This Stop: Cursive Mechanics

by Jodi ~ August 11, 2006

Dream Site Sign, High Park

Cursive Mechanics was born in the parking lot of the Port Credit GO Station.

The desire to work creatively in a medium completely unrelated to my career as a development editor at an educational publisher had been gestating for some time. So too had a longing to discover moments of joy in what had otherwise come to feel like a punishing week-day routine: rise at six; leave the apartment at seven to catch a streetcar, GO train, and taxi shuttle to my job in an east-of-Toronto suburb; work until five-fifteen; do the commute in reverse; and then try to summon enough energy to engage with life in the remaining hours of the evening. And while a treeless slab of concrete pounded daily by the feet of hundreds of commuters seemed an odd place for a blog about celebrating inspired moments amidst the mechanics of everyday life to find its final form, a suburban train depot was, in fact, a fitting locale for CM’s genesis.

The idea for Cursive Mechanics germinated as the Lakeshore GO train bumped and rattled me eastward on my morning commute. A few months into my new job, I found myself keenly anticipating the train’s approach to and arrival at Rouge Hill. After passing the Highland Creek Sewage Treatment Plant on the south side, where in the morning you often see curls of steam rising from the outdoor, open pits, the shoreline brush clears and Lake Ontario, with the Pickering nuclear plant and its stark white and beautifully monolithic windmill in the distance, comes into full view.

Seeing the lake at precisely the same time every morning — eight o’clock — turned out to be a revelation: I marvelled — and still do — that it is never the same body of water twice. Its hue and surface texture are always unique and dependent on any number of variables: temperature, wind velocity, cloud cover, time of day, presence of sailing vessels or wildlife. As soon as the train would pull out of Guildwood station, one stop west of Rouge Hill, I’d shimmy out of my usual sleepy slouch and into full straight-backed attention in anticipation of greeting the lake.

This morning ritual eventually coaxed me into a writing project: Lake Watch. I challenged myself to create a written record of my daily lake observations. After Guildwood station, I’d extract my journal from my bag, log the date and location, and wait for the train to glide into Rouge Hill. Despite the lake’s changeability, I worried that my entries would become repetitive — could I write about the same space for weeks, months, or longer and not get mired in a pool of familiar adjectives and images? Currently, one year into Lake Watch, the lake still manages to pull a variety of repsonses from me:

• “In frigid cold befitting February, it is a surprise to pull into Rouge Hill to discover an unfrozen, milky white lake. It is a scene with a soft focus: the water could pass for a flannel blanket pulled flat over an enormous bed. It reminds me that I’d like nothing more than to crawl back under the covers for more sleep.”
• “Water as blue as all-American eyes today. There is just enough restlessness on the surface to create small ripples, a fine texture giving the impression that the lake is one giant blue linoleum tile.”
• “This morning Lake Ontario is smooth and the colour of pewter. There is a slight shimmer here and there, where the light is able to filter through the clouds and touch down on the surface. I’m finding myself jealous of the water, wishing I felt the way it looks: serene, with a sparkle.”

The Lake Watch project has reminded me what pleasure there is in noticing when the transcendent intersects with the everyday, whether in the long-hidden wood exposed beneath a brittle curl of old paint, in the way the early evening light illuminates an alleyway, or in the intricate pattern woven by the steel crossbeams that create urban infrastructure. I knew I wanted an online space where I could record and share these everyday revelations — I just didn’t know what to call it.

And then there was the afternoon that my partner, Michael, and I were waiting for one of his parents to pick us up at the Port Credit GO station en route to a family gathering. I was sitting on a cement ledge, both hands waving excitedly above my head as I rambled about wanting to write regularly about the things that gave a different shape to what is for me right now a very linear, predictable daily routine. I was already thinking about using a script, or cursive, font in the site’s design and Michael threw out the word mechanics and suddenly I had a blog title that captured the spirit of what I wanted to write about.

Whether posting about the water’s daily mood in Lake Watch, structures in the city that for me evoke what I call “The Urban Sublime,” or even the ingredients and techniques that went into last night’s dinner, this site is a space I’ve wanted to work in for a long time. I never would have guessed that my weekday commute, which often feels so onerous and draining, would play such a central roll in creating it. I guess I’m learning to enjoy the ride.