On duty and dogs

By luck and my sense of duty, when I left on my fateful vacation in August of 2023, I had left my work more or less up to date. There was nothing truly outstanding. I had several electronic carts of DVDs and Blu-Rays lined up for purchase for the various upcoming months in which they would become available. Most were relatively obvious or non-essential. This was good as it made it easy for my superior at work to take over in my forced absence. However, there was a certain exception. This was the recent movie “Golda” starring Helen Mirren as the titular character Golda Meir, prime minister of Israel during the Yom Kippur War. It was due out in October and programming department wanted it for a screening in December. I take a certain pride in my work, so I actually phoned my superior to ask her to make sure she ordered it.

When I returned to work in July, I discovered that the Library’s usual supplier had decided not to get it, despite the fact that they had advertised it as “coming soon” at one point. What with the effort of restarting work, I didn’t pursue the matter any further.

For some reason, on Friday, my last day of work before the holidays, I looked it up on Amazon and was surprised to see that they were selling it. I immediately asked my superior if the Library might buy it once we are authorized to order things in the new year. She said she would have to get approval from the Director of the Library as are all purchases from Amazon. Pleasingly, she approved it more or less immediately. I felt like I had been given an early Christmas gift, as my sense of duty had been fulfilled.

After work, the Library held its Christmas staff party. At one point, the Director was sitting beside me, so I made a point of thanking her for her prompt decision. In the following conversation, it came out that she had thought I was asking to purchase the older movie “A woman called Golda”. However, when I enlightened her, she was intrigued and asked if the movie was available through Netflix. I confessed I didn’t know. When I told the story to Saint Michael the Holy Mole the following day, he asked the same question which only goes to show that I am behind the times as far as digital media is concerned.

(Please note that the opinions stated above are my own and do not necessarily reflect those of my employer.)

On Sunday, I drove over to James’ house to deliver Christmas presents and to see his parents, currently living in his basement as Judy, his mother, is terminally ill. I was greeted by Jennifer as well as Duffy, James’ dog and Rufus, James’ his parents’ dog, respectively. Both dogs are terriers or at least mostly terriers. As bad luck would have it, the pants I was wearing didn’t fit well over my external fixation and thus my lower left leg was very exposed to their noses. They both tried to lick my wounds despite the best efforts of various people, including myself. Both Duffy and Rufus are nice enough dogs though somewhat undisciplined.

I made my way carefully down the stairs, for as luck would have it, it was a good day for Judy so she was able to receive me. I hadn’t seen her in over two years. It had been over a year since I had seen Robin when he came to visit me during my first stay at the Montreal General. We had a very nice chat and caught up on various subjects. I was very pleased to be able to see Judy as I may not have another opportunity.

On cookies and crutch tips

Owing to the postal strike, I volunteered to bake some hazelnut shortbreads and take them to my Aunt Helle on behalf of my cousin Kristine. I had wanted to also take some to my Aunt Suzanne "Who is so Nice" but she was busy today. 

(Her demurral email was extremely kind making reference to a night when I gone to her and my uncle Donald's house at Margo's behest when Suzanne thought she was having a heart attack. I ended up staying the night to watch over Donald while she was being checked out at a hospital. In the end, it was determined she was "only" stressed out.)

Anyway, I booked a car from Communauto to make the delivery and used the opportunity to go out to Medicus, the big medical supply store on Sherbrooke Street East to see if they had good replacement crutch tips as the two previous pairs I had bought from pharmacies had worn out far too quickly. I found sturdier ones at the store. I double checked with a staff member that they were the right caliber, before waiting to pay for them. The cashier first asked if a member of the staff had helped me. I said that someone had, but all I had needed was confirmation of the size. I casually indicated person in question. He then came over and offered to install them. As my tips were quite worn, I accepted. I waited in a chair for a few minutes while he did the work. When he came back, I checked to see if the "crampons" still fitted over the tips. This was prompted by the fact that I had used them that morning as Montreal has just received ts first major snowfall of the winter. The new tips were slightly longer so the crampons need to be adjusted. The man cheerfully volunteered to do this, even though I could have do so myself, had I a screwdriver. He was so nice, I was tempted to go back to car to fetch him a hazelnut shortbread!

I gave Helle the cookies on my way back. She was impressed by my mobility, something that seemed more than it was as I had walked from the car to her door using only one crutch so as to have a hand free for the cookie tin. Her mobility seems to have gone down since I last saw her.

I ran another errand before returning the car. When I got home, I was surprised to see a box from Simons on my doorstep. This proved to be bicycle themed T-shirt that Kristine had ordered for me. I am going to have to weed my T-shirt drawer. No good deed goes unpunished. ;-)

On books and blood

*Legal disclaimer* The following entry discusses my work. The opinions mentioned herein do not represent the views of my employer. However, given the nature of said opinions, I doubt there will be trouble over it.

I was given the responsibility for ordering French books for adults yesterday. I must confess that the task seems a bit daunting. However, I think I will get used to it and certain aspects of the new assignment look fascinating.

As luck would have it, this week is the Salon du Livre de Montréal. So this morning, I went to scope out some new books for the Library at the Palais de Congrés. At the ticket counter, I was asked if I had a City of Montreal library card which would qualify me for free entry. I replied that I didn't but that I was a librarian working for a public library. The clerk then gave me a free ticket. (I don't know if this qualifies as a conflict of interest, so I will report this when I return to work tomorrow.)

I had thought that today (Thursday) would be quieter than on the weekend. Unfortunately, it was "Matinée scolaire" day so there were a large number of school kids, some of whom were running past me, which caused me to flinch for worry that they would step on my bad foot, as it was relatively unprotected owing to the fact that I had disassembled my left crutch in order to stow in my backpack so I might have a hand free to wield my iPhone and its barcode reader app.

There were a lot of books to consider. I mean a lot. Thanks to the aforementioned iPhone app, I was able to record seventy-odd barcodes which is far more than I would have written down without it. I am certain that some of the books will prove to be ones the Library has already purchased, while others will prove to unsuitable or simply unnecessary. However, the exercise gave me a mental picture of what is out there and gave me some ideas about how the collection might be developed in new directions within the strictures of the Library's acquisition policy. 

One interesting direction was suggested by the presence of a Korean book zone. The Library serves a growing Korean population and interest in Korean literature (in translation) might be spurred on by Han Kang being awarded this year's Nobel Prize for Literature. Another direction the collection might expand into would be the new "romantasy" genre (romance fantasy) that one vendor had a large table dedicated to. Unfortunately, the titles appeared to be mostly translations from English rather than original French works.

There was blood donor clinic set up on the ground floor of the Palais de Congrés. As I was leaving, I stopped by the front desk to thank the volunteers and employees of Héma-Québec, as well as a younger man who was about to give blood. I am alive today because of blood transfusions.

On winterizing the crutches

About a month ago, I was crossing a relatively busy street near my home after dark. The corner wasn't signal controlled but I felt reasonably secure crossing it, keeping my gaze looking towards on-coming traffic. Afterwards, I reasoned that given my relatively slow pace, I should improve my visibility to drivers by digging out my bag of reflective tape and using it on my crutches.

I didn't do so right away for the usual reasons of sloth and the lack of a pressing need. However, a few days later, Louise or Thomas posted a picture of their daughter Tessa going out trick-or-treating dressed in a largely black witch outfit. She was carrying a very traditional looking broomstick with a non-traditional lit-up, high visibility reflective strap attached to it. I commented favourably about that. Thomas, in his wonderful way, replied "It's a government requirement when flying in restricted airspace." I had very good chuckle over that. 

The picture also spurred me to actually find the bag of reflective tape and get to work on my crutches. I probably overdid it, but I have done worse things in my life.

Cut to this Monday, when the forecast for Tuesday included freezing rain in the morning. As I had an appointment with my GP to discuss and renew various prescriptions on Tuesday morning, I decided I would take steps to reduce my chances of a fall. On the way home, I went to a pharmacy where I bought flip down spikes for for my crutches. I like to think that my crutches are now ready for winter.

On the beginning of the end

Words fail me, so just watch this video taken on Thursday during my physio session.

 If I look serious, it is because I am trying not to cry.

On the rest of the trip

I have struggled to write this entry but things have been a bit weird for me.

I’m going to start with an expansion on what I said at the Celebration of Margo’s Life. As an agnostic Catholic at best, I had not wanted to pretend to be a Catholic pilgrim. Aside from having a hang up about lying, despite being a sceptic, I have a certain respect for those who genuinely believe. After arriving in Compostella, the three of us had visited the pilgrim office where our “pilgrim” passports were processed. The pilgrim office recognizes three types visitors: genuine Catholic Pilgrims, people who have done it for a mix of spiritual and touristic reasons and “pure” tourists. I firmly opted for the pure tourism certificate. Somehow, Margo, who officially renounced her Catholicism and Chris the Quaker, managed to get themselves talked into getting the semi-spiritual certificate.

Having read the account of how the bones of St James the Apostle ended up in the North West corner of Spain and being something of a sceptic, it would greatly surprise me if the bones that have been venerated there for over a millennia were actually those of Jesus’ companion. At best, they are those of a local person worthy of sainthood who became conflated with Saint James the Apostle. One of my jokes about it is that Saint James the Apothecary is constantly apologizing in heaven for the misunderstanding. I do believe that it is the same set of bones that has been worshipped for more than a millennia. That, in and of itself, makes them holy.

I’ll not protest scepticism as I am not sure of my faith. I do think that there is a place for scepticism but the Crypt of Santiago isn’t it!

I will also note that I wasn’t the only one wearing a kilt at the Celebration of Life. Margo’s son John was also so attired as was his son Arthur.

Louise was the last to speak. I am afraid that I had trouble hearing her as the microphone was a little too far away from her mouth. I think she was a bit distracted as she was simultaneously nursing Patrick!

Jonathan, Elliott’s twin brother was there assisting Tom, John’s father-in-law, with the tech side of things as the ceremony was being broadcast to friends and family in Europe and possibly elsewhere. The Mole later asked what Jonathan does for a living. I replied that I didn’t know. The Mole then suggested he might get a job at LeBaron’s in North Hatley if he was out of work. My response to the Mole was: “You’ve heard of the concept of sibling rivalry?” (I have since learnt that Jonathan is involved in keeping the BC government’s websites up and running.)

After the ceremony, the clocks of both St-Michael the Holy Mole and myself had wound down and as it would be couple of hours before the Reception, lunch was proposed. There was a failed attempt to go to the Oakridge Mall en masse, so we retreated to our downtown hotel. I suggested he and I go to the Indian Burgers Joint I had noticed near the hotel. In the course of a phone call while I was driving us back, the Mole invited my parents along. In hindsight, I think this was a bit of a mistake. The problem was that the offerings of the fast food joint were new to all of us, especially my Father who doesn’t remember the first thing about Indian food. The burgers were all vegetarian or even vegan in a traditional Indian way as in the beef patty was replaced with a patty made of beans or potatoes rather than a “beyond meat” pseudo meat patty. None of us being experts, we ordered on faith. At a certain level, our faith was betrayed as the staff didn’t seem have grasped the concept of fast food. It seemed to take forever for our orders to be completed The burgers were tasty, but I’m not sure I’m going back there.

As a side note, Michael later commented that their mango lassi used soft ice cream instead of yoghurt which prompted me to do a monologue as if I were an Indian apologizing for that by explaining that is how they do in his state in India which is admittedly a small state with barely five million people living in it.

I changed out of the kilt and went off to the reception with the Mole. There were quite a number of people there along with quite a spread of food and drink. There former included Rice Krispy squares courtesy of Louise, spurred by my joke on the subject. 

Among the people I spoke with, was T. from Canmore. He told me that he was planning on going to Santiago de Compostella using the bike Chris had ridden there! Said bike has a no-farting sticker that I had put on it during our trip in Spain! I found it interesting that the bicycle would revisit that pilgrimage destination, particularly as I had spoken about the trip at the ceremony.

I also spoke with a woman who introduced herself as “a Megan”. Apparently, she was one of several Megans in Margo and Chris’ life as well as one of the many waifs and strays they had housed over the years. Like many people, she thought my speech was very à apropos. I must confess that I thought it was better than some of the other speeches given, particularly the one following mine.

I was slightly disappointed that I didn’t get to interact much with Arthur, Tessa and Ruby. They were to busy playing with each other as well as other kids their age. They seemed to be having fun with some sort marble run game. It did my soul to see them happily play with each other.

All too soon, the Mole and I ran out of steam, and so we returned to the hotel.

The Mole returned to Montreal the next morning. I had lunch with Raymond whom I had met while biking across Saskatchewan. We caught up on news. He had been working in a garage that specialized in customizing cars, but had since become a disaster response planner for the Canadian Red Cross.

I then drove to North Vancouver to see Kristine and company. She had not gone the celebration of life owing to strained relations with both Margo and her brother who was at the event for no particular reason. Mummy joined us there. Kristine apologized for her driveway which she said was “deceptively steep”. I retorted that I was never deceived by her driveway: I always thought it was steep! Midnight was happy to see us, but then as a Labrador, he is programmed to be happy to meet people. I wish I had thought to bring him a bacon-based doggy treat!

We were treated to a trip to a nearby stable where the family’s horse was being ridden by one of Kristine’s daughters (I am no longer sure which one.) We got to meet and stroke the horse afterwards. There was a certain discussion of our horse riding pasts as Kristine, Mummy, Margo and I had all ridden and interacted with Aunt Lorna’s horses to varying degrees.

I had been under the impression that the tartan rental place opened at 9 AM. After checking out of the hotel on the Monday morning, I drove out the place only to discover that it only opened about an hour later. As my flight was at 11:30, I was in a bit of a pickle. I resolved the issue by trying an exterior door which opened to an atrium. I then tried the door of the shop itself, and found that it opened. My intrusion brought out a middle-aged woman who was a bit alarmed by my presence. I explained that I just wanted to drop off the kilt before my flight. As there was no need of a financial transaction to happen, she accepted the bag.

It took me a bit longer than I’d wished to get to the airport. Still, I wasn’t late. I dropped off my bag, bought a little something at the Vancouver Public Aquarium gift shop and went security. Someone at security arranged a cart to drive me to my gate. Pre-boarding was in process when I arrived. I walked up to a gate agent and said: “I believe I qualify for pre-boarding.” I was soon seated in a premium economy seat. I believe that it was my shortest airport transit that included a check-in. (My shortest airport experience was at Toronto’s Billy Bishop airport when I exited one Porter Dash-8 and walked over to board another one.)

When the plane arrived at the gate in Montreal, I waited until the bulk of the able-bodied passengers had exited the aircraft before getting up. I was, however, at the fore of the wave of disabled passengers as there were at least three attendants waiting with wheelchairs who eagerly offered me their services. I hope I was sufficiently polite in declining their services. As with my flight out of Montreal, the gate was sufficiently close to the exit that it wasn’t worth waiting for a cart.