Saturate.

My cell phone alarm started to ring very early in the morning and I kept hitting the volume controls to snooze it for another ten minutes. I then re-adjusted in my bed so that I was laying on my back, then afterwards I soon closed my eyes to drift off to sleep again. The phone rang suddenly and my body slightly convulsed from the surprise of the ring. It was Jordan calling to see if I still wanted to go to some flea markets this morning. I agreed and was given a grace period of ten minutes to get ready. I got changed, took my backpack with my camera, put on my leather jacket and I went out the door. Jordan rolled up in his car at the end of my driveway and I opened the door, sat down, and we were off.

I love to get out of the house these days and will take any opportunity to do so. After graduating from University I had to return back to my parent’s house. No more living independently. And it doesn’t help that our lifestyles clash as well.

We pull into the Pickering flea market parking lot. It just opened. Looming over the chip painted parking spots are large electrical towers. I gaze up to the blue October sky to look at the metallic giants, but get interrupted when Jordan asks to make sure the passenger car door is locked. I look back down and confirm it, and so we enter the building. Along the glass windowed walls were lines of furniture, mostly wooden, and mostly stools, and on top of which were more simple household items like big telephones, cooking and dinner sets, vases, and other gimmicky stuff that was probably bought after seen on an infomercial. Jordan knows where he is going, a vendor that deals with coins. I observe him as he methodically looks through his booklets of coins and rummaging through the dangling coins on hooks, protected in their cardboard cases. He double and triple checks the years and the quality of the coins. I look around the vendor’s shop, which is really more like an opened up cubicle, and try to take interest in the items. Nothing appeals to me though. “Hey I’m going to check out other stuff.” I mentioned. He acknowledges and quickly goes back to work. I wander around and consciously devise a system of which direction I will go so to ensure I don’t miss anything.

I look at some old furniture in some abandoned cubicle shops. They piled them on top of each other. Probably haven’t bothered to set it up properly. One vendor had old radios lined up on shelves, overpriced for what they were; I don’t know anyone who would want to collect that stuff. I finally see some things of interest: old wooden bar stuff. Chalkboard signs, beer bottles, liquor bottles, more stools, and some wooden plaque that has the Molson Canadian logo on it with a protruding bottle cap opener. Cool. I move on though and see vinyl records on the floor in front of a vendor. I can not resist, and flip through them. I see one by Billy Idol, a small EP, but with some good songs like “Mony Mony” on it. I’ve been looking for a vinyl with that song. Jordan returns from his coin expedition and I tell him about my find. “How much is it?” He asks. I tell him that it is three dollars and he whispers for me to try and get it for two and walks away discreetly. I pick up the record and go up to the man who appeared to own it. “Hey, how much is this?” I ask even though I know the answer. “Three dollars.” He says softly. “What do you say, two dollars?” I then interject. “No.” He said simply. He had me, and I agreed to the original price. He must have known I really wanted it.

I move along and put the vinyl in my backpack and catch up with Jordan at the end of another hall. As I sift through another box of vinyl records Jordan calls to my attention. I look up and he holds up this big black box by its strap. It reads: Polaroid. “What is that?” I ask ignoring the vinyl records. We opened it up and this monstrous camera is sitting inside. It is all black and has no see through hole, and a dial on the front with numbers imprinted on it like a protractor. It has “Self-Timer” written on the top right. We struggle to open it up and play around with it. The vendor cautiously looks over us as if we were kids playing around with something that is “not a toy.” I put it back in the box because I figure it was meant to just set up for self-portraits. “It has to open up man.” Jordan says. We move on though, and even though I collect Polaroid cameras, I wasn’t at all interested in buying that.

So we got back into the car and decided to go pick up our friend Rebecca who just lives in the next city over. She needs sometime to get ready so we went to grab some lunch. Jordan recommends going to the cafeteria at his old campus because it has an A&W. It sounds good to me. He drives down Military Trail and looks to see if the parking on campus is free because it is Sunday. After reading the sign and finding out we had to pay, we decide to park it on a side street and walk back. As we are walking towards campus along Military Trail, Jordan tells me a little bit of the story about this street while all the cars zooming past us. The legend tells that the British army used this road as an alternate route to battle because the former way of travel was too close to the lakes and the threat of the American ships. I begin to wonder about those soldiers, what were they thinking - knowing that they are going into battle. I wonder if they thought of what the future would be like and whether the idea of my friend and I walking this road was part of it. The vision before my eyes of the urban street and cars fades to a dirt road with forestry lined along the sides. I wonder.

Jordan walks quickly through the building. I take my time and observe my surroundings. The red tiled floor, the concrete walls, students wandering about, and posters along the wall. I feel so much like a stranger in this building. Mentioning this to Jordan gets a laugh because he was thinking about how comfortable he feels because of the familiarity and nostalgia. I suppose it would the opposite if I was leading him through the halls of my old University. We look at the composite graduation photos in one of the hallways which has one of our friends on it. Further down and up some stairs and around we get to the cafeteria. We sit at the tables waiting for the store to open but it doesn’t appear to be opening anytime soon. Instead we decide to just forget it and pick up Rebecca.

After we get her and get on the 401 to head back towards Oshawa we try and decide what flea market to go to next. We have the choice is driving about an hour into a rural town which has a big country market, or to just drive back home and check out some around town. The adventurer in us decides to do the first choice, to drive to a small town called Stouffville which is North-West of our location. After getting directions via cell phone from my father we start the journey. We pass by a lot farms along the semi-busy highway. The sun, which was out when we were in Pickering, was now hidden behind the clouds. Once hot, now we are starting to get cold. When we get to Stouffville we drive along the main drag admiring the houses on the side and their old style of design. Ivy running up the sides of the brick, medium sized pebble stones in concrete, and wooden framed windows. We didn’t know what turn to take to get to the flea market so we ended up at the end of the main drag of town. A sign that tells us to turn left or right, as there is nothing but fields behind a guard rail. We turn left but only to turn around and head back for the main drag. This time we noticed a sign that says Country Market and we head that way and find a parking spot.

The parking lot was filled with wooden tables of stuff. Some people make their living here selling stuff from behind a table. I see old rusty bicycles from days old, decanters – which my father would have loved to see, and various other stuff that I would consider junk. I look out for video games mostly. I love to collect them in mint condition, especially games that I use to play when I was a child. I have them all sorted and stacked in a dresser by my bed. Organized according to the system they are designed for. I am always reminded when looking for things to add to my collections of an essay written by Walter Benjamin which is about his obsession with collecting old books. He writes:

“Every passion borders on the chaotic, but the collector’s passion borders on the chaos of memories. More than that: the chance, the fate, that suffuse the past before my eyes are conspicuously present in the accustomed confusion of these books. For what else is this collection but a disorder to which habit has accommodated itself to such an extent that it can appear as order?”

I look through the video games for specific titles, ignoring all the rest, hoping for a chance to find one of my favourites. Instead all I see are sun-faded games that no one wants.

We look around some more and decide to head home. We finally stopped to get something to eat, and then started the drive back to Rebecca’s place. While on the road again I mention that we should go down one of these roads and see if we can find something to photograph. At random Jordan turns down Elgin Mills Road E. It dips and bends and just after the top of the hill we can see a tree in the brilliant rays through the clouds. It still has some of its leaves on the branches, and more noticeably, it has a perfect round shape to it. We pull along the side of the road and get out of the car. Jordan and Rebecca halt at the beginning of the field to admire the tree. I let a car drive past and walk on the road. It’s very windy at the spot and I squint my eyes to protect my vision. The car disappears as it drives down the bend. I stand in the middle of the road and take out my Polaroid camera to take a photograph. I wanted to capture the feeling of isolation and adventure that an open road presents to you.

When I lower the camera I look to my right to where Jordan and Rebecca are. To my surprise they are running through the field towards the big tree. The wind picks up and rumbles in my ear as I watch them run in the waving grass. I start to run too towards them and as I approach closer, Jordan takes out a camera and sets up to take a photograph of me running. I outstretch my arms and pretend that I am flying.

music to accompany the blog: City And Colour – Sam Molone.