Integration is the name of the game.

And if the pleasant experience which terminated in the scene above was anything to go by, the Québec government have made an inspired decision in providing Francisation classes which mix so many diverse nationalities! In the photo above, one can find people not long out of their native Chile, Colombia, England, Sudan, Morocco, Afghanistan, Mexico, Poland, Peru, Ukraine, Russia and Venezuela. Placing these people in a classroom environment in itself is a great idea, especially as the number of different nationalities ensures that the classes are conducted solely in French- no room for lazy students to simply talk in their native language! An even better idea was to take all of the students, along with their professors, for an archetypal visit to the countryside: picking  apples. Along with the Sugar Shack, the apple picking season is a familial and group cultural event.

It was most encouraging to see how the bonds in the group formed so strongly, the class could be regarded more as a community than merely an academic exercise. The interest of speaking to others from completely different societies, backgrounds, and cultural levels, is compounded by the common goal of everyone, to better their French language knowledge. I have to say, that of all the educational experiences I have received in my lifetime, the time with this class has been the most motivating, interesting and also challenging. One seeks to retain one’s own identity and culture, while exploring and discovering that of others, and that of the land in which we find ourselves.

The visit in question occurred a little later in September than ideal, when the apples were, in some cases, too long on the tree, but there still remained plenty of choices for the pickers. An idiosyncratic yellow school bus collected us from the Ecole Pierre Dupuy on a grey and rather threatening morning. I was pleased to note that the orchard was in the same township as the orchard which Sylvie and I visited two years ago, in sight of the lonely mountain of St Bruno. The bus ride in itself was fun, as the seats are designed for smaller than average people (i.e., children!) and we each had a sheet of typical French “school bus” songs. The driver put up extremely well with our efforts, and the journey passed quickly and relatively painlessly for those with average leg length!

Once arrived at the orchards, time was not lost in exploring the orchards, interpreting the colour coding of the trees by species, by means of coloured ribbons. For me, choice was relatively simple, as I love the slightly tart and firm McIntosh variety. Other students had no idea what type of apple they preferred, or were not accustomed to the varieties available. Of course, in an orchard, apples were plentiful, and sampling was the best way to test!

Manuel Wilson (above) was very brave throughout, overcoming not only a cultural barrier but also lacking a limb. He had problems with his prosthetic leg, and left it at home, still managing to gather a respectable sized bag full of apples. Although the exercise was serious enough in purpose, people had a lot of fun, despite the rain lashing down after most of the pickers had full bags.

The bus rescued the students from a heavy rain shower, and dropped us at the store, which sold a variety of gifts, souvenirs, and of course fresh produce. For the brave, a hot dog stall sold a hot lunch, others brought along their own packed lunch. I did not see anyone silly enough to bring along apples in their packed lunch…

Split into our two classes, we voyaged back to the halfway house by tractor and trailer ride.  The trailer ride was fun, although it brought back a great sense of déjà vu, seeing immigrants ride out to the picking in this manner! Strange to think that I too was now an “immigrant”, not in my own country, and integrating with the culture of my adopted land. A pleasant, but reflective feeling.

At the end of the day, all returned to the school a little damp, but mission accomplished- each bearing the fruit of the day, a sack of apples!

Diversity

Is a feature of life, and a basic essential to the survival of any nation. True, the line between extremism and “acceptable” diversity is blurred by old racist attitudes, by political movement, and by society itself evolving. We were glad to spend a few hours of a gloriously sunny afternoon in a hitherto unexplored quarter of Montréal, soaking up a very different culture.

The building  above is the Church of Sainte Sophie, behind which we discovered the Park Ukraine. The festival has been a yearly fixture for the past twelve years, and well worth attending each time, in my humble opinion. While there was not a great deal of space for the activities and for there to be many stalls (for example, in comparison with the Turkish and Mexican festivals we enjoyed at the Parc Jean Drapeau… but it was a pleasant and extremely multicultural event. The sun shone from a cloudless September sky, although with none of the fierceness we experienced during this past summer, thankfully!

We arrived by combination of bus and Metro, not a pleasant experience in itself, but nonetheless, entertaining for a people-watcher!  The scene was filled with colour, and the pleasant odour of cooking food permeated the atmosphere. As well as stalls with traditional crafts, souvenirs of Ukrainian origin and of course the inevitable stalls for the sponsors, we discovered some more in depth experiences, such as the stall devoted to informing about a great cause which neither of us had previously encountered:

http://www.bearersoflove.org/

A worthwhile cause we wish we had more money and time to support, devoted to helping the less fortunate by the most sensible means possible, for example, buying shoes and locally made products for the people in need, thereby also contributing to the local economy rather than that of the donating country.

We discovered the usual nick-nack stores, some of which were vending really finely crafted products, not merely tee shirts with the slogan “Ukrainian Inside” and a “made in China” tag within…

Things on sale included the fine mohair scarves (above), beautiful miniature paintings worked on shell and wood, and finely crafted jewellery. There were also the ubiquitous wooden dolls, and Sylvie bought two keychain dolls… although only one layer, it turned out, they made a nice souvenir with a practical side!

The violinist, Vasyl Popadiuk, entertained us well on the stage, though the music was rather louder than necessary, and his stage performance a little unrehearsed! I rued the fact that I had not brought along my video camera, and even more so when the traditional dancing began, adding still more colour to the spectacle!

 

A traditional dancing troupe livened things up somewhat. (above)

Extremely small, extremely brave, this little 7 year old girl had the crowd cooing with approval at her performance (above)

We would have appreciated the music of this choir significantly more if we had a) understood the words, or b) had subtitles in the programme… but it was all good!

While I won’t foreseeably become a fan of Iryna Zinkovska, she was quite a hit with the crowd, with a melange of French and Russian songs.

 

So, all in all we had an enjoyable experience, marred only by the poor sound volume regulation and the hideous road work problems with public transport that delayed our return home by about an hour. September is without a doubt my favourite month of the year in Canada, based on the two that I have experienced here. The crisp blue skies, pure sunshine, the glut of fresh local fruit and vegetables, the fond and not too distant memories of the summer still lingering, and the ease of sleeping at night when the temperatures permit the use of open windows rather than air conditioning!

Change

With the approaching end of summer now in sight, I eagerly await the onset of autumn. True, nowhere near my present geographic location will offer the gentle pastoral scene above, but even on a different continent, the cooler temperature, blue skies, and amazing landscapes combine to  make autumn in Canada one of my favourite seasons. September is perhaps the most beautiful months in the continent of North America; it is a positive pleasure to wake early and to take a short pause on the balcony before the day begins, watching the occasional cloud rolling across the deep blue, freshly washed sky. Inspiration comes in spade loads at this time of year, and this year is no exception.

Apart from having commenced school for Francisation recently, which is proving to be a huge confidence and ego builder, other things have developed which combine to give me a good feeling. My dear wife made room in our budget to buy me a sketch book, and with the pencils I brought over from the UK,  and two willing feline models, I am enjoying practising my drawing skills again. This time, leaving the results on Facebook has provided me with valued (and ego-boosting!) feedback about my “skill” level, and encouraged me to continue, taking the hobby more seriously. Going back through my old photographs, I believe painting scenes from my old life in the UK will prove cathartic for any remaining traces of homesickness- as well as challenging my perception skills: how well do I remember those old stone buildings in Stamford? How many statues are there on the amazing West Front of Peterborough cathedral? True, I shall have to refer back to pictures more, but it will also encourage me to take in far more with my eyes!

Of course, I shall be using the sketch book to hone my skills, but as the picture above indicates, sometimes a sketch can become something almost worth displaying!

As a sketch or painting proves to one the utility of taking note of the surroundings, so does my class for language integration help me to appreciate the different people around me. I am not generally considered intolerant, but having a class of people around me, all of whom have something cultural and positive to share, makes one appreciate humanity in general. I am getting to know the individuals very well, and also to discover on a  personal level, the interesting facts about Morocco, Syria, Afghanistan, Venezuela, Colombia and Peru!

Although not amazing in quality, the above picture does show the amazing diversity when one encounters immigrants thrown together with a common objective! We have a lot of fun in class, as it is not all about academic exercises; I am excited to be one of those headed to the apple picking, when the whole of the FFL department will be travelling to an orchard for a day trip. We also have a visit to the libraries here as part of the group, and though for me that is a case of déjà vu, I still eagerly anticipate it! The apple picking day will bring back memories of 2008, when I spent an amazing day with my wife, picking quantities of gorgeous apples, followed by a gratis hog roast and hot dinner, all under the beautiful blue skies of Monterégie.

Island Trip

This week, we fulfilled yet another activity from our “to do” list; take a trip to the Iles de Boucherville, those mysterious green-clad islands which we see each time we take the bus along the riverside Highway 132 into Montréal.  A combination of YouTube videos and publicly shared pictures gave me a good idea of what to expect, and the new found freedom of having a bike meant that the trip was easily within reach when the weather was suitable. Tuesday dawned rain swept and stormy, but for Wednesday, the forecast was perfect; sunshine, some clouds and a pleasant breeze to make the heat tolerable.

We outfitted ourselves for the day, with one omission, neglecting to put on enough sun block; this was subsequently to prove a significant omission! The rest of our prep included packing fresh fruit and vegetables, picnic chicken and utensils, and checking the bikes (as mine was less than a week old, the checks seemed superfluous, but old habits die hard). We set out at half past ten, knowing the ferry was scheduled to leave the jetty by Old Boucherville on each hour.

There was a substantial queue of bikes and foot passengers waiting on the jetty when we arrived, and when the boat finally docked, the queue numbered around 30 bikes and several push chairs. We were more than a little disappointed to learn that the boat only accommodated a maximum of 12 cycles and the same number of passengers, and thus we were unable to catch the next shuttle; we were even more alarmed when the boat, on its return, roared off in the direction of Longueuil, more than 2km down the river. Apparently the boat was covering not only its own schedule but that of another, downriver, and the crew were having to juggle demand. We waited almost an hour for the boat to collect its complement from Longueuil and shuttle them to the islands, while the queue lengthened behind us. Eventually we were able to board the part-inflatable craft, and the crew were unsparing of the horses on the short 1/2 km trip.

 

We enjoyed a brief view of the old quarter of Boucherville as the boat churned past the jetty, and this offset the dubious choice of music blaring from the speaker in the passenger well of the boat. It felt exciting to finally be heading to the more natural environment of the islands, even if only for a few hours; the positive anticipation helped us to forget the roasting which our shoulders and necks had received while waiting for the boat on the exposed jetty.

The island on which we landed was, as expected, shrouded in greenery, and the gravel cycle paths meandered through both leafy woodland and broad expanses of goldenrod. I had never seen so much of this plant, oftimes regarded in England as an invasive weed, nor so many specimens of the Monkey Tree/ tree of heaven, whose leaves were beginning to turn crimson in places.

We encountered only one animal on our first circuit, some kind of Vole which made an aborted attempt to run in front of Sylvie’s bike on a stretch of path. There were no signs of the coyote, foxes or owls promised in the guide book, and no sign of bears, which was a personal joke between us. We picnicked in the Island on which we landed, the northernmost of the archipelago. Fellow cyclists were more of an irritation than insect life, especially those unfamiliar with cycling etiquette or the basic safety rules needed to cycle properly.

Once we had eaten the bulk of our picnic and cleaned up responsibly, we continued to explore. This collection of islands is linked by both bridges and cable ferries. Taking the ferry was a fascinating experience, especially speculating on what lurked in the river below!

We toured gently around the remaining islands, which were linked to the mainland through bridges, and through the Louis Lafontaine tunnel. The lower half of the group was more tourist orientated, with a visitor centre, a display of stuffed examples of the local fauna, and the ubiquitous picnic areas. We encountered one example of the local deer, which was singularly unimpressed with my request for it to pose for a photo, although it was completely unafraid of the humans who stopped to admire it.

Feeling tired, and by now a little overheated, we headed back to the ferry point, having enjoyed a thoroughly refreshing experience in the countryside- in fact, less than a mile from Montréal’s docks and oil refinery! Although perhaps not on a par with one’s expectations of Canada, or experiences of walking and cycling in the English countryside, the experience was well worth the relief from living in a built up area, and helped release a lot of pent-up energy. It is late in the season to be experimenting with these experiences, but we are at least working slowly through our bucket list and enjoying ourselves in the process!

New openings!

Life always has its ups and downs, and this is true wherever on, above or within the globe we happen to be. Sharing these events, feelings and thoughts is part of blogging.

Things are beginning to move more significantly now, as for the first time since my arrival, I am going to be taking French courses in a proper school environment. Not only will it be a relief to be learning again, also I enjoy languages, and with my Chemistry studies to complete before next spring’s college enrolment, I finally have a deadline to work towards and no aimless waiting on numerous government departments for answers that turn out to be  negative. I love the whole atmosphere of school, aside from the small minority who are anti-academic in attitude and manner. I hope that once my French progresses, I will be able to take on at least part time work to augment my study budget.

I was immensely pleased to receive a note from my school praising my attendance, as this is a highly valuable reference to add to my CV, perhaps much more so in Québec where there seems to be a very lax attitude towards attendance and time keeping in both work and play.

The internet is much maligned as a source of time wasting, and I am the last person to dispute this; however, I also find that many of the tools and features of computers today can be immensely inspirational if used correctly. Visiting the website for Parc Jean Drapeau, http://www.parcjeandrapeau.com/ inspired me to visit with Sylvie a couple of weekends back. The weather delivered and the forecasters were for once completely accurate; a stifling hot day turned into a raging thunder and rain storm, from which we took refuge on the ferry dock on the Ille Ste Helene (picture above). It was a very full day in terms of experiences; we took a picnic which we had bought in the downtown area, then ate this in a secluded picnic area on the island. We then explored the Mexican and Turkish festivals, both of which were free to attend.

I think that less-curious inhabitants of large cities often go for much of their lives never actually visiting the landmarks they pass in their daily commute. Certainly, Sylvie had not been on the Island for at least ten years, and I had never had the inclination to step off the yellow line at any time, and explore the island. The desire was there to join the 300,000 people at the F1 Grand Prix, although funds did not permit that this year. I often looked down at the amusement park when travelling over the Jacques Cartier Bridge to the city in the morning, and thought it would be on my bucket list to visit. On this visit we did not pay for admission to the funfair, being on a low-budget trip.

Both the Mexican and Turkish (above) festivals were interesting, although there was a strong commercial element which rather spoilt the atmosphere. It was a great way to experience a slice of alternative cultures, and to see the ethnic minorities of Montréal  reveal their home culture. The festivals run on many weekends in summer, and our intention is to go back and experience more as soon as we can. As well as interesting experiences, there is plenty of material for enthusiastic photographers. Sylvie had one negative experience with a police horse which had ulterior designs and bit her while nuzzling her; that, and the rain aside, we had a fun day out at minimal cost and had our eyes opened to the variety that is on our doorstep. Lack of adventurousness is surely a cause not and excuse for having an unexciting life!

I was very pleased to discover what a wonderful view one can obtain of the Old Port and Downtown areas from our island, and I fully intend to return at various times of year and record the interesting cityscape. I particularly long to recreate the wonderful sight of the St Lawrence river frozen over and gilded by the sunrise, with the Old Port and the town in the background. For now, I shall have to be content with the monochromatic sky and view provided by the cloudburst and subsequent storm!

Many things...

crowd in to make life complicated! "It is never good to try to tackle too many things at once..." fine words for a man who got married, left the church in which he was raised, emigrated and set up home in a different country, in the space of less than a year! It seems that cares and happenings always come in batches rather than being smoothly spaced throughout the year. Such is life, and the multitaskers among us are put to the test infrequently but intensely.

To resume the thread of my thoughts, which has been a little muddled and tangled due to happenings and predictable events too; last week was busy!

Wednesday was significant in that I finally managed to attend my interview for language evaluation; the whole interview was conducted in French, and I was asked to write a couple of short sample pieces to demonstrate written and grammatical French. The upshot was being rated as "intermediate and above" in French, which I found something of a surprise. It's my guess that I need confidence and practise far more than a general course in the language, and in daily life I do get some chances to speak it. Presently I am waiting to see if they will be able to fund my language courses, and if and when I can claim my employment insurance in the meantime. The interview was conducted in an awful building, which made quite a statement to me about the actual attitude of the minister for culture and integration! Thankfully it was en route to school, and as I completed the written assignment extremely rapidly, much to the delight of my interviewer, I had plenty of time to watch the football on the projector at school! This projection of the World Cup onto the wall in the dining hall was a master stroke, and proved to me that I am not the only one in Canada who is ignorant of football!

Wednesday was also marked by an earthquake, felt only as a minor tremor in our building, and many students did not even realise the nature of the vibrations. Some of the lab experiments were disrupted by the tremor, which had its epicentre somewhere in Ontario. Nearer the heart of the earthquake, more people panicked, and some office buildings were evacuated. My wife, in downtown Montreal only felt the vibrations, but work carried on as normal, as befits a government department! This happening could have been seen by some as an omen, but statistically, it was a fairly likely occurrence. We experienced one in Stamford in 2008, which damaged the plaster of my house there, and was much more violent, despite the house being on rock foundation.

Thursday was Quebec's "National" holiday, St Jean Baptiste. To other Canadians, it is a day they prefer to treat as normal, but there was no school and no work for most people in our vicinity. It was very like an English Bank Holiday, people calling at the depanneur for beer and cheap wine, barbecues on the balcony, and strange Quebec music playing in the public parks. It was also very hot, so we enjoyed being shut in with the air conditioning and taking time out from our schedules.

On Friday, we decided not to completely vegetate, and took the bus and Metro into Montreal city. As we often do, we took the opportunity to visit the Grande Bibliotheque, that amazing library which we find both rich in resources and frustrating in its inconsistency. I borrowed a few DVD movies, and books to read and fill the gaps in my "education" of JRR Tolkein. With plenty of time to spare, we decided to take a stroll along Ste Catherine in a direction we had neither of us explored before, heading Northwards. The street began to get more and more colourful, and we realised we had walked into the midst of the Village, the gay part of Montreal. Given my upbringing, I felt a certain instinctive caution, but the place was noticeable for its tolerance, and a very peaceful feeling. If this is what being gay has done for the world, then we need a lot more gay people to keep the world peaceful! We dined at the St Hubert, in true South Shore style, enjoying the excellent and unlimited coleslaw which is a famous feature of this restaurant chain with each of their meals. It was nice to see a "new" part of Montreal, especially on a comparatively quiet Friday, when most people had taken time off to make a four day weekend.

On Saturday, we finally got to achieve a dream, that of attending the annual firework championships which run every summer Saturday. These spectaculars are laid on by a different nation each weekend, and are a feature of Montreal life. Last year, we intended to see them, but the constraint of time and living in another person's house prevented us from ever following through with this. This year, with time to ourselves on the Sunday following, we were prepared to have a late night!

The International firework festivals are held on the island midway between Montreal and Longueuil, called La Ronde. They are fired almost on the doorstep of the amusement park, and though the park charges for admission, the general public has access to an amazing grandstand viewpoint: the Jacques Cartier bridge, which spans to the island of Montreal via La Ronde. The bridge is closed to traffic from about 9pm, cordonned off by multitudes of police at both ends, and Montrealers and South Shore people begin crowding on foot, onto the bridge. We caught a bus which brought us into Longueuil at 9pm, and already there were many people encamped on the tarmac and the bridge walls, waiting expectantly. The bridge gives fantastic views of the downtown, and is somewhere I wish to visit again soon for night shots of the city. We chose a neutral spot, and watched the scene, the boats on the river, the huge crowd advancing from the Montreal side, and the slightly threatening skies above. Poland was the nation to perform their best display, and for the first time. When the display started I began to feel a little underwhelmed, as it was not anything as spectacular as I had imagined; however, I did enjoy the experience immensely, as it was enormous fun scrambling for a viewpoint, being a part of such a huge crowd, and watching some beautiful pyrotechnics.

When the crowd dispersed, it was reminiscent of a disaster movie, and I expected Godzilla at any moment to rush the bridge and rip away a section of the crowded platform! We arrived back home without incident, and plan to attend this show much more frequently, weather and bus passes permitting.

Sunday morning was filled with TV, unusual for the both of us. First the Grand Prix of Spain (Euro Grand Prix, Valencia) was aired, and I found it a disappointment. Not having much faith in my countrymen's team, I was not especially surprised or disappointed when England failed to hold onto the football match against Germany. It seemed quite a foregone conclusion, even with the very poor decision by the referee to disallow a goal that was proven to be legitimate by the video evidence. I spent the rest of the day in revision for today's exams, as the weather was hot, humid and not pleasant for anything out of doors.

I am feeling emotional as I write this, having left the latest news until last; I had a message on Facebook this morning from a person in England, informing me that someone had drowned on Saturday. I was filled with disbelief, as the 24 year old man was someone who I had watched grow up, into a promising, happy and very nice young person, only to be cut short like this. To add to the tragedy, his uncle and aunt had both died during his lifetime, being cystic fibrosis sufferers. My first thought was "Why them, how much more tragedy can this family take?" I remembered also how close I came to drowning at that age, in a swimming hole near to Peterborough. As the young man is in the Sect I was once a member of, I doubt his relatives would be interested in contacting me, and I hope their faith will give them strength to get through this. He himself was a member as far as I know, at the time of his death, and I hope they derive comfort from that. I think the tragedy tapped into a well of emotion that I have had trouble releasing, and made me think of my own family and parents, who have never seemed so distant as now. Thankfully I have a wonderful woman as support and cheer to help me through life, and also many good friends who share a sympathetic ear in times like this. I don't feel alone, which is perhaps one of my greatest fears in life. I am learning too, of the comfort that animals bring as neutral, but observant companions which can sense our feelings and perhaps even respond more helpfully because they do not attempt to rationalise things which cannot be.

One man's rubbish...

I was led to muse on the matter of taste by seeing a frequent visitor in our back yard, rooting through the recycling bins as he often does on collection day; this made me ponder on several lines of thought. My first impression on seeing this man poking in the rubbish skip early one Sunday morning, was one of disgust; he arrived in a car, and to my mind to have enough money to afford a car surely means that people do not have to resort to digging in trash to augment their living? I was secretly hoping that he would be discouraged by accidentally bursting one of our sacks which contained the rejected cat litter or the bones of a chicken that had been there almost a week. The phenomenon of going through garbage cans can be seen in almost any place in the world, here in Quebec I would presume people are often searching for discarded drink cans, as there is a 5 cent deposit on each can. I find it difficult to see how people have so little personal pride that they resort to raiding the recycling bins; and in a sense it offended my sense of privacy.

Nobody in their right mind would throw personal data in the recycling without shredding it. This does not remove the fact that the recycling bins are somewhat personal, as they contain a cross section of the packaged goods which a household consumes during a week. I doubt market researchers resort to this kind of thing, but there is something almost as unpleasant to me seeing someone going through recently recycled items, as seeing a stranger exploring my clothing cupboard! Another side thought, surely the recycling becomes property of the company which is providing the bins, either the municipality or the disposal company. The general public is effectively stealing by removing anything from the bins after it has been discarded. I realise I am beginning to sound increasingly Meldrewian in this vein, but my gripe is over. Reflecting on this strange character this morning made me think of Noddy Boffin, the "golden dustman" of Dickensian fame. It is probably true that going through trash and recycling could result in discovering things which could bring down whole governments, start wars, and end careers, not to mention occasionally resulting in discoveries of amazing value.

All this musing brings to mind a piece of my past, not deliberately left behind, but rather lost in the events of life and the necessities of moving continent; my strange nack for turning cheap or cast off things into models or usable items, and a prediliction for hoarding. When I was at the height of "boredom" with the life I led, I invested considerable time searching for materials to replicate items in real life, for building models for my garden railways. This was an influence of my late friend Graham, whose life was tragically cut short by his long term alcohol abuse. In his lucid days, he was a great person and also a wonderful example of ingenuity; we scoured the charity stores together, mostly in search of small figurines in the toys section, which could be adapted with a little imagination into all kinds of dioramas and set pieces! I recall particularly the discovery of an evil, brutal looking Disney figurine which lent itself admirably to my "demon butcher", complete with a chopping motion of his arm and bloodied cleaver, powered by a discarded toy mechanism.

The modelling, the creating from scratch from so many discarded materials, was a hobby which I am missing a little... even when I was making many of these models, I technically did not have the time, because I "should have been attending church meetings", according to doctrine; model making was one of the few releases in an otherwise unbearably high-pressure life, and creating these microcosms was a comforting way of taking control and living vicariously in the lives of others, much as with my writing . Now would not be a good time to begin with this hobby again, both because hoarding junk and making finely detailed models is incompatible with having feline family members, but also because I am scared of becoming too absorbed in the models and not giving enough attention to those things which matter, such as keeping a clean home, having enough food, and earning a living. There is always a balance to be struck, and to do this I would need to allow a little hobby activity, and concentrate on that at times when I am bored. It is too easy to waste large amounts of time on the computer, and have nothing at the end to show for it... all these musings even, take more time than I can spare, but enable me to get my thoughts in order.



On an altogether different note, I am really pleased to have some green in our home at last! A very thoughtful gift from a distant penpal has grown, and for the first time in many years, I have a crop of cress almost ready for sandwich production! Of course, I could easily have bought the seeds locally, but sometimes we need our friends to sow the seeds of ideas in our brains- and also to give us a little push. With the success of the cress seeds fresh in my mind, I have in mind to grow some bean sprouts eventually. The choice of seeds in Canada is not too limited, although the general public does not take vegetable gardening at home very seriously. Today's is a quick-solution society, where people seem to have lost the patience to wait for seedlings to emerge, the patience to nurture and then enjoy the fruits of their labours! Of course this is not typical in every case, and I would not like to pigeonhole people- it seems that people do not even have time to peel and chop their own potatoes, according to a recent commercial, something I find rather sad. It is the same with food preperation; of course, some busy people do not find the time to make their own pizza dough or burger patties, but perhaps they are not aware how easy it is to freeze both these items and use them when there is less time; the added advantage of course being that one is totally aware of the contents of these foods!

Writing this has reminded me that I have a batch of pizza dough on the counter, just risen to perfection; I have already prepared the pineapple and ham for Sylvie's pizza (she prefers Hawaiian) and the bacon, tomato and sliced onion for my own, so we simply have to roll, top and bake them when supper time arrives. It feels wonderful to have a fully equipped kitchen, but also, to have an accommodating wife who is willing to allow her husband to take on a share of the cooking! I enjoy cooking, but not when trying to entertain at the same time, and hope that I will find more time and energy for the latter, when I have built up enough confidence and experience in the former! Now I must attend to the kitchen and attempt to discover the perfect Victoria Sponge cake!