It's a Wrap!

In Quebec City, trees were all wrapped up and waiting for snow, waiting for winter, waiting for Santa, waiting for Godot, waiting for the second coming, waiting for spring, waiting for waiting's sake, waiting while the waiting was good.  All wrapped up with nowhere to go. 

And now I'm wrapping it up here for awhile. For a time.  For a break.  For a holiday.

Blink and you won't even miss me.

Happy Holidays to You!

What's in Your Cart?

Has everyone got all their Christmas shopping done?

Eating on the run?

Shopping cart loaded with goodies?

Or are you ready to be carted away?

Just in case you're wondering, this is a photo I took during my art school days, circa 1976, one early morning with my then soon-to-be ex boyfriend.  I can't remember how/when/where/why we got the shopping cart but there must have been some forethought to the set-up as the lad was equipped with a bowl and a porcelain spoon.  Perhaps I was thinking "Déjeuner sur l'herbe" but there was neige (yes, in Vancouver) rather than herbe and we may have just happened to stumble across a run-away cart.  (note: boy friend literally stumbling as just arriving from one of his frequent all-nighters somewhere; hence, "soon-to-be-ex".  But that particular load of history has long ago been carted off to the Useless Memories Dump, located just off Really Old Memories Lane, along with a lot of Christmas tinsel.)

Squeaver at Work!

There is a mutant Montreal squirrel at large, a cross between the emblematic Canadian beaver and the common grey squirrel.  I was astonished to catch the critter up to his dastardly deeds in a downtown neighbourhood.  Not only does he gather acorns, he gnaws down the whole tree!  Next thing you know, they'll be building lodges and inventing secret paw shakes.

Turrets' Syndrome

To relieve the snow blindness I am presently suffering from, or to assist me in becoming blind to the snow that is swirling about outside my windows here in the Hills, I'm gazing back fondly at some of my favourite colourful houses I walked past on my marathon trek from one end of Montreal to the other last November.

Fit for a fairytale princess, I think. 

Obviously a sleeping one, judging from the dried up plants on the balcony. 

A veritable paintbox of house colours! 

This row of homes is across the street from a delightful little park named Carré St-Louis.  The first time I moved to Montreal, in 1970, I lived in this area.  But even at that time, before they were massively renovated, these jewels were far beyond my rent budget.  In the winter time, the centre of the park is flooded and an ice-rink is made and lined with twinkling Christmas lights.  In the summer, students from near-by McGill University sit on park benches, reading serious books, while rubbies, or out-of-work professors,  panhandle for cigarettes or spare change.  Such are the scenes these turreted condos gaze down upon. 

In the same neighbourhood, a poster-papered kiosk competes for attention with the colourful mural behind it.  I find the shape and positioning of the windows high up in the wall particularly intriguing.  Do you think there's a half-floor, like in the movie "Being John Malkovich"?

Here we see the new cropping up against the old, Quebec flag patriotically snapping to attention in the wind.

Have you noticed I have a thing for turrets? 

Must be the princess in me.

Apologies

I'm feeling like an idiot!  I must apologise to those cherished blog friends who have recently left comments to which I failed to reply.  It wasn't that I was ignoring you, it was that I hadn't found them.  Clever clogs that I am, I had recently changed my blog settings so that any comments made 2 or more days after my posting appeared would have to be "moderated" by me.  I then never checked the place where such notifications appear.  So if you have been feeling slighted or ignored by me in the past week, it was purely unintentional on my part.  Tonight  I found  buried treasures from Owen, Saj, Driftwood, Gwen, Shirl and Anya, waiting for me to unearth and put up on my blog mantlepiece, framed in shiny new responses from moi.  I have reset the blog to immediately wing-up your cherished comments as soon as you have deciphered the mystery of the word verification.  In the future, if you do not have a response from me, it means that, yes, I am ignoring you!  But if your comment hasn't been deleted, it could also meant that I am secretly delighted and at a loss for words.  Or, unlikely though it may be, actually out somewhere doing something else not blog-related.

Montreal-style Manga?

Would this wall art inspire you to walk through these doors to get your hair, make-up, and/or nails done?

That is, supposing you were the kind of person to do such a thing.

Always Time For Tea

We passed this tea shop on a Montreal street on our way from somewhere to somewhere else, as is the pace in a city.  Tea is such a great pick-me-up.  I usually make a pot of good strong tea around 3 or 4 in the afternoon.  And if you're feeling ill, isn't tea and toast just the ticket?  Lately, we've rediscovered Bengal Spice herbal tea.  It's exceedingly aromatic and has a sweet little kick to it.  A nice replacement for dessert after supper because someone around here is too lazy...er...busy... to bake lately.

We have a big snow storm brewing here tonight.  It's going to get messy.  20 centimetres of it predicted, followed by 5 mm of rain (I had typed 5 cm of rain, but I'm not in Vancouver any more, so that's not right).  I think tomorrow will be a perfect day to stay in, sipping tea and knitting.  Oh yes, and writing Christmas cards.   Do stop in--if you're able to make it up our driveway. 

We 3 Kinks of Orient Tar

Actually, we're more like wool-gatherers as we 3 kinks were sporting skeins of yummy indigo-hued yarn on our heads while hanging out in our hostess's kitchen in Montreal.  It's just something we do. 

From this post and the one below, you might surmise that I'm getting into a Christmas Mood.  Now, a Christmas Mood might be a good thing or a bad thing, but the Buddhists would say "not good/not bad, just is."  It is what it is.Whatever that is. 

***

I must admit, with the recent snowfall, the Christmas lights that many houses and yards are displaying do reflect charmingly in the night white.  We witnessed many such delights on our way to yoga class tonight.  Oh, we don't attend any fancy Lulu Lemon attired hot yoga spots for our weekly stretch and centering dose; our little group meets in someone's finished basement room.  A room with a labyrinth painted on the wood floor underneath the carpets, no less.  We walked the labyrinth tonight.  I felt in a hurry to get to the middle but had to continue round and out and in and about at a slow, meditative pace.  And once I'd reached the middle, suddenly, unexpectedly, I had no choice but to continue moving on, outward, inward, until I found myself at the outer opening--unceremoniously and quietly expelled, like a dying breath, finished.  A labyrinth, I learned, reflects the Path of Life.

But I was talking about Christmas Moods and kinkiness and wooly ways.  Some years I'm very into the whole decorating for the holidays thing.  I have a few stalwartly unusual ornaments stashed in the attic and I usually finagle Pierre into chopping down a stunted pine tree from out back.  I make incredible Nanaimo Bars, disastrous shortbread, amazing California Fruit Cake, and macaroons that fall to pieces before you can lift them to your mouth.  Tradition, you know?  But this year we are going elsewhere for Christmas so the pressure is off.  No decorating.  No one is coming here.  No need to put up a jolly front.

I do like seeing outher people's decorated homes.  Mostly.  But I admit I have trouble understanding or tolerating those weird blow-up lawn ornaments that began cropping up a few years ago.  Do you have them where you live?  I'm sorry if I offend any one's sensibilities here, but I, personally, think those things are a god-awful blight upon any neighbourhood in which they appear.  Polar bears with top hats, Santa Claus with his bag of tricks, penguins with scarves, and to top it all off, a merry-go-round (that acutally goes round) inside a giant snow-globe with fake snowflakes flying, thanks to some monstrous generator roaring beside the house.  I suppose retired folks put the things up to please the grandkids.  What sort of example are they setting?!  What sort of aesthetic are they presenting to those innocent, unsuspecting, untrammelled minds?  Do they think they are installing a miniature, stationary Macy's Santa Claus Parade?  I just don't get it.

On my neighbourhood walk the other day, I noticed several examples of all the above-mentioned inflated atrocities.  They were repulsive and seductive at the same time, like an over-aged hooker.  "Practice tolerance," I thought to myself.  "They are not good or bad, they simply are."

The next day, however, I could not repress a small chuckle when I strolled through the same neighbourhood and discovered that all the air-filled Christmas lawn monstrosities had been deflated!  It seems that someone had skulked through the area in the dead of night and taken a small, sharp object to every last one of them.   Now, I do not in any way wish to promote vandalism of any sort:  I prefer to think of it as a desperate act of good taste.  And no, officer, it wasn't me! 

I was busy at home pulling the wool over my eyes.

Door No.1 or Door No. 2?

What kind of mood are you in?

The Inevitable

has happened. 

Our yard, once again, winterized.

Pardon me if I do not rhapsodize.

Bonjour QC!

Let's back up a little to the day we drove into Quebec City a couple of weeks ago, after 9 1/2 hours on the highway.  Well, not literally "back up," although Quebec drivers are very fond of speeding in reverse to pretend they're going the right way down a one-way street when they really want to be going the other way, or spot a parking space in their rear view mirror that has suddenly been vacated.

Anyway, we are not reversing over the bridge as we head into Quebec City.

It's a bit of a rainy day and close to rush hour so I only have the chance to grab one quick picture.

But I do like how the Christmas lights reflect in the wet city street.

We are here to visit with my in-laws.  They have a beautiful view of the St.Lawrence River and there are often freighters sailing by, or cruise ships in the summer.  Do you see the freighter between the trees?

We're back on the road next day, heading to Montreal and, again, I steal a couple of pictures as we drive out of la ville de Québec.

An affectionate "Salut!" to the Château Frontenac perched atop the hill and we're off for another 3 hours of merging with crazy Québec drivers. I got a lot of knitting done on that leg of the trip; it was either knit or wear a blindfold!

Montreal Menagerie

While strolling along the streets of Montreal I happened upon some critters that were just begging to have their pictures taken.  I was happy to oblige them.

This pampered pitou was out shopping with his people:  Because of his extreme cuteness, he was allowed to wait inside the entrance to the shop.

This pooch wasn't quite as pampered but seemed resigned to waiting outside. 

I think he has the "poor poor pitiful me" look

down pat. 

This little minou was waiting to get back

 into her house. 

Once back in, of course, she would immediately want to go out again. 

This is the Universal Way of the Cat.

It seems as if a displaced dairy farmer, forced to move to the big city for financial reasons, and pining for his cows, decided to paint a nostalgic scene on the side of his building.  French cows say "meuh!" rather than "moo!" you'll note.  I believe it's a question of attitude towards life in general.

Although one is not allowed to keep cattle in Montreal, the city is much more lenient when it comes to unicorns.  I'm not sure what sound unicorns make, in any language.

(Please note:  No animals were harmed in the filming of this blog posting.)