January blog the second
Someone asked about living in Toronto and someone asked about living in the country. For those of you without cats who hunt, the spleeny bits are what's leftover. When you step on them, they go pop-squish.
City Mouse, Country Mouse, Spleeny Bits
I lived for thirteen years in downtown Toronto. And when I say downtown, I mean downtown. I was two blocks from Maple Leaf Gardens, half a block from Bloor and Brunswick, and two blocks from College and Spadina. For those of you who don't know Toronto, that's downtown. For those of you who've read the Blood Books, Vicki lived in our last city apartment. The apartment in Critical Analysis was the Bloor Street apartment. Henry lived in my ex-inlaw's building (the show put him in a much cooler (and imaginary) building) If you've read Gate of Darkness, Circle of Light, Rebecca lived in the apartment by the Gardens.
It's funny because people used to ask why I chose set the Blood books in Toronto and my answer to that is, why wouldn't I? It was where I lived. It was what I knew. And I'd already done it with Gate of Darkness. I also had a reader express joy that I knew about the Troll under the Bloor Viaduct. Sometimes, all you can do is back away slowly...
My editor told me once that Americans consider Canada an exotic local. In all the years we've worked together, she's only changed one thing because it was too Canadian. In Gate, I'd mentioned that someone dropped a loonie into the guitar case and she had me change it to "dollar coin". She even let "Timmy's" stand.
Anyone who lives in a large city knows there's an energy there you just don't find anywhere else and there were definitely things I loved. You could get food delivered. You could decide to go to a movie at pretty much any time of the day or night. You could walk anywhere you needed to go and most anywhere you wanted to go. There were museums and art galleries and a zoo and shopping and any kind of food you could think of as well as a few kinds you'd really rather pass on thank you very much. You had choices!
But there were also a few million people. And their cars. And the noise...
I had no problem writing in the city, but sleeping, that involved ear plugs.
So we moved to a house on 80 acres of land (84 because I bought a building lot down the road so no one would build on it but we don't actually live on those four acres; point is, neither does anyone else). Our nearest neighbour is half a kilometer away. Town is a fifteen to thirty minute drive depending on the weather. Town is 4,000 people and falling. Bigger town is fifty to ninety minutes away depending on the weather. (we have a lot of weather) Bigger town is 45,000 people. Every man woman and child would fit into whatever the hell they call Skydome now (of course I could look it up but I don't care) and there'd still be seats left. (yes, I know, they wish they had forty-five thousand people in whatever the hell they call Skydome now)
Most of the time I love living in the country. I love the quiet. I love that I know my neighbours - and getting to know your neighbours in the country is smart. I guarantee that, at some point, they'll pull you out of the ditch. (by the same standard, make friends with the tow truck guy)(yes, there's only one) I love that I can have a huge vegetable garden and lots of flower beds. I love the quiet. I love the privacy. I love that I can hang my laundry out and there's no neighbourhood standards committee telling me I can't.
I love that there was a great horned owl on the telephone pole on my way home the other evening.
On our land alone, we see hawks and deer and foxes and coyotes and owls and rabbits and snakes and a hundred different kinds of birds as well as a large variety of rodents. Okay, mostly we see the rodents in bits in the driveway or under the dining room table but there are a lot of them and they all make the same wet crunch.
I love that I know where most of my food comes from. There was a year where I could have introduced you to your steak's mother.
I love that we heat our house with wood grown on our woodlot. That someone else cut for us. (we have three chainsaws but, seriously, after a few years, the thrill is gone)(we keep them in case of a zombie attack)
I don't love that racoons making sweet love on my antenna will knock my high speed wireless receiver out of alignment and I have to resort to yelling to get someone out here to climb up and fix it. Nor am I fond of how every spring when the foliage leafs out in new positions I also have to resort to yelling to get the receiver realigned. Last spring, there was even profanity. But the racoons and the yelling could easily have happened in the city.
What Ho, Magic!, the story not the collection, happened just off my vegetable garden. I'm aware of seasons in a way you never are in the city. I know that pre-industrial societies worked their asses off to eat and stay warm and that you don't decide when to harvest, your harvest tells you when to get your ass out there or the expletive deleted cedar waxwings will strip your black currant bushes in about twenty minutes and well, there goes a large portion of your vitamin C when you eat a local diet in temperate climates.
I'm not fond of the lack of choices.
And, sometimes, when the moss starts to grow on my north side, I think longingly of the energy the city provides and I look at Real Estate listings for West Hollywood and London and Vancouver and they pretty much remind me of the other reason I left. Holy crap, cities are expensive! Don't miss that.
I do miss having food delivered though...
Anyone know if Mr. Pong is still in business?
City Mouse, Country Mouse, Spleeny Bits
I lived for thirteen years in downtown Toronto. And when I say downtown, I mean downtown. I was two blocks from Maple Leaf Gardens, half a block from Bloor and Brunswick, and two blocks from College and Spadina. For those of you who don't know Toronto, that's downtown. For those of you who've read the Blood Books, Vicki lived in our last city apartment. The apartment in Critical Analysis was the Bloor Street apartment. Henry lived in my ex-inlaw's building (the show put him in a much cooler (and imaginary) building) If you've read Gate of Darkness, Circle of Light, Rebecca lived in the apartment by the Gardens.
It's funny because people used to ask why I chose set the Blood books in Toronto and my answer to that is, why wouldn't I? It was where I lived. It was what I knew. And I'd already done it with Gate of Darkness. I also had a reader express joy that I knew about the Troll under the Bloor Viaduct. Sometimes, all you can do is back away slowly...
My editor told me once that Americans consider Canada an exotic local. In all the years we've worked together, she's only changed one thing because it was too Canadian. In Gate, I'd mentioned that someone dropped a loonie into the guitar case and she had me change it to "dollar coin". She even let "Timmy's" stand.
Anyone who lives in a large city knows there's an energy there you just don't find anywhere else and there were definitely things I loved. You could get food delivered. You could decide to go to a movie at pretty much any time of the day or night. You could walk anywhere you needed to go and most anywhere you wanted to go. There were museums and art galleries and a zoo and shopping and any kind of food you could think of as well as a few kinds you'd really rather pass on thank you very much. You had choices!
But there were also a few million people. And their cars. And the noise...
I had no problem writing in the city, but sleeping, that involved ear plugs.
So we moved to a house on 80 acres of land (84 because I bought a building lot down the road so no one would build on it but we don't actually live on those four acres; point is, neither does anyone else). Our nearest neighbour is half a kilometer away. Town is a fifteen to thirty minute drive depending on the weather. Town is 4,000 people and falling. Bigger town is fifty to ninety minutes away depending on the weather. (we have a lot of weather) Bigger town is 45,000 people. Every man woman and child would fit into whatever the hell they call Skydome now (of course I could look it up but I don't care) and there'd still be seats left. (yes, I know, they wish they had forty-five thousand people in whatever the hell they call Skydome now)
Most of the time I love living in the country. I love the quiet. I love that I know my neighbours - and getting to know your neighbours in the country is smart. I guarantee that, at some point, they'll pull you out of the ditch. (by the same standard, make friends with the tow truck guy)(yes, there's only one) I love that I can have a huge vegetable garden and lots of flower beds. I love the quiet. I love the privacy. I love that I can hang my laundry out and there's no neighbourhood standards committee telling me I can't.
I love that there was a great horned owl on the telephone pole on my way home the other evening.
On our land alone, we see hawks and deer and foxes and coyotes and owls and rabbits and snakes and a hundred different kinds of birds as well as a large variety of rodents. Okay, mostly we see the rodents in bits in the driveway or under the dining room table but there are a lot of them and they all make the same wet crunch.
I love that I know where most of my food comes from. There was a year where I could have introduced you to your steak's mother.
I love that we heat our house with wood grown on our woodlot. That someone else cut for us. (we have three chainsaws but, seriously, after a few years, the thrill is gone)(we keep them in case of a zombie attack)
I don't love that racoons making sweet love on my antenna will knock my high speed wireless receiver out of alignment and I have to resort to yelling to get someone out here to climb up and fix it. Nor am I fond of how every spring when the foliage leafs out in new positions I also have to resort to yelling to get the receiver realigned. Last spring, there was even profanity. But the racoons and the yelling could easily have happened in the city.
What Ho, Magic!, the story not the collection, happened just off my vegetable garden. I'm aware of seasons in a way you never are in the city. I know that pre-industrial societies worked their asses off to eat and stay warm and that you don't decide when to harvest, your harvest tells you when to get your ass out there or the expletive deleted cedar waxwings will strip your black currant bushes in about twenty minutes and well, there goes a large portion of your vitamin C when you eat a local diet in temperate climates.
I'm not fond of the lack of choices.
And, sometimes, when the moss starts to grow on my north side, I think longingly of the energy the city provides and I look at Real Estate listings for West Hollywood and London and Vancouver and they pretty much remind me of the other reason I left. Holy crap, cities are expensive! Don't miss that.
I do miss having food delivered though...
Anyone know if Mr. Pong is still in business?