Things

This was supposed to have been posted on Friday, but...life (“work”) happens.

This is another Montreal weekend. One of the great things about central Canada is that there are numerous large cities within reasonable driving distance (as an aside, one of the strange things about Central Canada is that there is no ocean). Anyway, 2 hours on a Greyhound and we shall be speaking French and eating bagels.
First on the Montreal agenda is a hair cut from the Funky Toque. This may necessitate wearing a funky toque to cover up a funky haircut, but I’m ok with that. I love toques – I packed at least four for the road trip. Speaking of packing, emptying a bag for the weekend has inspired some reflection on the “stuff” I carry around.
Here is the abridged version of what travelled with me to work today:

Purple batik zipper pouch (ie. my “wallet”) and its contents:

- Credit card – the student variety, ie. complete with a “fun” image and a matching “fun” (ie. low) limit.
- Driver’s license – the only reason I know my height in centimeters.
- Receipt for 1 vegan chocolate-bananarama cookie from the bakery down the street – my coffee habit is supported by my enthusiasm for vegan/wheat-free/sugar-free baked goods.
- $5.58 in small change – heavy, but enough for 5 afore-mentioned vegan cookies.
- Burt’s Bees lip balm – old habit from my saxophone-playing years.
- Ticket stubs from Bytowne Cinema (Ottawa’s home of the foreign/indie film) – a reminder that while joining the Italian Mafia may be artistically dramatic, it is not to be recommended (the same applies to travelling across the Gobi Desert alone).

Notebook:

- Schedule for winter semester – thesis, thesis, thesis.
- Notes from the Senate Committee Against Sexual Exploitation of Children – one of the most interesting Wednesday mornings I’ve had.
- Name tag with House of Commons Security Clearance – sometimes I feel important.
- The alphabet written backwards (?)

Miscellaneous:

- Aloe vera (for my Parliamentary sunburn received while standing on the Hill yesterday for the National Day of Reconciliation – awkward business-casual tan lines).
- Almonds – I am my mother’s daughter.

The good news is that I could probably survive stuck in an elevator for a few days (thank you, almonds), and if found unconscious by the side of the road, a) have little of value that could be stollen, and b) could be easily identified and traced home via bakery receipts and coffee cards. The bad news is that I felt compelled to create a list of the contents of my wallet during my spare time, so outside I go.

Cinnamon Delirium

The café across the street just got my order correct for the first time. I’m a fan of Across-the-Street-Café (as I have named it), despite the high probability of being handed something that only vaguely resembles what you had asked for – it’s filled with red couches and quirky artwork, and barristas who probably wouldn’t make it at Starbucks but seem to be far more charming than anyone wearing the green apron. Except for one woman who would probably beat you with an espresso grinder if given half the chance. Anyway, during my first morning on Bank Street I ordered a large dark roast and when the potentially-pubescent individual behind the counter reached for a “small” cup I lunged forward involuntarily gasping “No!” He looked terrified to which I replied, “I’m sorry…it’s just no way that’s big enough.” Thus began my addiction-fuelled love affair with the certified-fair-trade-organic beanery next to the place that makes floral arrangements out of fruit (the things you can DO with a melon baller!). This is my work neighbourhood. Or at least, one of them.

My building is packed with non-profit organizations. Interestingly, while my door opens next to the Canadian Federation of University Women, my window looks directly over “Dare to Be Naughty Adult Novelty,” which can apparently give you a great deal on floggers. Heading North towards the canal, you can see Parliament, and will pass a large Royal Bank of Canada, along with bakeries, boutiques, and the patio of an Italian bistro. One of the reasons I love Ottawa is that everything is mixed up: food, art, politics, music, business. Depending on the route, you can end up outside an embassy, inside a university building, or picking up a used book for a dollar while a man plays guitar on the sidewalk. There are also dozens of Lebanese food places – Ottawa must be the shawarma capital of the Western world.

My commute this morning was slightly delirious, which added to the usual excitement and interest. To start, monsoon season has unexpectedly arrived in central Canada, and it is pouring. Ottawans, unlike Vancouverites, are inexperienced when it comes to moving through crowded streets in the rain, and being that my eyes are level with most people’s umbrellas, there is much dodging and jumping in order to protect my vision. Gumboots and raincoats abound, and public transit becomes tropical as crowded wet bodies steam, dressed unnecessarily for the apocalypse. Having woken up with the same mild fever I took to bed, I could add dizziness to the heat and humidity, making for an oddly detached, out-of-body commuting experience. Thus, successfully receiving a cup in my hand that was not only the right size, but also contained soy milk (“no, that’s cow, the one with the beans…”), AND an offer of extra cinnamon, was hugely calming before my regular 8am-laptop-switch-on to see what the day would bring. Incidentally, the day is bringing lots of things, so back to work I go. I’ll try writing about what it is I actually do another time.