A Streetcar Ride Down Memory Lane... Sunday, April 10

One of my favourite things to do on a Sunday morning, between personal training with my client and church, is riding the old style streetcar up Bathurst street.  On some of Toronto's streets they have the new streetcars which are very similar to the Go Train cars in that the passengers sit facing each  smooth running.  But I prefer the old streetcars and their old school, "original Toronto" feel they have to them -- the creak as they drive, the seats are worn out, some windows don't really open, and they're flat out old.

After coaching my client, I treated myself to a double espresso and jumped on the old Bathurst streetcar.  I always either get a single seat or the back right hand corner seat and I sit there and watch out the window.  It's not a particularly scenic ride but it passes by my Baba's old house (grandmother's house).  It's a tall three story high house right on Bathurst, a bit north of College, where my father and his big family of 6 boys and 3 girls grew up.  My Jaja (grandfather) was a minister but he ran a tombstone company and printing press out of it's basement.  My family used to go there on Sunday's and together with many aunts, uncles, and cousins we'd sit on the veranda, run in the halls, chitchat, and then sit down for a big family meal in the dinning room.   Often there we're so many of us to feed so we'd just order Swiss Chalet and those who could find a seat in the dinner room would sit there while the overflow of family would sit in the family room, kitchen and even outside on the veranda.  

My Baba's house was always overflowing and buzzing with family but now, as I pass by it on the streetcar, it sits quietly and only memories of days pass occupy my mind, nothing present day.  My Baba died in that house and we have since sold it.  Someone else lives there now though I think someone may be actually running a business out of it, I can't say for sure.  All I know is I miss the good old days when Baba's house was a meeting place for my family, where my Uncle David and his fat cat Pizza stayed to live with my Baba long after all his brothers and sisters moved out. 

I miss that old house and what it represented in my life.  It's no longer what it once was to me but I pass by it three times a week and every time I do it makes me smile.  I love that house.