We Don't Go To The Dogs

I don't want you to think we live in a rough hewn street of crazies, raggamuffins, murder, and swat teams traipsing through. We have that, but to see us as only that would be a near-sighted and limited view. That'd be like looking at an oyster bed and seeing nubbly shells instead of the pearl inside each oyster.

Ours is a lively, vibrant, and flavourful street, manicured by Italians with the best intentions, brushed by artists with a flair for life, and honed by mothers who love their kids. And in between all that, the psychographic yuppies live amongst us with their yuppy gear and yuppy puppies.

On our street lives a Juno award winner, cultural strategist, and radio personality; there is the founder and artistic director of a children's theatre company; there is a filmmaker; there is a fusion artist of aboriginal, R&B, soul & reggae music; there are doctors, lawyers, architects, photographers, teachers, actors, musicians, photographers, writers, bankers, cashiers, IT managers, plumbers, and contractors; as well as other ordinary folk with less definable jobs.

Our neighbours volunteer on the local museum management board, the Sierra Club, the Toronto Arts Council, political parties and other community groups and agencies.

We have fought MacDonalds and won. We have championed a new park, a new library and a new city councillor. We have organized arts festivals, street parties, and yard sales. So let me get to the feel good stuff in our hood too. In future posts.