My daughter and I were moving into a new apartment in a building that had an elevator with glass doors. I had met an attractive black haired woman who was wearing a red sweater and we were descending in the elevator together to the ground floor, where Astrid was waiting. I talked the woman into helping me play a trick on my daughter. We were to be amorously holding hands when Astrid saw us, but I took it one step further and had my arm around her when we got to the lobby. Astrid looked at us with a bored expression and said to me, “You and I need to have a little chat!” Then I woke up.
On Friday morning I called my doctor’s office to inquire about my notebook and pen and was relieved that they’d found them. That pen is one of the only ones I have with ink still in it. I think I’ll have to buy another pack while I’m downtown on Tuesday.
Shelly came to my yoga class that afternoon. I didn’t teach her a regular class though, as she’s backed up on certain exercises that have caused her pain. It’s so hard to try to help people with movement related issues if they don’t know their limitations and can’t communicate them. We worked out a few exercises for her legs, but she’s not sure if she’s going to be coming regularly again until she feels more mobile.
After class, I headed to Dr Shechtman’s office, and got there around 16:00 but the door was locked. The nurse called out, “We’re closed!” I called back about my book and she asked, “Are you Christian Christian?” and when I confirmed that I was, she let me in. I expressed surprise that they closed so early on a Friday, when most places are open later. She explained that they close early on Fridays because, and for some reason, she lowered her voice to almost a whisper when she said, “He’s a Jewish doctor! He’s got to go home!” I guess if Dr Shechtman is a practicing Jew he has to be home well before sunset to get cleaned up and change into nice clothes before dinner.
I rode up Bathurst and then across St Clair to Mt Pleasant and then north to Baliol and west to Bayview. On Baliol, I passed an interesting antique truck and so I stopped to take some photos. The owner was outside doing something and so I asked him if it was okay to take pictures. If he hadn’t been there I would have taken them anyway, but he was more than okay with it. He gave me a guided tour of the truck and the whole story on how he got it. It’s a 1946 Chevy three-quarter ton truck with a flatbed. It needs a lot of work but he said it’ll only cost him $8,000 to fix it up. I think he said he bought it in Florida for $1,000 and towed it here from there behind his SUV.
He’s got four other antique trucks behind his house and has a parking space for one more. It was actually hard to get away from the guy. He went on for about half an hour talking about his house and his life. He’s a retired high school teacher and taught his whole life at George Vanier Secondary School on Don Mills Rd between Sheppard and Finch. He also has two motorcycles that aren’t antiques and a few years ago while driving one of them in Alaska he hit and killed a moose. The damage to his bike was about $1,000 but the damage to his body cost him $1,000 a day in a hospital in Anchorage.
He was amazed that I ride my bike from Parkdale to his area.
That night I watched two Roscoe Arbuckle silent films. “Coney Island” started with Arbuckle on the beach and trying to get away from his boring wife. When she wasn’t looking, he buried himself in the sand so that when she went looking for him he escaped and went to the amusement park where he met a girl who was being courted by two other men, ends up in jail, but wins in the end as usual. The other movie was called “Rough House” in which he played a rich guy named Mr Rough, whose mother in law is visiting. At one point his bed catches fire, but when he sees it he goes to the kitchen in long slow trips to get several cups of coffee with which to put out the fire. Once, halfway back to the fire he absent-mindedly drinks the coffee and has to return to the kitchen for more.
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