Parkdale


Parkdale is my home.  I wasn’t born here.  I came here by choice. I love the old six-plex I live in.  I love the oak floors, the oak beams in the ceilings and the amazing bay windows.  I’m a sucker for architecture.  I love my landlord who shows up once a weekish to mow the lawns.  He’s seen it all and I believe I’m a drink of fresh water for him.  I am now his longest standing tenant.  I wonder, if he wonders, why I still live here.

I love Parkdale.  I love the bakery across the street from me.  They have the best cupcakes in the city IMHO – yay for Yummy Stuff. The best Chinese food place is also just across the street and called Yummy Food (sensing a pattern).  I know my neighbours and engage in small talk about their yards, their dogs, their partners. That took a little while to happen.  The home owners in this area are not quick to embrace the renters of this area.  At this point I’ve become part of the scenery.  I love most of my neighbours.  So maybe some of them are a little seedy, can I say that.  I mean it in the affectionate way.  They sometimes stumble and mumble but I’ve yet to be hassled.  They can be loud leaving the bars at night.  They go about their business, I go about mine.

It’s 22 minutes from the office and 12 minutes from dragon boat practice.  That’s sweet.  I can see the lake from my front step, also sweet.  Everything I need is right here.  Groceries, laundry, bakery, all sorts of food, tickets to roller derby.  People don’t stare at me when I walk down the streets or into their shops/restaurants.  It’s comforting.  It’s my home.  Thanks Parkdale for embracing me.  I love Queen West but Parkdale is my home.

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