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swim-meet, shoes, and failing to rain

the journal of Michael Werneburg

twenty-seven years and one million words

Our downstairs neighbours invited us to the swim-meet that their daughters were participating in.

It was fun. The pool (at Pape and Gerrard) had spectator stands that took up a third of pool's room, and there were maybe 100-150 parents and other fans in attendance. Together, they made more noise than an entire stadium full of Japanese fans. Our neighbour's older daughter did exceptionally well in the final relay race, not only overcoming the deficit that the first swimmer left her with, but handily passing the other swimmers.

We then cycled up the length of Gerrard to Main, a long uphill slope, to get to a shoe-store that carries long and wide sizes. The proprietor sold me a pair of Birkenstocks—I can wear these with my Tilley hat and some knee-length shorts and complete the middle aged look. Then it was off to a rather good little café on a strip of Danforth where there were a surprising number of closed stores, and home before the predicted rain arrived. Or failed to arrive, in this case.