Large Marge

True story - I may have experienced a glimpse into one of those "portals" to Doggie Heaven yesterday.

I was heading out of the house and saw a woman coming down the street walking her dog - an old beagle. I'd noticed her in the neighbourhood a couple of times in the past month. But only because she looked remarkably like Barb McMahon, an old co-worker of mine from my last place of employment. The last time I had seen her would have been in the period when it went out of business about five years ago. I hadn't seen or heard of her since and she wasn't the type I could imagine living in this area of town.

So when I saw her closer up yesterday, I greeted her as 'Barb' - and she said 'Yes?' and then looked at me like she didn't recognize me. Now, I don't claim to be the best-looking guy in the world, but I do have my own somewhat distinctive look and people tend to remember me just because of those rugged good looks. So I told her who I was and she finally did remember me - even tho we had both worked at the same location for two separate lengthy times a few years ago.

I asked if she had recently moved into the neighbourhood. No, she's been living near the Children's Museum on the street behind me for the past five years. She then asked if I was still with the place of our last employment. An odd question considering that we were both there at the bitter end when they went out of business. I told her that I was working elsewhere with the very same group of people - and got no response. She wasn't the least bit curious.

As is obligatory in such chance meetings, I did the polite thing and asked what she was doing these days. "Oh, I'm not doing anything." Barb was never the most forthcoming of people so I let it go at that and we exchanged parting pleasentries.

But when it was first confirmed that it was indeed Barb, I had a good look at her. The Barb McMahon I remembered always had a somewhat constipated expression. The furrowed forehead and lack of a smile that seems to suit most anal-type personalities. But this Barb, had a clear, wrinkle-free, almost peaceful expression on her face. An unlikely look of contentment and being at peace with the world. This was not how you would have described the old Barb.

So anyways, today, before I take Rover out for his apres-lunch dog-walk about the neighbourhood, I checked the phone book for a listing for Barb on the street behind me. There was one for a 'B. McMahon' at #49 The Street-Behind.

But get this, as we're walking down that street, getting closer to the Children's Museum, we run out of numbers. The street ended at a house with the number 45. No #47 and certainly no 49. Just a big area for parking for all the people who live in the converted apartment at #45. Across the road is the Childrens Museum which is located on Riverview Street. The Street-Behind me is a mere one-blocker and doesn't continue across Wharncliffe Road. It ends with #45.

It didn't take me long to jump to conclusions.

So here's the facts - I see her yesterday and she initially doesn't recognize me. She doesn't even remember that the place we worked together had gone out of business in a very memorable labor dispute. There is a look of new-found serenity upon her face. The address I find for her on the street she claims to live is not there. Just a large parking area.

And she was walking an old dog. And when asked what she's up to - "I'm not doing anything."

This can mean only one of two things.

There is the remote possibility that Bell made a typing mistake when it printed her house-number with her address in the phone book.

Either that, or the Barb that I was talking to was - her ghost!