It's one of the things that I really loved about my old neighbourhood in London - that ability to stroll to practically any corner to buy a jug of milk - and one of the things whose lack I lament most about my current neighbourhood in
Car City Calgary.
When we first started staying at this hotel in the west end of Vancouver, I was immediately drawn to McIntosh's Grocery. It's a tiny but bustling store on the corner of Davie and Thurlow, run by Our Lady of the Chinese Sitcoms, whom I assume to be Mrs. McIntosh. She has a little tv behind the counter, upon which she watches her stories, a delighted smile on her face, the occasional chuckle bursting forth.
Recently her son has been spelling her off behind the counter. He's more interactive with the customers. He inevitably wears a huge smile on his face as he simultaneously chews on a mouthful of something that requires a great deal of gnawing and asks you how you are today. He, of course, is always "terrific!"
We wonder if they live in the apartment above the store. Last night, as we sat on the balcony, unwinding from the day and watching the always fascinating parking lot dramas unfold beneath us, we saw some lights come on behind the shades and watched the silhouette of someone moving about. I like to think it was Mrs. McIntosh, preparing herself a tasty treat with which to watch her sitcoms.
I wonder who was watching us, watching them?
Which neighbours do you like to spy on?