I love her she just got back from Poland
Bathurst
two sons and six grandchildren
so you working tomorrow
how about Friday
so are your parents moving back?
I'm only coming back for christmas
Palmerton Tecumseh
are you stupid? are you kidding me?
I'm going to save up a lot of money
I get 8 bucks an hour
ah what are you doing
Claremont
she's a weird kid
don't do that
Strachan
they don't show up till one
Shaw
I passed my piano exam
pump it up
Ossington
ex Swansea grad
fourth grade
Dovercourt
you can get up to grade eight

Saturday March 5th will mark exactly three months since The Pedicure. No ordinary pedicure, this, but a full-fledged podiatric special, with surgical instruments, white towels and grown-up conversation. The nice man who performed the task was no newcomer to the profession nor to my feet, and this was my first sybaritic treat after returning home from the hospital.

Toronto in winter is either a slush pile or a cousin to Antarctica. Either way, one requires strong shoes, preferably boots with heavy-duty ridged soles, and either way, it’s a liability to have a foot infection of such severity that even putting on a sock affords excruciating pain. Yet despite the outside temperature being 37 degrees below zero, a visit to the doctor was in order. I basked only momentarily in the admiration of strangers as I limped barefoot into his waiting room.

Working late, I look out over the street, over what I can see of my city. The storm’s subsided. The snow strikes a new ground and horizon. Black asphalt is now white. The performers of modern life are gone, and the emptiness is monumental.

1972 Fall: Holly Hobbie doll

1973 Winter: left mitten

1974 Toronto Islands, Summer: green plastic shovel and right flip flop