A Beginning

Mark and I returned to Toronto on March 7, proceeded to pack up our Croydon Rd house and moved to Major St. on the following Saturday. It was a difficult move, compounded by several factors: our garage was filled with items (mainly books) brought down from Orillia when we leased our condo shortly before leaving for Puerto Vallarta; Mark’s profession and mine demand the keeping of files for up to ten years after completion of the work – massive boxes, especially of his documents had to be transported and stored; we moved from a three bedroom house with a large basement office to a two bedroom apartment with limited storage space in the unfinished basement; the living area of the Croydon house is located on the second floor, the bedrooms on the third, and Mark’s office in the basement, and the Major St apartment is on the second and third floors of an 1875 heritage house – far too many stairs for all involved; and, we had decided to give our older couch to Elizabeth, buying two new couches and a small pull-out piece from IKEA – these arrived the afternoon of the move in boxes! – two of the three remain unassembled. Our moving crew gave amazing service; they were all three of Russian/Ukrainian background. The youngest, in Canada for just a few months, spoke some English which he had studied in school. They were with us from 9 AM to 8:30 that evening, struggling up the antique staircases of this interesting house with our array of far-too-many possessions.

And so we are moved in but not in any sense settled. The Croydon Rd house demands further attention to ready it for the prospective buyers – it will change hands on Friday. Elizabeth has taken on the job of cleaning; I have been going back and forth transporting bags and boxes of unwanted things to the Sally Ann and bringing over pictures and other things that required a more delicate hand. With respect to the Major St house, the bottom line is that after five days here we remain in an advanced state of chaos, despite all efforts to the contrary. It is clear that getting truly settled will take some time and cannot be rushed. Mark has been busy with a series of heritage reports all due this week. I have managed to give some order to the room that I will use as an office and to the kitchen, though neither of these are in a finished state. The living room has an amazing profusion of built-in book shelves which encourages our unfortunate proclivity toward collection. Much of my time has been spent emptying boxes of books and situating them helter/skelter.

But enough of the moving report. We are here and I am glad. I wanted it badly and I have it. And so now I must be patient and let the process run its course. One pleasant effect of living full-time in the city is that we can avail ourselves of the Globe’s offer to bring the New York Times to our door every Sunday morning. This service began last Sunday. Surrounded by cast-off newspapers that had sheltered dishes and precious commodities in their removal boxes, we welcomed this new arrival. In the book section there was an interview with Philip Roth who said many interesting things about his writing life and about himself. Roth stopped writing altogether about five years ago, finding the break a great relief. Saying that writing, like any other job is hard work, he went on about his own particular experience: “Morning after morning for 50 years, I faced the next page defenseless and unprepared. Writing for me was a feat of self-preservation. If I did not do it, I would die. So I did it. Obstinacy, not talent, saved my life. It was also my good luck that happiness didn’t matter to me and I had no compassion for myself. Though why such a task should have fallen to me I have no idea. Maybe writing protected me against even worse menace.” Wow! This statement begs so many questions about Roth, but also goes a long way to explaining him. It only makes me want to read more of his works and to meditate with him upon the themes that he found himself exploring.

But for now I must return to the task of making our apartment into a comfortable home, the home in the Annex for which I have longed lo, these many years.