Posts in Category: Musings
The Availability of Things
I never used to think about what it was that was not available in Toronto, since for the most part my head was always too busy buzzing with the multitude of options what were. But for some strange reason, I’ve lately been reverting back to simple pleasures of my youth that I have not encountered in a long time. Things that I used to consume / amuse myself with / criticize relentlessly that I just don’t see day-to-day that include:
Red Currants – My grandma used to bake with red currants constantly, and make compote and soup that was always such an awesome alternative to thick and creamy vegetable soups or black tea. But I don’t know if I’ve seen red or black currants or gooseberries here ever. And for a kid obsessed with tartness and citrus flavours that’s a harsh way to live. Take my sunshine away why don’t you.
Turtles – When I was a wee sprite hanging out in the playgrounds of Oliwa trying to amuse myself while adults did adulty things (I lived next to Lech Wałęsa, by the way, who was just up the street on Polanki Avenue. Jealous?) I remember a lot of turtles. Turtles everywhere – all the kids had turtles. Cats were generally disliked because they were scrappy and unkempt (think Stimpy of Ren and Stimpy fame) so that was the next best thing – and we annoyed all the crabby old ladies on the block by feeding them the neighbourhood rose petals. But I see no turtles. Anywhere.
Frogs – Again, I understand that amphibians are in decline, a result of cities and urban sprawl blah blah blah, but COME ON. I don’t think I’ve seen ONE, except at the exhibit in Washington. Seriously?
Roxette – Canadians just don’t appreciate amazing musical duos. *cricket cricket*. Seriously though, I learned my first English words singing these songs.
Halva – I almost choked on my bubble gum when I saw that Essence of Life in Kensington was selling halva, since for the last twenty years I have not seen this incredible treat anywhere. Mars and O’Henry’s and Snickers are fine, but nothing compared to this treat. I tried one of the “Vanilla” flavoured bars and it tasted like sawdust. Let’s hope the “Pistachio” one is better, otherwise this post is moot.
Tae Kwon D’Art
I should have played the lottery today. There were 25 or so artists vying for 8 very coveted spots in Art Battle 5, a live showdown and auction held at the Great Hall with music and refreshments to boot. With seven of the eight names already called, I eased into my chair and relaxed, knowing that tonight wasn’t my time to meet an audience.
“And the eighth and final artist of the night is Sandy!”
You should have seen the colour of my face. And my drawing. Not my best work, and that’s putting it mildly, but MAN was it ever a blast. Awesome organization – Lavinia and Co. are rock stars – and what a turnout. I didn’t know what to expect, having never been, and thought it would be me, maybe 5 others, some brushes and bright lights. I was wrong. Fantastic event. So much fun.
Paris, Je t’aime
Sigh. A coworker of mine is planning a trip to The City of Amour and as I barrage her with frenzied emails telling her everywhere that she must go, I remember my own visit to the Mecca of Love in 2005.
A trip to Paris was – in my mind as in so many others’, I’m sure – a coming-of-age voyage to be made with the love of my life as we skip, smiling and long-haired, through the leaves in the Jardin de Luxembourg, eating crepes and conversing with the showgirls that jump out of the carousels parked at every street corner. In reality, when I finally made the trip, it was a solo journey involving myself, one wheeled bright-red suitcase, no hotel reservations and a few Euros in my pocket. But I had a dream, energy, the ability to chat up a fire-hydrant and to mimic a Parisian accent better than Juliette Binoche, courtesy of Claude Watson Drama Majors (thanks Corey Singer!).
I started chatting to some people on my plane and found out that they reserved a room at the BVJ hostel on rue Jean-Jacques Rousseau, so I followed them there. They seemed to like me, so I didn’t feel like a stalker. I booked a room for 20 euros a night (including brekkie, sheets and showers) and met my new friends, Nia, Michelle and Nicole.
What shocks me is that I remember every detail of that trip, and have the city map of Paris burned into my brain. I remember every street, every gallery, every moment. It was 12 days of my life over 5 years ago and I grin from ear to ear when I think back. Michelle farting in the Eiffel elevator, Nicole urging us to see an Opera at the Garnier, Nia refusing to let me sleep on my last night in town and dragging me to a boat party on the Seine. Michelle making sandwiches in Versailles, Nicole throwing up at trying oysters in Montmartre, Nia spraying Hanae Mori perfume in the hostel. Victor Hugo square, Trocadero, Rodin, Picasso, Rene-Levesque Cemetery, the Catacombs, the Arc de Triomphe, Champs-Elysees, Moulin Rouge, Pigalle, Musee d’Orsay.
Reminiscence that’s Hard to Belize
John, my folks and I made a stop at Epicure yesterday and started chatting about our favourite star sightings. My mother was convinced that the most amazing stars were seen when we were camping near the Algoma region (one day I’ll tell you about my glorious Greyhound ride to Port Elgin – glorious in this instance said entirely fastetiously). Waldo argued that it was in PEI. John thought that maybe that night that we were forced to sleep in the car on our way to Goderich showed off the most beautiful stars. I thought the most spectacular was right before the near-Apocalyptic-storm in Jibacoa (my first experience with horizontal lightning – wow).
But then we remembered. That storm. The storm. In Belize, just after landing in Caye Caulker, when we grabbed a bite and were strolling back to our room when the world above us just unzipped and poured the contents of it’s cup right onto our heads. We thought we were going to die. What made it worse, too, was that all the fiddler crabs were scared to pieces and climbed on top of each other on the sand, so we had to avoid crab-domes while still trying to stay alive. Nature certainly has a way of putting you in your place.
But then again, that whole trip was man-against-beast. Manta rays, Seahorses, algeal blooms, baby sharks, you name it. Do you ever have those moments when you sit back and remember certain stuff and you’re so overwhelmed by the adventure and richness of your experience that you wonder for a moment if you’re nutty and maybe made it all up? I used to read a lot, and I mean a lot, so I actually have to stop sometimes and think, “is this me pulling a Big Fish or was I actually there?”. I remember when we were in Placencia and took the kayak out for a spin to do a little snorkelling in the middle of the water. We swam and swam, and then got really hungry, not thinking that we were out of luck as every resto was paused between lunch and dinner service. We paddled up to a little nook where a couple of Americans were drinking Lighthouse Lager and learning about SCUBA diving (I had already gotten my PADI certification, and was hoping to dive the Blue Hole). The proprietor of the place, this awesome lady whose name I can’t remember for my life, apologized for being closed but offered to go to her house across the street and make us two fish sandwiches. I will never forget those sandwiches as long as I live – beautiful fresh bread, giant fillets of fish with egg and breading, cucumber, mustard, fresh tomato, lettuce.
And don’t even get me started on “Make Your Own Pizza” adventures at Agave Restaurant. Lobster, onion, garlic, pineapple. Enough said. Death By Deliciousness.
I swear, it’s all true.
