Wednesday, 12 August, 2026
Today is a sit-at-the-laptop day so a good one to get started on the latest. Why the title? Well, I work on a mental health charity site (ssshhh, those who know who I mean). As part of our work, the charity gives us 45-minute monthly meetings where we discuss our mental health. Yes, the work can be emotionally challenging. We chat and share concerns and triumphs, but we also get a mini lesson on mental wellness. This comes from one. Whatever you think you are not getting done or right, say it but add the word yet.
I had my eye surgery follow-up yesterday. All is well. My right eye (the first) is noticeably less focussed than my left. My laconic surgeon assured me that this was normal and that in a month I could get glasses to correct my distance vision. Looking forward to that. I’m really good at seeing both sides of things. I can see my laptop screen and read most things – maybe I need a weak pair of reading glasses for that very tiny stuff too – but I can now see other things. What things? My wrinkles! And, wow, soft focus was good for one thing – I thought I was more attractive than this. Why did no one tell me? My vanity is in overload, so my next job is getting over it. I can’t get over it…YET.
After the visit, I thought I might see Robin and send a package back to its sender. It was hot as I wandered through Kensington Market, which ends/begins at College Street where the surgeon was. I need basil. Kensington Market is a hippy throwback. It’s full of vintage clothing stores, street art, and eclectic places to eat. I’ve walked through here so many times over so many years and seen the changes.
The land was first purchased by George Taylor Denison (for whom an area street is named) and a home was built for him in 1815. The Denison estate was subdivided in the 1850s, and thirty years later, houses were built for the Irish and Scottish immigrant labourers coming to Toronto. The housing, some of which still stands, was built in the style of Victorian architecture row houses. (Must check that out, on Wales Street). That style persists. After the Irish and Scottish, other immigrant populations followed in waves. In the early twentieth century came Eastern European Jewish immigrants and some Italians, and like most immigrant areas, there was dense population and poverty. As the immigrants thrived, they moved within the area but to more space, better housing conditions, and opportunities to create storefront businesses. The market was born. The wider area was packed with tailors, furriers and bakers. There were 60,000 Jews by the 1920s and 1930s and over 30 local synagogues. When I arrived in Toronto and eventually found the area where I lived in the early 70s for a while, the area was still considered a Jewish market. When I arrived to live there briefly, the Jewish population dominated. They lived in the houses east of Spadina and above the stores in spacious apartments. Stores along Spadina and into the market were full of the immigrants’ preferred goods, jobbers, and in the market Eastern European food. I remember the crates of live chickens and the bustle of people buying their weekly food. In those days Saturdays had open air stalls on the street, only seen here now on special days in the warmer weather. The Jews moved out to the suburbs, and the immigrants from the Azores moved in and spread farther west, creating Little Portugal along Dundas Street West. They were followed by those from the Caribbean and East Asia. This was now an even more incredibly diverse community. During the Vietnam War, the American ‘draft dodgers’ and political objectors had arrived in Toronto, settling here and further east. The market took on and has pretty much maintained its hippy, bohemian air. The East Asians, particularly the Chinese, gradually took over the main street of Spadina Avenue, which borders Kensington Market and created a new Chinatown, the older one being closer to Yonge Street – the centre of Toronto. Then came even more immigrants, from Central America, Somalia, Ethiopia, Sudan, Iran, Vietnam, Chile and other global trouble spots. In the market, the choice of food and goods was, and remains, beyond eclectic. While the offerings in the market are ethnically diverse, the Latin Americans have a very strong presence, especially on Augusta Avenue. Enough tacos to build another CN Tower. Confession: all those immigrant waves might be slightly mixed up/out of order, there were so many, but I did my best. It’s eclectic!
The market’s architectural style hasn’t changed much. In the 60s the community escaped a plan to tear down the Victorian houses and replace them with modern apartment buildings, but there are a few higher-rise modern loft-style buildings at the edges of the market area.
There’s been gentrification here. No space to write about all the changes, but notably, there’s now one butcher remaining and one fish shop, where before there were at least three of each. The butcher of yesterday was a bustling and low-priced Eastern European meat market. The counters were piled high with smoked sausages, and ham hocks, and the smell of smoked and fresh meat hung in the air. For $2 I could buy a hock and make meals that stretched over two or three days. Those days are gone. The butcher now has much higher priced, fancier, fare and I can’t smell a thing.
There could be chapters on Kensington Market (future focus!), but I needed to move on, if only to find shade. At the only remaining greengrocers (of the original) half dozen, I needed to buy basil, only to remember that the entryway stairs were going to be a problem. I’d already abandoned the idea of buying a samosa in the Indian restaurant due to the entry stairs. Samosa and chai is such a nice breakfast. Not today. I found the side entrance (no stairs) where a Chinese-speaking lady cleared a space for me and carried my walker up to the level where I could find the basil. I found it and some nice arugula (nothing like the UK rocket – different species here), paid, and then the same lady helped me down and out to the street. Yay for kindness. No photos of the store, that’s a miss.
Thwarted by the samosa and chai miss, I thought some dim sum might work instead. There was a place near the shop I wanted to visit, so I headed down to Dundas Street and over to Spadina Avenue. I found street and van art along the way. The market has a lot, no favourites here. I miss seeing good street art everywhere.
Dim sum was calling and I arrived to find another high step to get into the bakery. Ha. I made it in and ordered carefully. This is cash only and I had just $10. My order of chive and shrimp dumpling and a bottle of water came to $9.30. Just made it. Dim sum cost double of when I lived here with Robin, in an alley off Chinatown. While I was eating I remembered that the parcel return depot also had four steps. That’s that then. Robin called to say he couldn’t meet me, no shock, and I could hear he was in the shop almost next door to the parcel return. I was mid-dumpling and cool rest break, so I didn’t ask him to help. Another day. Instead I went to the Chinese supermarket that Robin’s apartment overlooks and bought what I needed.
I’d visited the drugstore a bit earlier in the week. With my rides back from Chinatown and then this little visit, I conquered the TTC three times this week. Go me!
Finally, I did a baked beans test this week. John had brought a UK tin with him, and we never did do the comparison. Time to do it. Thoughts – the Canadian beans had a slightly deeper spiced flavour and weren’t as saucy. They might have been a tiny bit sweeter, although the label puts them as equal for sugar content. For me, the UK version wins, but ask me again tomorrow. It was a narrow margin. Need to get the US version to see how it fares.
I did take photos of the old man’s garden but won’t include them. For two days now, a helper has been watering and weeding. Those vines are climbing even higher. If I had wings or better legs or whatever, I’d scale that fence at night and become a veggie burglar.
Not ready…YET.
