Ross (the Boss) of NDG's Blog

  Every person walking the streets of NDG knows something that somebody else would love to learn. Think about that for a moment. Behind the doors of our apartments and houses are thousands upon thousands of skills, experiences, traditions and talents. Someone knows how to repair a bicycle. Someone can bake magnificent bread. Someone speaks three languages. Someone knows how to grow tomatoes. Someone can teach a child to play guitar. Someone knows how to sew on a button, prepare an incredible curry, use a computer, paint a room, make a household budget, change a tire, take a beautiful photograph or fix a dripping faucet. And our older neighbours possess something particularly precious: decades of accumulated knowledge. Yet much of it remains hidden because we've created a society in which, when we need to learn something, we usually turn to a screen rather than to one another . What if NDG began doing something different? What if we created a culture of neighbours teac...

  We are very good at saying wonderful things about people when they retire, move away, win an award—or when it is too late for them to hear us. But what if we didn't wait? What if part of transforming NDG was creating a culture of everyday appreciation ? There are people all around us quietly making this neighbourhood better. The crossing guard who watches over our children. The cashier who remembers our name. The superintendent who fixes something at 9 o'clock at night. The bus driver who waits an extra few seconds for someone running toward the stop. The teacher who sees potential in a struggling child. The person who keeps the sidewalk outside their building beautiful. The neighbour who carries someone's groceries. The merchant who has served the community for thirty years. The teenager who gives up a seat for an older person. The person who picks up a piece of garbage that wasn't theirs. Most of these people will never receive an award. Perhaps they...

  We often imagine that changing a community requires something enormous. A new building. A major program. A large investment. A grand plan. Sometimes it does. But there is another kind of transformation available to every one of us, beginning today. We can surprise someone with kindness. Not because it is their birthday. Not because they asked for help. Not because we expect anything in return. Simply because we had an opportunity to make another person's day a little better—and decided to take it. Imagine walking into your apartment lobby and finding a little vase of flowers with a handwritten note: “For whoever needs a smile today.” Imagine arriving at your favourite café and discovering that someone has already paid for your coffee. Imagine an elderly neighbour opening their door to find a small bag containing two fresh muffins. Imagine a child discovering a colourful message written in sidewalk chalk: “NDG IS BETTER BECAUSE YOU'RE HERE!” Imagine leaving ...

  One of the simplest pieces of community infrastructure is also one of the most powerful. A bench. It doesn't look revolutionary. It doesn't require a committee, a major budget or an elaborate program. It simply says: You are welcome to stop here. And something interesting happens when people stop. They begin to notice one another. Think about how much of modern life is designed to keep us moving. We leave home, get into a car, rush to the store, finish our errands and hurry back. Even when we walk, we are often trying to get somewhere. But a bench interrupts that rhythm. An older person sits down to rest. A parent stops with a child. Someone walking a dog takes a break. Two neighbours recognize one another. A stranger says hello. And sometimes a conversation begins that would never have happened if everybody had simply kept walking. That is why I would love to see more places to sit throughout NDG . Not only in our parks. Along commercial streets. Outside apa...

  Somewhere along the way to adulthood, many of us stop playing. We walk through parks instead of playing in them. We watch children toss balls, chase one another and laugh uncontrollably—and perhaps forget that there was once a time when we did exactly the same thing. But what if play isn't just for children? What if it is one of the ingredients of a healthy community? Imagine walking through NDG on a summer evening and finding a chessboard set up on a sidewalk table. A few blocks away, grandparents are teaching children how to play bocce. In the park, teenagers are shooting baskets beside adults who haven't touched a basketball in twenty years. Someone has brought a guitar. Another group is playing cards. Children are drawing an enormous picture in sidewalk chalk. Two strangers are tossing a Frisbee. And somewhere, inevitably, people are laughing. There is something important happening in all of those moments. Barriers are disappearing. We spend much of our liv...

  There is something almost magical about eating with another person. We may begin as strangers, acquaintances or neighbours who merely recognize one another from the hallway. But sit down together with a cup of tea, a bowl of soup or a plate of food between us, and something changes. We begin to talk. And when we talk, we begin to discover one another. NDG is wonderfully diverse. On a single walk through our neighbourhood, we encounter people whose families came from every corner of the world. Each arrived carrying something precious: traditions, memories, recipes and stories. Imagine what could happen if we brought more of those things to the same table. I would love to see NDG develop a simple tradition: The Neighbourhood Table. It wouldn't require a major organization or an expensive event. It could begin in an apartment lobby, a church basement, a park, a community room, a backyard—or around somebody's kitchen table. The idea would be beautifully simple: Bring s...

  There is a question I believe every strong community should ask from time to time: Who is missing? Who hasn't been outside lately? Who used to sit on the same bench every morning but hasn't been there this week? Who lives alone at the end of the hallway? Who recently lost a spouse? Who moved into the building but hasn't met anybody yet? Who stopped coming to the community centre, church, café or park? Who might be sitting only a few hundred feet from us right now, wondering whether anybody would notice if they weren't there? We live in a world in which it is surprisingly easy to become invisible. And loneliness doesn't always look like loneliness. The person smiling at us in the elevator may go home to an empty apartment. The senior we pass on the sidewalk may not have had a meaningful conversation all day. The newcomer may be surrounded by thousands of people and still know almost nobody. The young person who seems withdrawn may simply be waiting f...