Our family drove down to Kensington Market in Toronto, yesterday. It's the first place we go whenever my wife or I start worrying that our girls might be getting a little too comfortable being small-town girls. I used to live a block away from the market, and though I don't miss the noise (particularly from the tormented escapees of the local mental health ward), I do miss the locale and the barrage of sensual stimuli.
Butterfly is the girls' favourite store, at the moment. Like most Kensington venues, it is tiiiiiiiiny. Being a bit of an agoraphobe, I get a little squirrely in these places; as pleasant as it is to have attractive young women constantly bumping into me (and asking me to move), I can only take a few minutes of it before I break for the door. No matter. Kensington stores bring their wares outside.
The market is also well-populated, and pretty much embodies what Jane Jacobs was all about. I can't imagine what rental rates are (15 years ago I was paying $600 a month for a tiny bachelor suite with a hot-plate), but it still seems to attract bohos of every stripe. It's a colourful place.
Alright, so the house above doesn't exactly have the best-kept garden. At least they've paid attention to appearance of their front steps...
Enough of this touristy gawking. Okay, kids: because you've been such an uncomplaining two-some, I'll let you share a single can of iced-tea! (Why yes, I am a cheap bastard -- hey, save a little for your old man!)