March 12, 2011
The time has come.
No more "fooling and farting around" as my mother would call it.
No more dawdling, procrastinating, avoiding.
I have to mark.
All day.
In fact, I have mark in every spare moment I have between now and Tuesday.
Assignments.
Midterms.
Yee. Haw.
Last evening, I experienced an occurence of astronomical proportions.
My son, my Pookie, asked me if I wanted to go to the movies with him.
Just him and me.
Of course, I jumped at the opportunity, as some time has passed since the two of us spent time together.
Just him and me.
I would have seen anything, even Beastly again.
Which, in spite of it's potential, was one of the worst movies I've ever seen.
Luckily, the visuals made it remotely tolerable.
However, Keith spared me the indignity and the injustice of having to sit through Beastly again.
Instead, we saw Red Riding Hood.
Not bad, not bad.
Virginia Madsen's performance could have been a lot stronger.
Billy Burke, aka "Bella's Dad" from the Twilight series was okay.
What made the film worth watching was Julie Christie, as "Grandma."
Julie Christie from the original Dr. Zhivago.
She made the film worth watching.
Along with Gary Oldman.
Whose never given a bad performance as far as I can see.
Sid and Nancy. . . amazing.
Best of all was sitting in the theater with Keith, engaging in our pre-viewing preamble.
We've decided to make this at least a once a month activity.
I'm looking forward to it.
Ask anyone what they find challenging about Montreal and you'll get the same response.
Driving.
Montreal looks as if a bunch of men got together after smoking too much crack and decided it would be fun to make a city.
Which is the only logical explanation for how the roads and streets in Montreal are configured.
For Montrealers, however, the highways and bi-ways of their fair city are just a part of their everyday world.
A fact I still can't wrap my head around.
There is no where to go in Montreal that doesn't take ten years off my life.
Not even walking.
During our we-have-to-get-out-of-the-house-stroll Tuesday afternoon, Stephen and I marched along Gouin. . .pronounced Gooo-eeeen.
And almost got ourselves killed in the process.
Narrow sidewalks and catastrophic drivers do not the best combination make.
Add the swimming pool sized puddles and the mounds of snow piled high on the sidewalks and you had yourself a recipe for disaster.
Which is why we didn't stay on Gouin very long.
We cut through the parking lot of the Notre Dame de Bel-Amour church parking lot.
A church bearing icicles so thick, so heavy, so long, so huge, the looked like the thickest part of tree trunk.
I was astounded that the church didn't collapse.
These icicles literally stretched from the roof into the ground.
But I digress.
Stephen's parents have been driving in Montreal since they were old enough to drive.
Over 60 years.
They know how to get around Montreal the same way I know how to get around Fredericton.
Just on a much grander scale.
And as sometimes happens, once people begin to get older, the ability to negotiate a two ton motor vehicle through the treacherous and always expanding streets of Montreal can change.
And as also sometimes happens, people are less-than-willing to accept that perhaps they should consider driving less.
Given his parent's insistence that everywhere we go, we go in their car, we were treated to more than one drive around Montreal with Stephen's parents.
Mostly his 80 year old father sat behind the wheel, maneuvering here and there as he took us to our favourite destinations.
While Stephen and I sat in the back with our hands clutched together.
Me with my eyes shut.
And Stephen's mother in the front seat yelling at him to "take it easy on the gas pedal" and commenting that he "drives with a lead foot."
I love Stephen's father.
That needs to be clear.
But I'm not 100% certain he should be driving for much longer.
I'm used to driving in dangerous conditions.
Remember, I drive with Stephen, or as I like to call him, Mario Pidwysocky.
75 kms thought the residential areas of Fredericton.
My constant reminders to slow down.
Perhaps even the odd reference to possessing a "lead foot."
Mmmmmm. . . .
More of those patterns seem to be emerging.
Driving with Stephen's dad was akin to taking a ride on a rollercoaster.
Without the locked-in-so-you-can't-move part.
Let's just say it took everything I had to not throw myself on the snow covered ground, kissing it with reckless abandon, everytime we reached a destination.
That just would have been unseemly.
And the conditions of the roads and streets throughout Montreal aren't exactly conducive to smooth, effortess driving.
Potholes the size of moon craters dot the urban landscape.
Cars duck and dive around them.
Sharp turns left or right in a futile attempt to avoid losing major parts of their cars.
All while driving at a breakneck 120 kms on the 70 km Decarie Expressway or the Metropolitan.
The side streets aren't any better.
What little driving you do amid the myriad of stop signs that prevent you from getting anywhere in any decent length of time, is always interrupted by the constant bouncing up and down, rolling around, and rattling like a lone pea in a tin can.
The result of the constant heaving of the streets.
Pavement rising up similar to the ground heaving as the result of the underground creatures moving hither and yon in the low budget, yet somewhat entertaining film, Tremors.
Include the never ending contruction, the exits barre, the poor road conditions and the psychotic drivers and you have all the reasons I would rather eat dandruff than drive in Montreal.
Throw in a snowstorm or two, and I'd rather watch a John Wayne film than peruse the streets of Montreal.
Must mark.
Must mark.
Must mark.
Those papers keep staring at me.
I feel the same way when the dogs look at me with the "I-have-to-poop" look on their faces.
Like I'd better do something or there'll be trouble.
Finally, I have readers in Japan. I read about the eartquake and tsunami, and I hope and pray you and your families are safe. If there is anything we can do, just say the word.
Title Lyric: A Hundred Miles of Bad Road by Andy Griggs
March 11, 2011
Megamind wasn’t the worst movie I've ever seen.
But I won't lie. . .I was somewhat disappointed.
I expected more from Will Ferrell.
I laughed in a couple of places.
Stephen laughed in a couple of places.
But $4.00 was about as much as I'd be willing to pay to see it.
Plus the cost of a Starbucks tall decaf and a grande mild.
I don’t think it was worth the price of two full movie tickets.
We sat in the back row.
But there was no necking.
I asked, but Stephen didn’t think it would be appropriate in the midst of a theatre full of children.
Watching matinee kid movies when the theatre is full of kids is the primary ingredient for a entertaining cinematic experience.
In particular, there was a little guy a couple of seats in front of us who laughed hysterically throughout the film, repeating all the lines he thought were funny .
I laughed more with him than at the film.
Thanks little guy.
I needed that!
At one point during our sojourn to Montreal, Stephen briefly toyed with the idea of staying an extra day.
Until he checked the Weather Network http://www.theweathernetwork.ca/ and discovered that Montreal was in for another snowstorm yesterday.
That clinched it.
After our horrendous experience on the 85 between Cabano and Riviere du Loup, Stephen just wasn't willing to take any chances. And on the road we were on Wednesday.
It was the only day we had clear weather from Montreal to Fredericton.
Not that we didn’t have some snow action while we were in Montreal.
Sunday night to Monday afternoon Montreal received 25 cms of snow.
Meaning Monday morning, before our expidition to Costco, we had to shovel out the Fiesta.
A task we were more than capable of meeting.
We've shovelled some snow in our lifetime.
And it isn't as if the Fiesta is gargantuan.
We also thought, somewhat misguidedly, that it would be nice to help Stephen’s father shovel out their Corolla.
Misguidedly being the key word.
Stephen’s father has a system.
And he does not, under any circumstances, like anyone doing anything to contravene his system.
Providing assistance is tantamount of contravention of his system.
As soon as breakfast was over, he was dressed and outside to begin “playing in the snow” as Stephen’s mother refers to his snow shovelling.
I, too, dressed to help expidite the process of snow removal to ensure safe travels to Costco.
To be greeted with Stephen’s father asking me what I was doing outside when we wouldn’t be leaving for a half an hour.
Apparently, the thought that I was outside to assist with snow removal never crossed his mind.
And I responded by grabbing a shovel to remove the mounds of snow encasing the garbage cans.
I would have done anything to see the look on his face.
It didn't take me too long to ascertain that if you insist on assisting Stephen's father, inserting yourself into his system, it is absolutely imperative that you shovel according to his specifications.
For example, he requested assistance with removing the snow underneath his car so he could use his super scoop to transfer the under-the-car-snow to the pile he was making in front of his car.
On the street.Because in Montreal people shovel out their vehicles but leave the snow in large piles on the street in front of, or in back of their vehicles.
Or on the sidewalk if they're feeling extra generous.
Which is an entirely different issue.
For some reason unbeknownst to me, perhaps brief snow-shovelling-inspired-delusion, a result of exertion, he asked me to shovel under his car.
I jumped at the opportunity to show my father-in-law that I could be both useful and helpful.
I was so niave.
Moving snow from underneath a car is something I am more than familiar with.
But not familar enough for Stephen's father.
He gave me my directive.
Verbally.
However, it would seem that I didn't possess the cognitive abilities to understand his verbal directive.Meaning he stopped what he was doing, took time from his scooping to ensure that I understood exactly what he wanted done.
To show me how to remove snow from underneath his car properly.
Meanwhile, Stephen was shovelling the sidewalk, staying as far away from his father and the his super scoop as possible.
Smart man.
I am just so thankful that we weren't in Sherbrooke.
75 cms of snow in a 24 hour period.
That is 2.5 feet of snow.
Imagine the cacophany of chaos removing that snow would have caused.
Montreal snow removal in general is nothing short of unfigureoutable.
Logic is not a part of the process of determining when and where snow will be removed.
Stephen and I took a walk after our trip to Esposito and Adonis.
We needed some alone time.
Fresh air.
Distance.
A break.
While we were walking, some sidewalks were crystal clear, while others were piled high with snow, leaving us to climb over snow banks.
I don't climb.
I don't like it.
I have short, stubby little legs and climbing of any kind makes my already balance-challenged self struggle, epically.
While my husband, with his six foot long legs walks over these snow mountains like Gulliver travelling through Lilliput.
Because in the process of moving snow away from their vehicles, Montrealers shovel their snow onto the sidewalks or into the streets.
Both are against Fredericton city by-laws.
And in our neighbourhood, with the nosey-nyoinka-up-the-street-who-doesn't-work-and- allows-his-wife-to-support-him, a fine for violating said by-laws would most definitely be forthcoming.
Should we ever lower ourselves to actually shovelling snow onto the streets.
When we came back from our walk, I noticed that all along the side of the street where Stephen’s parents park there were signs like this:
Thus leading Stephen to educate me in the art of illogical Montreal snow removal.
These signs mean that between the times on the sign, the city will be in your neighbourhood, on your side of the street, removing snow.
Meaning move your damn car unless you want the plow to re-bury your car, and spend another two hours shovelling.
Stephen tells his father the signs are up.
Thus creating a whole new panic.
And a primary opportunity for an argument between Stephen and his father.
Where to move the cars on the other side of the street?
When to move them?
And how to do it with the least amount of words-that-shouldn’t-be-said between Stephen and his father.
Me, I read my book and stayed completely out of it.
Our last evening in Montreal saw me and Stephen out on the great-egg-bread-hunt.
We bought several loaves while out with Stephen’s parents, however, we needed several more.
Our kids love egg bread, and for some reason you cannot buy it here, except at Victory and only if you get there on Friday.
Montreal grocery stores carry it the same way our grocery stores carry white bread.
We usually come back with between 20-30 loaves.
But this time we were limited by space.
We were only able to bring back 15.
While wandering through Maxi’s. . .
. . .we came to the in store pharmacy.
I asked Stephen if he would get me some acetaminophen with codeine.
The entire visit to Montreal, I suffered with a shattering headache on the right side of my head.
Psychosomatic?
Perhaps.
Nonetheless, I was desperate for something to relieve the pain and acetaminophen with codeine was my last resort.
In any other situation, I am completely capable of getting my own acetaminophen with codeine.
But je ne parle pas francais.
Beyond the above sentence, bonjour, au revoir, and a phrase that was a part of a popular song in the 70s, I don’t know any French.
Because Stephen is always the dutiful husband, he happily obliged.
I wandered around, looking here and there, thinking it was just a matter of asking for it, getting it, paying for it with the rest of our groceries, taking some, and heading home.
Just like I do here.
I forgot where I was.
Wandering around the clothing section, the wine and beer section. . . .
. . .just as an aside, seeing wine and beer in an aisle between the pop and chip aisles is just a glorious thing.
. . .civilized even. . .
. . .and I wandered and wandered and browsed and looked and wandered and looked some more and there was still no Stephen.
But there was a lot of laughter coming from the pharmacy.
Red flags shooting up all over the place.
Finally, eventually, Stephen appears.
Apparently, you can’t just ask and receive acetaminophen with codeine in Montreal.
You have to give them your name and they look in their computer for your name.
Naturally, his name wasn't in their computer.
Why would it be?
Stephen always spells his name when asked to give it.
Saves the embarassment of listening to other attempt to pronounce it.He always spells his last name as if he is in front of a group of children learning to print.
When he is finished, the pharmacist asks him, in French, if he is Jewish.
Ah, non, he replies.
He actually was Jewish at one point, but the story of Stephen’s religious journey is long and complicated and would require him beside me to ensure I get the details straight.
One day I will share, though.
But I digress.
Next he had to show them his Medicare card.
Causing, apparently, because this heresay as I wasn’t actually present, the pharmacist and her assistant oooohhhheeeeedddd and ahhhhhheeedddd over the New Brunswick Medicare card.
“Oh my God! You’re Medicare card is so nice!” In French.
She then notices Stephen’s birth date and comments that he doesn’t look old enough to be 50.
In April.
The 5th of April to be exact.
Muahhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.
(More details about said fete to follow)
And that is the LAST time I ever leave Stephen alone with a French female pharmacist.
Hitting on him.
Luckily, he wasn’t at all aware that was going on.
I know this because he never knew I was hitting on him, flirting with him.
Emily had to bribe him with shortbread cookies.
Even then it took him at least three more months to realize that I liked him.
Title Lyric: Down Under by Men at Work
March 10, 2011
We have returned home.
A blissfully uneventful drive was had between Montreal and Fredericton.
My favourite kind.
The house remains in one peice, thanks mostly to the efforts of our youngest child, Emily.
She called me during our first full day in Montreal and exclaimed, "It's really hard being a parent to Meredyth and Keith!"
Tell me something I don't already know.
It would seem that Mer and Keith fully, completely, absolutely embraced our absence, while Em saw it as an opportunity to demonstrate that she is moving towards adulthood and can be trusted and responsible.
Everyone did an excellent job embracing their chosen roles.
Em was indeed responsible and trustworthy, as we came back to a house as clean as we left it.
Mer and Keith indeed embraced our absence and had one hell of a good time.
At least from what information I've been able to gather.
Causing Em a most stressful time.
Conversations, "talks" will be happening later today.
When we pulled into the driveway, Tikka was standing guard at her usual spot in the kitchen window, wanting it to be us, hoping it was us, but not letting herself completely believe it was us until she saw us emerge from the car.
Ears back, smile on her face, tail wagging at 100 kms per hour, she ran from the kitchen to the front door leaping and jumping in ways I haven't seen her leap and jump in a long time.
I anticipate she'll have sore hips today as a result of her excited frolicking.
Frankie had given up hope that we were ever returning, prefering to believe we had doomed him to a life of living with the kids.
So when we walked through the door, he literally leapt out of his skin, walked on the ceiling, and engaged in such a creative and energetic welcome home dance, I wished I had a camera to capture it.
And we were only gone four days.
Imagine if we left for any length of time.
They'd probably split themselves, leaving us with four dogs instead of two.
Hmmmmm. . .four dogs. . . .that sounds rather lovely, doesn't it?
Reilley and Goblet did not come downstairs to greet us upon our return, prefering to make us come to them.
Reilley was in Emily's room, of course and when she brought him out the meowing and caterwauling was vociferous.
Goblet was resting on my chair in the office.
When I came in to get her, she looked up at me as if to say, "Oh. You're home now. How nice. Thanks for leaving me in the care of people who haven't the brain capacity to look after a sponge."
Her icy demeanour thawed, apparently, by the time Stephen came to bed, as within seconds of his head hitting the pillow, her lips latched onto his earlobes.
Ahhhhhhh. . .the normality of life at home.
There has been one change to our nightime living arrangements as a result of our time in Montreal.
Frankie is no longer sleeping with us at night.
If one of us is in the bed, fine, he can come up.
However, we have decided, a mutual decision and decree, that when we are both in bed, it must be a Frankie-free zone.
And how did we come to this cruel and harsh decision?
A good night's sleep.
On a hide-a-bed no less.
Our first night in Montreal, we slept like logs, not even getting up to pee.
We thought it was a result of the long drive through the treacherous 185, and then the lovely visit with Donna and Andrij.
Our second night was the same.
We slept so soundly that in the morning our bladders were singing the Hallelujah chorus and we were racing to the bathroom.
Our third night was the same.
We're social scientists.
Trained to identify and interpret patterns.
And there was definitely a pattern.
Leaving us to conclude that we slept well because we were in a Frankie-free zone.
Meaning neither one of us spent the night in such contortions around Frankie that we could audition for Cirque de Soleil.
That we didn't wake up in the middle of the night frigid and freezing because Frankie has made a nest of our covers.
That we didn't wake up both herded into one corner of the bed while Frankie lounged and luxuriated in the rest of the bed.
That we weren't each herded to a side of the bed while Frankie stretched out horizontally in between us, making us look the letter H.
No more Frankie in the bed.
So last night, when Stephen came to bed and after Goblet had her first post-visit to Montreal suckle, Frankie launched himself onto the bed with his usual gusto.
Only to be greeted with a "Frankie, down."
Resolute, he stood his ground.
Mummy and Daddy were back, ergo logic dictates Frankie should be on the bed.
Surely we must be suffering from some post-long drive delusions.
Until Mummy got up and sternly said, "Frankie. DOWN."
Completely and thoroughly pissed off, he spent the rest of the night on the couch, punishing us for our clear ignorance of the rules and unfeeling and callousness.
He's thinking things will return to normal this evening.
Someone is in for a shock.
At times like this, it isn't a good idea to lock horns with a Mummy as stubborn as, if not more, than you are.
Because Mama has had a taste of a good night's sleep, and now she wants more.
One of the things about visiting Stephen's parents is an adherence to their schedule.
Should we want to ahere or not.
Including the 8.00 am reveille.
And if we decide that we aren't ready to get up, Stephen's mother will start by walking up and down the hallway, repeatedly, talking to Stephen's father as she does so.
If, by some misfortune, that doesn't work, she resorts to yelling from the kitchen that breakfast is being served and if we don't get up to get it now, we won't be getting any.
Imagine how happy this makes the morning-doesn't-happen-until-noon-Stephen.
This, we are used to.
What was new and exciting this visit was their absolute unwillingness to let us go anywhere on our own.
Now the trip to Costco needed to be a family affair, because we aren't members and Stephen's parents are.
That was fine.
We wandered through the aisles, picking up a few things we can't get here.
Such as pants for Stephen.
When you have a 36 inch inseam, pants are challenging.
For some reason, Costco carries the 36x36 pants Stephen likes, so we always come back to Fredericton with items necessary to cover his butt and avoid making him look like he's worried about perpetual flooding.
Water for Elephants for me at the cost of $9.98.
120 bulbs of something that looks like a small, purple tiger lily.
A low fat cheese that Stephen loves and has promised to not devour in one sitting.
Yeah. Right.
Stephen's parents browsed with us, picking up a few items here and there that they needed, however, Stephen's mother had knee surgery in July and is awaiting surgery on the other knee, so her ability to browse at length is limited.
Meaning when they were finished, we were finished.
Whether we were or not.
The same happened when we mentioned that we wanted to go to Esposito's for Montreal bagels and Adonis for whatever we could find that we can't find here.
Which is pretty much everything given the amazingness of Adonis: http://www.adonisproducts.com/.
Again, they insisted on coming with us.
Again, we browsed as long as they wanted to browse.
The last time we were there, we wandered through the aisles for almost two hours.
This time, we were in and out in 45 minutes.
In spite of the brevity of our visit, we did manage to come away with two bottles of herbe de provence, two boxes of tea we can't find here, ginger pear and chocolate spice and six Adonis reuseable bags, the ones that cause the grocery cashiers at the Superstore to oooohhhh and ahhhhh.
We decided, this time, to stay away from the half a kilo of petit fours, although it was difficult.
There they were, in their pyramids of glorious goodness, beckoning to me, calling me, inviting me to just. try. one.
I resisted.
My strength wavered, but was not defeated.
However, such was not the case with the gelato counter.
Square, stainless steel containers artfully filled with such gelato delights as white chocolate, coffee, mango, vanilla, chocolate, pistachio, coconut, lemon, snickers, etc.
I did have a tiny, and I mean tiny, bowl.
As did Stephen.
Because I wasn't falling off the wagon alone.
Coffee for me, white chocolate for him.
So delicious!
At Esposito's we were in search of Montreal bagels, freshly made.
Walking into the store, we are greeted with the smells of warm, fresh bagels. We just followed the scents to the back of the store, where we bought four dozen fresh from the wood fired oven bagels.
And while Stephen paid, I was able to watch the men behind the counter make such bagels.
I could have stayed there all day, just smelling.
But the weight gain just from smelling was a strong deterrent.
Of course, we also returned with our usual cargo of egg bread.
Although given the size of a Ford Fiesta, it wasn't as much egg bread as we usually come back with.
But given that we are headed to Brantford in May for the 2011 Qualitative Analysis Conference, we'll manage to make it through until then.
We hit every grocery store with a 20 km radius of Stephen's parent's house, emptying their supply of egg bread with lightening speed.
At Maxi's, we also bought Keith a case of spruce beer, which has been described by our little Pookie as "Christmas in a cup" and a gigantic bottle of Budweiser.
A bottle of Argentinian red wine for Mer.
A now empty bottle of Argentinian red wine, I might add.
A case of Jone's Soda for Em because she likes the labels and the fortunes inside the cap.
A box of Austrailian white wine for Stephen that we are unable to find here.
Everyone is well liquified.
And then, of course, there was the requisite emptying of the house by Stephen's parents.
They are preparing to move into the Ukrainian seniors residence.
At least they've put their name on the waiting list.
When they actually get there is an entirely different story.
Nonetheless, years and years and years of antiquing and collecting has resulted in a three bedroom bungalow piled to the rafters with, as Stephen calls it, "stuff."
And the mission now is to get rid of as much "stuff" as possible.
Because when they move into the residence, they will be living in a two bedroom apartment.
And unless they want to end up on A&E's Hoarders, they need to downsize.
We came back with coats, hats, shoes, books, a half-moon table, collapsible cooler large enough to hold 96 cans of beer should we ever desire such a thing, paintings, photo albums. . .
The car was so packed that the only way to see out of the back window was to peer through the rungs of the half moon table.
Now they are telling us we need to cost out the price of a U-Haul truck for a future visit.
For the furniture.
I wish I had a camera to capture in perpetuity, the look on Stephen's face when he realized what his parents were telling him.
There's still more.
Believe me.
A four day trip to visit Stephen's parents provides fodder for several blog entries.
So you'll have to wait for the rest until later.
Because we're going to see Megamind at the Toonie matinee.
It's all about priorities.
Title Lyric: I Just Wanna Stop by Gino Vanelli
March 8, 2011
Bonjour from Montreal!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
We've been here since Sunday evening, but this is the first opportunity I've had to get near a comupter.
I kind of feel like an errant teenager.
Stephen's parents have gone to a doctor's appointment, and as soon as they left we ran to the computer.
Next, we'll be eating junk food and playing rock and roll so loud the neighbours call the police.
Or we'll have sex.
Ohhh. . .the possibilities.
The drive was one of our more eventful and entertaining expiditions.
Rain was our roadside companion from Fredericton to just across the New Brunswick/Quebec border when rain tranformed before our very eyes to snow.
Which wasn't a problem until we drove through St. Loius de Ha Ha, Notre Dame de Lac, towards Riviere de Loup.
Because not only did we have to deal with a heavier snowfall on a two lane highway, but said highway wasn't plowed.
At all.
So instead of cruising along at a comfortable 120 kms, Stephen was hunched over the steering wheel crawling at 60 kms.
Because we are sans snow tires.
And his fears were not one bit aussaged when the 80s Camaro from Alberta in front of us did a complete 360 into the next lane.
Things did not improve until we got to Riviere de Loup and onto the20, or the Jean Lesage Highway, which took us all the way to Montreal.
And there was no 70s on 7 let me assure you.
Calming and soothing classical music all the way, thank you very much.
After our traumatic travels, we were more than ready to stop in Quebec City for a visit with cousins Donna and Andrij.
They met us in the IGA parking lot just off the highway and became our travel guides on a well deserved and much enjoyed adventure through Quebec City and into Old Quebec.
We drove along the St. Lawrence, looking at the lovely trails put in for Quebec City's 400th birthday.
Saw ferries cutting zig zag paths through the breaking ice as they travelled to and from Quebec City and Levis.
Best of all was the journey into the Petit Champlain district.
It was like walking to a fairy tale.
Magic.
Rows of art galleries, restaurants, clothing stores, kitchen supplies direct from France housed in 17th century buildings.
It was like stepping into a small European village.
I stood and stared for several minutes trying to take it all in.
We strolled along looking inside the shop windows. Stephen was particularly taken with an art gallery displaying glassware.
Stained glass, blown glass, witch balls. . . .
We restrained ourselves from going in, knowing if we did we'd be staying in Quebec City until our next pay day.
We came into a small square with a church on one side, shops across from it, and beside it, 17th Century homes.
I wanted to move in immediately.
A man came out of a convenience store across from the houses carrying a 2 liter carton of milk, and I was struck at how out of place the milk looked.
It should have at least been in a bottle.
Even the convenience store selling milk and egg and bread was in a breathtaking building.
A giant mural depicting Old Quebec then and now was stunning. . .I know I didn't take in even one quarter of it.
We took the Funicular to the upper streets.
Its the escalator like thing in the center of the picture.
While inside we had a stunning view of the St. Lawrence river.
I could have stayed inside and simply ridden up and down, up and down for the remainder of the day.
At the top, we decided to wander into the Chateau Frontenac.
We wandered through the lobby, taking in the luxury and beauty of it.
And it was just the lobby.
I had to remind myself that throwing myself on the floor to stare at the ceilings would not be looked upon kindly by hotel employees.
Or Stephen., Donna and Andrij.
We took a return trip on the Funciular, as the steps were wet and slippery, and ended our visit with dinner in the most enchanting resaturant in the Petit Champlain district, Le Lapin Saute: http://www.lapinsaute.com/.
Delicious, divine, mouthwatering. . .and that was just the restaurant.
The food was an entirely different level of delicious, divine and mouthwatering.
I had the rabbit pie with homemade fruit ketchup.
First, the portion was huge.
A wedge of pie big enough for me and Stephen, should I have wanted to share.
Which I didn't.
Rabbit with potatoe, mushroom, shallots. . . .
I'd never heard of Simply for Life at that moment.
Stephen wasn't feeling adventurous enough to try the rabbit, so he had the roast chicken breast with basil and sundried tomato pesto.
It was glorious.
I can't remember the names of Donna and Andrij's dishes, however, the looked and smelled like heaven.
Lovely red wine, fabulous conversation, warm, inviting atmosphere.
After dinner we had cafe au lait. . . .in bowls.
I have never had coffee from a bowl.
But I could easily make a habit of it.
With truffles, no less.
One each.
Stephen asked if he was supposed to put his truffle in his cafe au lait.
Andrij raised and eyebrow, looked at Stephen quizzically, and said, "I suppose you could if you wanted."
We were loath to leave, however, the open road to Montreal was beckoning, and the clock was telling us that if we didn't leave soon, we wouldn't leave at all.
Many, many thanks for the wonderful and generous hospitality of Donna and Andrij. We will have to return the delight on our next trip here, or, their next trip to Fredericton.
Yesterday was also quite an adventure.
Sitting in the backseat of Stephen's parent's car while his dad negotiates the snow covered streets of Montreal in a snowstorm to take us to Costco.
Stephen in Costco is a site to behold.
But we'll save that for the next blog entry.
No sense in overwhelming you with the details in one sitting.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Em, Mer and Keith were busy trying to balance work and depressed dogs.
Frankie and Tikka are most unhappy, and I expect we will be made to pay for our absence we we arrive home tomorrow evening.
Em is trying to hold down the fort.
Keith is sick and miserable, literally miserable.
Mer is eating us out of house and home while sleeping in our bed.
First thing when we arrive home, then?
Change the sheets.
Title Lyric: Quebec City Blues by Yesterday's Ring
