Tereza Micu

This is Tereza Micu of Gerstenberg, Altenburger Land, Thuringia, Germany. When I met her, she was recovering from a traumatic breakup with her girlfriend Amy. One day, Amy said that she will be travelling across the seas, she said that she still loves her and that she will be sending her a present as a token of her love and asked what gift she would wishing to be owning. Tereza totally fell off the floor and replied that Amy is her true and only love and the best gift is for her to be returning unspoiled from her voyage, of course, and tomorrow the only thing she be wanting from her again is what she has today. When, during the tearful conversation, Amy kept saying that she may be a longer while, so a token of love would serve well to her being remembered by, Tereza started fearing that Amy won't be returning back no more. Not one to give up easily though, Tereza asked what the returning would be depending on and her sweet little heart sank when Amy said that it would mostly depending on how she's feeling. 

I touched her shoulder in a gesture of friendship and respect and asked if she, in the end, did she be telling Amy what she be wanting. Tereza, she just stared and sighed and said that "Yes" she did be saying. When I got up to leave her to her sorrow, my eyes fell on her feet ... she wore a splendid pair of Spanish boots of Spanish leather.

Meredith Baughan

This is Meredith Baughan born in Bangor, Gwynedd, Wales. Some linguists say her name comes from old Gaelic and means "Heroic warlord" others believe it is "Quick-witted and skillful with the sword". IMO, same difference!

I met her at King and Victoria, we had coffee and she told me her story ... When she was two, her parents sold their small dairy farm, emigrated to the US and settled in Boston. Meredith does not recall any of this. They never liked it there and moved to Toronto where they opened a small chip shop on Dundas East. Meredith remembers going to school reeking of fried fish and rancid oil and being bullied. She was an exceptional student but a violent loner. She was admitted to Western to study Chemistry but dropped out when her novel (What an Hour Brings) was published and made the shortlist for the Windham-Cambell literary prize. She did not win and went into a tail-spin, was arrested twice for drunk and disorderly and once for aggravated assault (against a juror of Windham-Cambell). She was released on bail and was not charged. She never wrote anything again and currently runs her parent's chip shop with a staff of disadvantaged youngsters whom she teaches and trains to cook. 

Last February, she traveled to Wales with the urn of her parent's ashes. At night, she entered the "G H Griffits & Co" Dairy Farmers, Plas Newydd, Pwllheli, Gwynedd (LL53 6NG) and spread their remains on the premises of the farm they once owned. The next day Meredith went to Cardiff and was one of the 73,931 spectators at the Principality Stadium to see Wales beating England 21 - 13. 

When Meredith walks, tall and slim, she reminds me of a birch tree that decided to pick up and move for fear that standing still would wither it.

Carlotta Zinaida Zampieri

This is Carlotta Zinaida Zampieri last descendent from an ancient Venetian family, as I met her the other day at Ossington Station. Her great-great-great-great grandmother was born in Venice in 1791 and was one of the most famous beauties and courtesans of the city. We had coffee and she told me her story. In 1819, the fabulously wealthy count Ostrovski, offered one million gold ducats for the courtesans exclusivity but she, free spirit (she fucked for fun), stabbed him in the eye with her ivory umbrella killing him instantly. Carlotta (all Zampieri women carried the name "Carlotta") had to flee Venice and went to live in Clichy, just outside of Paris. She married and had one daughter, who married and had one daughter, who married and had one daughter. In 1940, when France was overrun by the Hun, Carlotta and her daughter moved to Philadelphia. The daughter married and had one daughter, who married and had one daughter who moved to Toronto where she teaches Spanish Literature, Modern Dance and Portuguese language (that is the daughter I met).

Emil Gelb

This is Emil Gelb, professor of semiotics at the University of Bologna as, to my great surprise, I saw him recently on the East-bound train between Greenwood and Coxwell.  We had met a few years ago during my stay in Bologna at the Caffé Terzi, not too far from Piazza Santo Stefano. I walked up to him and said "Ciao, didn't know you were in Toronto" he looked up trying to place me eventually he said in his perfect but heavily accented English "Hello friend who's name I deliberately choose not to remember as you seemed of little importance and/or use to me" I was taken aback and could not immediately find a correspondingly acerbic comeback ... not that any/many of Gelb's one-liners ever have had a successful come-back. I decided to play it cool (the alternative would have been to hit him in the head with my foot) so I went back and sat down to where I got up from just a few moments ago looking around to see if anybody observed the exchange (and my complete and utter pulverization). He went back to reading his newspaper and I got off at Victoria Park to take the 24 bus North.

Rose Stoilov-Mah

This is Rose Stoilov-Mah as I met her the other day at a local art event. Her father is a Russian poet descending from a long line of the Stoilov counts, all of them poets or officers or both. Her mother is mathematician born in Taiwan.

From her dad Rose has the scorching curiosity and blazing imagination, from her mom she has the logical thinking and passionate tenacity. This makes her an extremely successful and sought after researcher of all things modern art. 

Rose told me about an wondrous thing of a few nights ago, she did not think it was a dream, she felt it really happened to her. She went to bed, was fast asleep and then she suddenly awoke and sat up. She saw herself in the mountains of Central Asia many thousands of years ago - she didn't know how she knew but she could tell it was so. People everywhere were unhappy, fighting all the time killing each other. They were communicating with grunts and shouts and threats, always hands on their daggers. Then, Rose looked up and saw a young girl in a blue dress coming down the mountain smiling with a bright red flower in her little hand. She would walk into a village, find a child, tear a petal off her flower and give it to them. Miraculously her flower would grow the petal back and the petal she gave away would become a full red flower. The children would then walk into other villages and give out petals themselves in an growing avalanche of joy and bliss. Wherever they went people stopped fighting and started smiling and talking to each other, embracing. Rose was floating above the lush green Fergana Valley following the light ... While Rose was telling me her story, she was smiling the most serene of smiles. When I asked if she knew the name of the flower she looked up and said in a dreamy tone "I believe they called it Sevgi"   

Edson Pallo

This is Edson Pallo as I met him on a westbound train between Royal York and Kipling Stations. He only agreed to this photo of him to be published and as you read on you may learn why. 

Edson lives with his uncle, two sisters and two brothers on a small farm in the small town of Shomberg, North of Toronto. The family grows goats (commercially) and chicken (for own use). 

When the family arrived in Canada in 1998, uncle Nilton (then 42) listened to a "friend's advise" to "make things easier and simpler" and filled out the forms indicating that he was father to Edson (then 8), Tenna (then 6), Girra (then 5) and Solio and Segundo, twins (then 4). The Pallos were accepted as refugees and did well, found jobs and, in time, got Canadian citizenship but always felt feel they must keep the paternity/avuncular situation secret. What they never kept secret but boast of proudly, is that their Cashmere goats won the gold medals at the Toronto Winter-fair two years running and were runners up the two previous years.
Edson showed me pictures of the goats and they are spec-ta-cu-lar, he was on his way to register for this year's fair. He called the 1-800 number to register, like every year, but heard a message saying that he must do it "on-the-website" or in person ... so he is now traveling.

 

Ayita Brownlee

This is Ayita Brownlee as I met her the other day on a Westbound Train between St. George and Bay Stations. She told me that she is Ojibway and her First Nations name is First to Dance. Ayita has a Bachelor degree in Statistics from York U and an MBA from Rotman. She finished in the top two and a half percent of her class which brought her a bunch of lucrative job offers from large and prestigious companies (one had, as a signing bonus, a five year lease of a BMW 5 Series). Ayita was flattered but declined them all and proceeded to take the exams to become a Certified Aboriginal Financial Manager. The process took her two years (faster than anybody in living memory) after which she started working for the First Nations Financial Authority (FNFA) in Westbank B.C. That had been always her dream: to have a job she liked, that she was good at and that helps her people. Ayita has two small kids with her building contractor partner, also an Ojibway. 
Her other big passion is Bridge, in University she was part of the team that won the National Sectional in Ottawa and placed third in the Regional ... she is very proud of this although the trophies were atrocious. 

Ayita told me that she is in town to attend a conference on financial management, which, so far, turned out to be dull and uninteresting, except the hidden agenda, the red thread through-out all presentations of how to maximize the profit for financial advisors and obfuscate the process so consumers would be forced to rely on professionals. This brought back memories of what her uncle Acule Benson (Who Looks Up) always said: "To fight the White Man, you must get between him and his money".
She also remembered a recurring dream ... she would meet a woman who was over six feet tall, with a huge mass of reddish-brown hair that stood up in all directions. That woman's hips were wider than her shoulders ... she could never figure if she ever saw her face or if she just forgot her face.