You can feel spring in the air with the sun bright and any hints of snow now on a slow melt. When I step out the door, I know I have choices whether to turn left or right. Today’s choices turn right toward the Annex, the university (U of T), or just plain old Bloor Street, a favourite pedestrian-friendly avenue.
Once I got to the corner of Robert, a man by the name of Dan, 68, saw me and asked a common question, “Are you a monk?”
“Yes, I am. A Krishna monk.”
“I had a friend who worked with me in the post office who was a Krishna devotee; haven’t seen him in years. He had red hair and was missing a thumb. I forgot his name.”
“I don’t recall a person of that description.”
Dan kept talking about everything under the sun. He had my two feet happily cemented to the sidewalk as he parlanced on. He really wanted to be heard, and I was content to listen.
“Please come and visit our temple and restaurant. The meal is on the house.”
“I remember your great Sunday Feast food. I have to stay away from the sweets.”
I ventured back and met a fellow named Teddy, probably about 70. He asked if I was Hare Krishna. This was at Lowther Street. He said about 40 years ago he was a landscape worker for a house Lived in by Krishna people. “I’ll show you the house. It’s just around the corner.” He pointed and said, “I that very house they stripped down all the paint and plaster in the interior and brought back the natural wood. I told the new purchasers that the lovely wood is due to the Krishnas.”
I thanked him for the piece of history and invited him like I did Don.
Source: https://www.thewalkingmonk.net/post/old-men-like-to-be-heard
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