Fall has finally descended upon an old and familiar set; a place I’ve spent many years acting on — and then re-enacting — creative impulses… which have often ‘arrived’ via meridians of (sometimes painful) introspection.
The ‘set’ to which I refer is my parent’s home — the house I grew up in.
The house I first learned to communicate verbally in.
Where I took my first steps in life;
Paint, draw, write…
I strummed my first guitar here, decades ago.
On August 15, while out exploring the city during one of the most powerful demonstrations of nature by way of torrential rain and lightning, the building in which my home and recording studio are both located in was struck by lightning.
Apparently, the current traveled to the basement level, where it caused an electrical box to explode, resulting in a fire which all but consumed the subterranean quarters and severely damaged the main floor above it.
Fortunately, my 3rd floor space was undamaged, but as I returned that afternoon, soaked to the skin after walking in the storm for nearly 30mins, the sight which greeted me as I arrived was perhaps one of the most dramatic and chilling events I’ve ever seen in “real life”:
The busy urban artery on which the building is located was entirely closed for 2 blocks in each direction, and approximately 7 or 8 fire trucks had converged in front of, and beside my place.
I watched in horror as 20+ firefighters climbed in and out of the 2nd and 3rd floor windows (they had broken through my double dead-bolted front door, I later learned), paced my roof, and shot rounds of water via multiple high-pressure hoses in to the bowels of the building, thick clouds of smoke and hot steam billowing upwards all the while.
Pretty dramatic stuff.
Once the fire was completely extinguished (a tense, 4hr affair) the Chief gave his nodding approval and we were able to get back in to the units for an assessment.
Needless to say, I had nowhere to stay that night, as both water and hydro had been cut.
Little did I know then, but this was to be an epic inconvenience — one that is still taking place, over two months later.
But this post was not intended to be about that; to ‘piss and moan’, or otherwise lament my “sorry lot” while pounding my chest as I made pointed accusations towards the wobbly universe.
Not at all.
I just needed to provide some back-story as to why I find myself back “on set” in ‘the nest’… and what’s transpired in the past 9 weeks whilst here.
Stay tuned for ‘part two’…
Jon Mychal — Toronto/ Oct 22 2010
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