CanadianCapitalTownHouse's Profile

that is 'wandering' not wondering. Maybe I am stunned!

Oh yes -- 1997 -- Worcester, MA -- a beautiful craftsman cottage on an acre in the city with a little stream, and artist workshop and a shiny turquoise wood stove. I could afford it ($160k at the time), but it was for sale by owner in a strange auction setup and I was bidding against a couple that parachuted in from Concord MA with cash. The owners told me directly that as a single woman they were afraid I was taking too much on -- even though I came in with a higher offer. It was out and out discrimination but there was nothing I could do. The couple who bought it -- moved out two years later. By then I was settled into the little house I eventually bought and the price was inflated so there was no sense trying my hand at it again. I remember at the time how much it hurt because I was really trying to make a go of it on my own and it also seemed quite unfair. Time and circumstances and experience have healed the wound. What will be will be.

Yes, please a source for the bed. I am currently sleeping with my futon on the floor because I can't find a simple platform that I like. This bed is what I have been looking for.

I have moved twice in the last 5 years. The big move was from the US to Canada and was paid for by my employer. I packed a box daily. It worked great for me. I ended up in Canada with way too much stuff despite moving into a large house. My next move was into a small inner-city townhouse - the move paid for by me. Again I packed a box daily, but I tossed, held a tag sale, and donated, donated, donated. I am still purging. I am finally getting to the point where what I own is essential and/or truly loved. It feels great.

Minimalism and small with an Asian influence -- I hope. As boomers downsize and young people struggle to find work, and people move to find jobs, things and more things just become a burden. I live in 900 square feet (which is way too much room for a single person), I find myself continuing to purge and de-clutter my space.

@ Mschateleine -- Ottawa is a tough nut to crack -- I moved here 4 years ago and only found a couple of girlfriends through a shared interest. I am single and in my early 50s. When I first arrived I lived in Barrhaven -- a cultural wasteland in my opinion -- and quickly moved downtown. Even in my current neighborhood things are tough (although I love the folks immediately next door) . I am in Centretown surrounded by condo dwellers and students in shared housing, and am a couple of blocks away from the Glebe where if you weren't born into it, you receive a pleasant, noncommittal welcome. Invitations from workmates are non-existent. I have made good friends in every city I have lived so it's not like I am a some sort of pariah! This September I am going to make a more concerted effort and actively reach out -- throwing a party, a bit of volunteering, and the like -- all excellent ways to find friends. What I would give to have a nice cup of tea with a good girlfriend on a cold Ottawa Sunday afternoon!

In summary -- some cities are definitely harder than others to meet people and build friendships, but I am hopeful! There are lots of people out there who wish for the same if we only reach out across the barriers that keep us apart.

Beautiful spaces... I can't help but think of the poem -- Church Going by British poet Philip Larkin...

Philip Larkin - Church Going

Once I am sure there's nothing going on
I step inside, letting the door thud shut.
Another church: matting, seats, and stone,
And little books; sprawlings of flowers, cut
For Sunday, brownish now; some brass and stuff
Up at the holy end; the small neat organ;
And a tense, musty, unignorable silence,
Brewed God knows how long. Hatless, I take off
My cycle-clips in awkward reverence.

Move forward, run my hand around the font.
From where I stand, the roof looks almost new -
Cleaned, or restored? Someone would know: I don't.
Mounting the lectern, I peruse a few
Hectoring large-scale verses, and pronounce
'Here endeth' much more loudly than I'd meant.
The echoes snigger briefly. Back at the door
I sign the book, donate an Irish sixpence,
Reflect the place was not worth stopping for.

Yet stop I did: in fact I often do,
And always end much at a loss like this,
Wondering what to look for; wondering, too,
When churches will fall completely out of use
What we shall turn them into, if we shall keep
A few cathedrals chronically on show,
Their parchment, plate and pyx in locked cases,
And let the rest rent-free to rain and sheep.
Shall we avoid them as unlucky places?

Or, after dark, will dubious women come
To make their children touch a particular stone;
Pick simples for a cancer; or on some
Advised night see walking a dead one?
Power of some sort will go on
In games, in riddles, seemingly at random;
But superstition, like belief, must die,
And what remains when disbelief has gone?
Grass, weedy pavement, brambles, buttress, sky,

A shape less recognisable each week,
A purpose more obscure. I wonder who
Will be the last, the very last, to seek
This place for what it was; one of the crew
That tap and jot and know what rood-lofts were?
Some ruin-bibber, randy for antique,
Or Christmas-addict, counting on a whiff
Of gown-and-bands and organ-pipes and myrrh?
Or will he be my representative,

Bored, uninformed, knowing the ghostly silt
Dispersed, yet tending to this cross of ground
Through suburb scrub because it held unspilt
So long and equably what since is found
Only in separation - marriage, and birth,
And death, and thoughts of these - for which was built
This special shell? For, though I've no idea
What this accoutred frowsty barn is worth,
It pleases me to stand in silence here;

A serious house on serious earth it is,
In whose blent air all our compulsions meet,
Are recognized, and robed as destinies.
And that much never can be obsolete,
Since someone will forever be surprising
A hunger in himself to be more serious,
And gravitating with it to this ground,
Which, he once heard, was proper to grow wise in,
If only that so many dead lie round.

I recently moved from Central Massachusetts to Ottawa... Miss my Trader Joe's immensely! I live in Centretown and so mostly shop Herb and Spice (local), Nicastros (also local) and stay as far away from Loblaws as I possibly can. There is a Whole Foods coming to Ottawa -- it's very controversial -- big American chain and all that -- but I will welcome it with open arms. I can't wait for the farmer's markets to open up this spring -- Parkdale and Landsdowne. Shop local!

Years ago, I hosted my first super bowl party for the neighborhood. I wasn't a football fan and I rarely watched television. I was so proud of myself -- the food laid out, the beer and other beverages purchased, my 18 inch television dusted. I forgot one thing -- to check if I actually got the channel that was broadcasting the game. My guests and I were soon trooping the food and drink across snow banks to the nearest house that actually had cable. Duh!

My former neighbor -- well, she was vocal. In bed. With her boyfriend. You get the picture. She was vocal, usually, between 11:30 pm and 12:00 am, every other night (they were a young attractive couple). And not just at the end, but all throughout. It was very predictable really... With some embarrassment, one evening, I offered my new boyfriend a running play-by-play. He started mimicking her and wouldn't stop until I stuffed a pillow in his face. The last draw -- a Saturday afternoon, in my kitchen, cooking -- she started again. Believe me it was not a suitable soundtrack for baking cupcakes. Enough I said to myself and turned my radio up -- she stopped, but only for a minute. I came to the conclusion that it was part of her repertoire. They recently moved out. Another young attractive couple moved in. Thankfully, they are discreet or perhaps celibate.

Signed 'Finally sleeping in Ottawa'.