them. There park was absolutely deserted because the holidays were over and the cold was keeping retired people close to their fireplaces. I wondered what would happen to me if I fell and rolled down a hill and