I was heading east along Wellesley by St. Jamestown in Toronto, late from a long day at work. It was a lovely evening. The streets were bright with an ethnic rainbow of after-supper strollers. The light at Bleecker Street turned red and I stopped behind a pair of double-parked delivery vans.
Across the road just ahead, I glimpsed a pair of young Filipino women walking down the steps of the corner variety store. They were dressed alike in flowered summer frocks and fancy sandals, laughing as they hurried to cross with the light. It looked like they were carrying a couple of oddly shaped wrapped packages.
As they got closer, I could see that the taller of the two was holding a toddler-sized plaster statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary between her arms, the way a woman instinctively carries an infant on her breast. She cradled one hand behind the veil-clad neck; the other was snugged just under where the buttocks would be beneath the flowing white robe and blue cloak. The other woman held in the crook of her arms, a large gilded crucifix with multi-coloured jewels where the body of Christ would normally be. They were chattering casually to one another as they strolled down the street.
No one paid them any attention. It was that kind of neighbourhood.
