Nicola Caroli

(Kensington.  Calgary’s self-proclaimed “village in the city.”  It’s where I live, where I work out, where I drink and where I conduct most of the daily transactions of life.  All told, ) I would start here because then I immediately get an image of the person. I probably live three quarters of my life within a two kilometer radius of my house. street name, town, etc Considering that the physical footprint of Calgary is roughly that of New York City – with about an eighth of the population – I manage to carve out my life in a extraordinarily small part of it. well put

(Let’s start with a bit of context.) Perhaps start with the shape of it to connect to previous sentence. Calgary is a big, rich, car-loving, oil city.  It has a lot of things going for it, but the actual form of the city really isn’t one of them.  It’s covered with roads and roads and roads, most of which lead you to any number of monolithic, drab suburban enclaves.  Despite the exotic names – Tuscany, The Hamptons, Coral Springs, Inverness and New Brighton – a good portion of the city is covered in beige.  Beige houses.  Beige garages.  All connected by nice, new roads that speed you to work or to the nearest big box centre. I don’t quite understand the connection of Kensington to Calvary, I guess it’s a part of Calvary – and if you want to talk about Kensington, why harp on about Calgary? Also what comes across is a discontentment behind the descriptions that make me not really see the environment and not really connect to the cause of the discontentment.

I know it works for a lot of people, but living in that environment isn’t for me.  Actually, I think it wouldn’t take long to lose my mind out there.  Everything is compartmentalized in the suburbs.  Live here.  Work there.  Shop there.  Drive everywhere in between.  The lack of diversity, connection and interaction would drive me batty.  That’s why I live in Kensington – life just seems more interesting.

From here on for the next 3 paragraphs it’s like an article, travel journalism rather than a story

Let’s start with what is around.  Within a fifteen minute walk from my house, I can mail a letter, work out at a gym, drink a number of non-Starbucks coffees – although Starbucks is an option too, get physiotherapy on my knee, go to a movie, buy a book, pick up groceries, get my suit dry-cleaned and grab a pint of beer in a dozen different locations.  The latter is important – during Calgary’s glorious four days of summer, having a beer on a patio is a necessity.

Then there’s the food.  Kensington has a world tour of food choices including Japanese, Lebanese, Italian, Ethiopian, Indian, Vietnamese and Chinese.  Add to this any number of sandwich and burger joints, and it’s pretty easy to see why I manage to cook only a couple of times a week.  It’s a good thing that it’s such a walkable community so I can burn some calories just by getting around, otherwise with those culinary choices, I would definitely grow out of my pants in no time.  Not to say that I don’t drive at all.  It’s Calgary and it can be so cold that it hurts to breathe sometimes in the winter, let alone walk, but the point is that I have a choice.  Urbanist Jane Jacobs once said that the point of cities is multiplicity of choice.  Too many communities don’t give people choices.  Kensington does.

While there are the chain stores that exist in Kensington, what I appreciate is that the majority of the businesses are locally owned.  The buildings, the signage all has unique qualities that build on the existing architecture and history of the place.  An old brick building retrofitted to house a pub on the ground floor and a law office above.  A seniors housing complex over top of an optometrist and a health food store.  There is variety in the building forms as well as the uses of the buildings.  This really contributes to the feel of the community and makes it a real place – it gives it, what urban designers call, a sense of place.  I get this sense when having a coffee at Higher Ground and overhearing the owner-operator meeting with a local baker who is going to start selling her organic goods in their shop.  I get this sense when I’m having a latte at The House and the woman who works the morning shift greets a local homeless man with a smile, taking his bag out of the bag storeroom that’s been there since last night so he wouldn’t have it stolen at the shelter.  I could be wrong, but I suspect that the national headquarters of a chain coffee shop might frown upon using a storeroom as luggage valet for a homeless guy.

For many folks, living in a place like Kensington is too loud, too scary or too dangerous.  Sure, that homeless guy who had his bag stored isn’t as idyllic to see on the street as a Mom pushing a stroller and walking her golden retriever, but he’s not hurting anyone. Living in a place like Kensington, you see the side of things that is intentionally eliminated from the manicured and pastoral setting of many suburban communities.  Every yard is well kept.  Everyone has lots of space to themselves.  Everyone looks relatively the same.  In Kensington, that’s just not the case.  There’s a reason there are multiple tattoo shops in the area – their clientele live in the neighbourhood.  Walking around the area, you’ll see people all kinds of body ornamentation.  I wouldn’t be surprised if I saw someone with a bone through their nose.  One person’s local character is another’s threatening criminal. a commenting style, I’m not sure what you’re trying to convey

Reggie is a good example of perception and place.  Nearly every morning while the weather is accommodating, Reggie sets up shop on a bench on Kensington Road, his shopping cart of cans and his worldly goods always alongside.  Reggie is probably in his sixties, a homeless man who looks the part.  His hands, sleeves and cuffs of his pants are always between a shade of charcoal and black.  His face is weathered by his time in the elements of Calgary’s streets that range from scorching to life-or-death cold.

Throughout the day, Reggie undergoes his routine transformation.  If you pass him in the morning, he’ll be sitting on his bench upright, with a smile on his face.  He’ll likely greet you with a cheery “good morning” or a smile and a nod.  If you pass him around noon, he is still on his bench, but slouched over somewhat, the effects of his drink taking hold.  His cheerful morning greeting is now replaced by a slurred request for some spare change.  By mid-afternoon, Reggie is stretched out on his bench, an arm draped over his eyes as he sleeps the rest of the day away in a booze-induced slumber. I like this part about Reggie, I can see Reggie and I can see you. How about taking Reggie as a central figure of your story, leave out all the comments and see where it takes you, what the connection brings

This is the kind of situation that many folks like to keep out of their community.  While I understand that it’s unpleasant to see, the fact remains that people like Reggie exist.  If you don’t ever cross paths with a Reggie, he’ll likely scare the hell out of you when you see him.  When he’s part of the landscape of your community, the fear subsides.  Of course I wish that he got better, but my heart rate doesn’t go up when I pass him.  My heart rate goes up when I’m stuck on the freeway with nowhere to go. here you are “using” Reggie to comment again, it’s much more interesting if you get involved, the next stage would be to describe some interactions with Reggie and other people and through your more detailed descriptions of places in the context of real situations and people we get to know and appreciate Kensington .

So while I can hear the traffic of Kensington Road from my bedroom, I have to see down-on-their-luck folks like Reggie and I live in a house smaller than a suburban starter mansion, I also live in a community that I feel connected to.  Life for me is more than just accumulating the most, the biggest, the newest, even if it means being faced with some unpleasant realities.  These realities exist, even when we choose to ignore them.  There are homeless people in the world.  Sometimes traffic makes lots of noise.  That’s all part of the deal.

This is all just part of what makes Kensington interesting.  The variety of places, buildings and characters and connections in between make for a neighbourhood that keeps you on your toes.  All these things are within a kilometer or two from my house.  Come to think of it, this just might be a village in the city after all. last two paragraphs mostly comments again. I wonder what drives the narrator, it would be interesting to find out more what he wants or what he’s lost, without naming it, just getting a sense of it through this story about the place where he lives.