Sunday May 15, 2005
5:30 - 7:15pm
“I don’t know if I want to ask you what those are about…”
I turned around to see a gentleman kneeling on his front lawn, digging up dandelions. “Why not?” I asked, smiling.
“Well, I read them every day…”
For two people who lived a simple life, my Grandparents had some interesting possessions. They had a wooden lamp, the neck of which was carved to mimic an old well: there was a spout and even a little pail that you could move around and play with. To turn the light off and on, you pulled down on a lever that emulated a well handle.
In their apartment, my Grandparents had two old fashioned wooden radios. One was in the bedroom next to my Grandpa’s side of the bed; the other was in the kitchen on top of the fridge.
They had a footstool that had bull horns for legs!
On the kitchen counter, there was a tiny wooden dresser. Each drawer had a rooster and a caption such as “Pins” or “Buttons” painted on it.
My grandma had a set of bronze engraved bowls and plates that she kept in the living room on the tables next to the couch. They nestled into each other in a fashion similar to Russian dolls.
I was also rather fascinated by a plant that I remember being next to the TV in the living room. Its flowers were small and orange. As a child, they reminded me of goldfish.
When I arrived at the corner of Church and Elm, the wooden coat hanger was still dangling from the street sign. The writing on it identifies it as being originally from the Hotel Bonnaventure in Montreal. How did the hanger make its pilgrimage down the 401 to end up residing on this unassuming corner of Markham, Ontario? And how was the corner of Church and Elm picked overtop of every other street corner in the world?
I have come up with a system when I take down and put up posters each week. I keep my camera in its case slung around my neck and I carry my tape dispenser and a clipboard where I put the old posters after I take them down. In my bag, I keep the new posters, extra tape, a grocery bag to put garbage in and an exacta-knife I use to cut the old packing tape down from the poles. I always walk the same route.
As I was fumbling around in my bag for a new poster, my search was interrupted by a man who was sprinkling fertilizer on his front yard: “What’s this?”
When I finally managed to grab one out of my bag, I held it up so he could read it.
“Tuesday May 13, 1986. I went to Cullens’ gardens and Parkview – what’s this about?”
After I told him, he said, “If I was walking on the street, I would read this and think, ‘What is this about?’ Interesting.” He went back to work and I started to put up my poster.
“Which building did they live in?” This question spawned a long discussion of the landmarks on Franklin St, complete with lots of hand gestures and maps drawn in the air. At the end of it all, he still did not remember their building.
“So you don’t want people to take them down?”
“I can’t control what other people do…I suppose if I think I have a right to put them up, I should support people’s right to take them down.”
He moved his rake that was leaning against the pole so I could put on my last row of tape. Before he went back to work, he ripped off my website URL and slipped it in his pocket.
For five weeks now, I have postered a certain pole next to the elementary school. I always tape my poster underneath another one that’s been up there so long, the writing has faded to a light yellow colour. It is absolutely impossible to make out what it once said. What irritates me is that each time I come back, my poster has been taken down and the old one is still there. One week, the packing tape was still on the pole and you could see where someone came along with scissors and cut my poster down. What is the old poster’s secret to longevity? Is it surrounded by an invisible force field? Or is it a testimony to the durability of staples?!?