A Death's (next) Door

The Wife and I live not 3 minutes walk from Turner & Porter funeral home. We've been living in this place for a bit over two years. I've lived in the Parkdale/High Park 'hood since 2001. Yet, until tonight, it never occurred to me that I might actually walk by this place at a point in time when there might be a service taking place inside.

Not that I thought about it much. I don't really spend much time thinking about death. Life is too alive, too fresh, too present for me to consider its absolute absence.

But tonight, as I walked by the funeral building, as I passed the three gentlemen sharing a solemn cigarette break, it struck me suddenly how completely different this fine evening was for others.

Disturbingly, I thought at first, was the window shot. A quick turn of the head towards my left, towards the building, through the bay window, past the foyer, past the French doors, down the aisle, and straight into the head of the body laying in the casket...

Suddenly, I'm a part of this ceremony. Suddenly, a guy on a sidewalk bears witness to the death of some ones loved one.

What a strange, solemn occurence.

What an odd way to connect with one's community.

Boy Dom found it scary.
Man Dom found it sacred.

What's your opinion? Comment below, of course.

(photo credit Ben Dibble)

All Growns Up?

You see this kid? This delightfully dirty, deliriously happy kid?

Yah. That's me. And the boy that grew into a man is still just as sloppy as ever.

The best thing about this photo might be the look on my sister's face. I won't deny you that.

But the second best thing is how that dirty kid I once was grew up into the messy man I am today.

What am I saying. What's the manifesto.

It's simple. I might look older. I may have lost that stunning crop of blond hair to a full crown of brown. And maybe the gut's got a bit more -- shall we say, impertinence -- than it once did. But the look on that face is the same. The brain behind those blue eyes hasn't changed much. I remain the goofy, errant, erring, and stumbling fool I always was.

Best Man's father once told him to "pick an age and stick with it." Funny how I've always tried to live the same way.

But here's the thing. Despite my vainglorious attempts otherwise, it turns out I've become a growns-up. A man. An A-dolt.

Look. The Wife and I bought a car. There are two unbelievable statements contained in that seven word sentence.

1. The Wife. I meet a sweet chick, wanted to spend my life with her, and therefore offered -- with a pretty decent amount of panache -- to put a ring on her finger.

2. We bought a car. A brand new car at that. A brand new hatchback of a car. With 0.9% financing over 60 months, a healthy down payment, an extended warranty, rustproofing, undercoating, and a few bells and whistles thrown in as part of the negociation.

So, boys don't get married. Boys don't buy brand new cars with The Wife. Boys don't learn about financing rates and deal making.

Men do.

*sigh*

And it doesn't end there, sadly. I've or we've done things like pay off student debt. We have beautiful friends with beautiful babies or with beautiful babies en route. We're saving up for a down payment on a house. I keep a budget. We have apartment insurance. I have a career. Not a job, but a bona fide career, with one of those career-tracking type feelings about it and everything.

Apparently, despite efforts to the contrary, I've turned into some kind of... man. So now I have to do something about it.

And whatever that "something" is, I'll try to sort out what it all means up on here.

So here's to growing up without growing old.