Author: Michael Murray

On Saturday night, a friend took us to see our first Roller Derby match. It was out at the George Bell Arena, and it featured The Death Track Dolls against The Smoke City Betties. I was expecting a counter-culture fantasia, an ironic descent into 70’s kitsch and hipster irony fueled by some post-feminist rocket fuel.…

Monday was a beautiful day. Across the street, a construction worker with long and robust gray hair stood in front of a piece of heavy equipment. Wearing mirrored aviator sunglasses, he had his shirt off and his arms crossed over his chest. Pink Floyd was blasting from the cab of his truck, and he looked…

On Saturday afternoon, we went down to Woofstock on King Street. For one day each year, they close off about three blocks of the street, giving it over to dogs and dog lovers. It’s billed as a festival for dogs, but really it’s a retail trade store targeting those of us who own dogs. No…

On Saturday afternoon, Rachelle and I went down to Nathan Phillips Square to see the Toronto Outdoor Art Exhibition. There must have been over one hundred display stalls, and the work, for the most part, was lovely and often astonishing. After about an hour, I noticed a really familiar woman who looked like somebody I…

On Wednesday afternoon, I stumbled across a track and field meet that was taking place at Varsity Stadium. From what I could tell, the meet was for kids up to grade seven. The first thing that I watched was a high jump warm-up session for grade six boys. None of the kids had any technique,…

As most of you know, I’ve been involved in a program in which inmates are paired with pen pals on the outside. I’d been corresponding with one who went by the moniker of Mother Trucker for several months and he turned out that he was a very bad man. Thinking that we were embarking on…

Rachelle’s aunt and uncle live right beside the train tracks overlooking the Rosedale Valley. The other week, while out in the garden, they heard a scream. An hour or so later, they saw police officers, a few in full hazmat suits, combing through the forest beneath them. A woman that was going for her daily…

On Sunday, Rachelle and I went to the St. Lawrence Market with a friend in order to attend the weekly antique bazaar. Like most such enterprises, it’s primarily a wasteland of junk. The vendors bear more resemblance to carnies at the Ex than they do Southern gentlemen with ascots and European educations. As I’m pretty…

My friend Gerry had a dog that was named Mickey. As old as his youngest daughter—about 15—Mickey was a celebrated and deeply loved component of the family. The dog was hit by a car and killed, and the family was utterly devastated. They gathered together and had a ceremony, burying him in the backyard. Gerry,…