People take wonders for granted. Growing up on the East Coast, I took the ocean for granted. Visitors would gush about its awesome power, but for locals, it was just the ocean. When I moved to Calgary, the mountains took my breath away. Calgarians appreciated them but seemed ambivalent. We become ambivalent to the sublime the longer we're exposed to it.
Wonders come in all shapes and sizes. The big ones are breathtaking and inspiring, but the little ones are the building blocks of our lives. The tragic difference is the little ones have a bad habit of disappearing.
Not far from where I live, there's a more everyday wonder. The Patrician Grill has been around since the 1950s. In downtown Toronto, that's an eternity. The Patrician is a single-storey diner slowly getting crowded out by condo after condo. It's like a bantam fighter that resolutely wakes up every morning to duke it out with the heavyweights, and somehow, incredibly, keeps coming up with a draw. It's nothing short of a minor miracle that anything that small can endure in the heart of a city.
I've lived in the neighbourhood for 12 years and seen a slew of businesses rise and fall. Somehow, I took it for granted as it faded into the background each day I walked by. The place had changed hands from the original owner to a new one, to the new one's kids and would (I assumed) be handed down to their kids.
Until one day it wasn't.
After more than 70 years, the Patrician announced it was closing. Locals were legitimately shocked. I realized having a place like that show up on the street every day lifted my soul just a touch. A tinge of guilt followed: I had never been in, not even for a coffee. I made sure to remedy the situation.
A sign outside proudly proclaims, "In this neighbourhood you can pay $5 for an Italian coffee or $2.25 for a coffee served by a guy who kinda looks Italian." The inside isn't overloaded with mementos. There's art on the walls, actual paintings. A jazz station plays over the speakers. Locals start to drift in, mostly older folk, and the staff reliably recite their orders before they've even uttered a word. The people behind the counter are busy but relaxed, and seem to genuinely enjoy themselves.
It's easy to wax nostalgic about places like this and hold onto them for dear life. That's why it's important to recognize the small wonders life has to offer and embrace them while you can: They're the difference between an indifferent, anonymous world and one with sparks of life and originality that make it worth enjoying.
I demolish an omelette and cup of coffee in short order, get to the cash register and feel my heart sink: cash only. Part of me scolds myself for not realizing a place like this operates on tight margins. Luckily, I keep $20 in a pocket on the back of my phone for emergencies and manage to cover the bill, but with next to nothing for a tip. "Don't worry about it; you'll be back, right?" the co-owner asks.
I guess so. Like so many of the faithful, I'll be back to experience a small wonder while I still can.