"Yes, I'm from Toronto..."

If there are four words used as an introduction by a caller, which guarantee you're in for an interesting time, it's the following: "Yes, I'm from Toronto...". I just finished a call with such a woman. After she was done with her intro, she then proceded to inform me that she had "just finished being bounced around by several government phone lines". This kind of preliminary bitching is supposed to serve as a warning, I would assume. It says: "I already have a short fuse, because I have no idea who I should be talking to about this. I have already phoned several places which have nothing to do with my request. I am pretty much a total fucking moron...".

This is designed to alert you to the fact that you don't want to join the list of government agencies that are now already on her shit-list. So you'd better be able to deliver the information they're after, or you'll be sorry... Ummmm... R-rrriiiiiiiiiiighttt...

For any of you thinking of contacting a government information line with this type of dialogue or attitude in mind... don't. I am as professional as they come as far as Information Officers go. I will go out of my way (but not out of my mandate...) to get you the information you need, or if I don't have it, make sure I can refer you to where you can get it. I pride myself on being able to do so. But if you start off our conversation by trying to hold me liable for your inability to find the information you want, things will not go well. Oh, no... no. Not well at all. Not only will things not go well, but there is a very good chance that you will find yourself talking to a dead phone. You will accord me the respect which is due to me and you will know without a doubt, that I am in control of this call.

So "Toronto-lady" carries on: "I bought some fish recently and when I prepared and ate it, I found some worms in it. I want to know where I can go to report this and what I can do about this". I ascertained that she was looking to lodge a complaint about some seafood product she had recently bought. (The very first thing any consumer should do, is to return the product to the point of sale... meaning: bring it back to the store from which you bought it!!) By this time I already had the program opened in my database, which of course was the Canadian Food Inspection Agency's Fish Inspection Program. I ask her whom she had called within the federal government up to that point. She replied that she had called the CFIA's Food Recall Line. I advised her that the Food Recall Line would have nothing to do with the service she was looking for, unless of course they had instituted a recall for this particular product she had recently ingested.

After introducing the program, I advised her of what it is that these folks do:

The Fish Inspection Program regulates the quality, safety and marketability of fish and seafood products produced or sold in Canada through the following activities:

- registering and monitoring fish processing plants
- inspecting domestic fish and fish products for consumption
- issuing export certificates
- enforcing labelling and packaging regulations (including language requirements) for all fish and seafood products
- updating and maintaining databases on contaminants in fish and fish products
- inspecting fishing vessels, facilities used in the offloading and holding of fish prior to processing, vehicles used in the transportation of fish, fishermen packer facilities and cold storages.

The program also investigates consumer and merchant complaints involving fish products and takes appropriate follow-up action.

I then advise her that the local offices which serve her area are located on Courtneypark Drive in Mississauga, provide her with the address and offer their phone number, fax number and website. She decides to take their phone number, which I then procede to give her. After hearing the phone number, she says: "That is the number I called and there's no one there...".

I advised her that the line did in fact have a 24hr telemessage service on it, but that according to the information provided to us by the CFIA, they also had officers available between 0830 and 1630hrs, Monday to Friday. They were also closed between 1200 and 1300hrs for lunch.

"Is there a contact there...?"

"I'm not sure I follow, Ma'am... What do you mean by a 'contact'?"

"Is there a particular person...is there a name of anyone I should speak to?"

"Anyone who answers that line Ma'am, will be able to help you."

"Well... there's no one to answer the phone there so what am I supposed to do? The voicemail won't even bump me onto someone else...".

This is akin to finding your local branch of the Royal Bank closed for lunch and then phoning Canadian Tire to complain about it. It really makes just that much sense... Here is a woman who already had the correct number for the service she was looking for, yet calls another, totally unelated federal government department JUST TO BITCH ABOUT IT!!!! Seriously??? Like do you think any branch of the federal government acts as a mother for another one??? Like by phoning DFO, we're going to tattle on the CFIA and get them in trouble for "not answering their phone"???

"Ma'am, if I might suggest, their offices are open from 0830-1630hrs, Monday through Friday, for in-person service." To myself of course, I'm thinking the reason they're not answering their phone is because they're busy tending to people who actually bother to show up at their office. They only have so many staff, you know...

"Oh! So now I have to go there because there is nobody to answer their phone?"

"I'm simply suggesting that as an option, Ma'am. You're more than welcome to continue trying to reach them on their phone line."

"Do you have another phone number for their office?"

"No, Ma'am... That is THE number for the offices that serve your area of Canada".

"There's no other 'central' number for them...?"

"No Ma'am... That is the only number which we have for those offices, which by the way was provided to us by the CFIA.

"And just to situate you Ma'am, we are the General Enquiries line for Fisheries and Oceans Canada... we have nothing to do with this situation whatsoever...".

"I know that", she bristles..."I'm not stupid!"

A smile pops onto my face as a little voice in my head screams: "If that were true...we would not be having this conversation!!!"

So I'm grinning like some demented hyena as I ask: "Is there anything else I can get for you today, Ma'am?"

Click!

Ahhhh.... Yet another satisfied caller.

The Doc is happy...

I went in to the Ottawa General Hospital yesterday afternoon, for yet another follow-up appointment with my orthopedic surgeon Dr. Pollock. Predictably, I had to go through x-ray for an updated series of shots, before we got to chat. In the end, he again was quite happy and enthusiastic with both his own handiwork and my healing progress. He then slated me for a return visit in three weeks' time (16th of September), at which point I am to formally begin my physiotherapy.

In the meantime, he has instructed me to begin doing some 'pendulum exercises' with my arm, following my stretching exercises in the evening. These will allow the new ball and rotator at the top of my arm (where it connects to the shoulder socket...) to get used to moving around in small circles. Just one more small step forward, I suppose. I'm surprised that I've never asked him point-blank whether I'd have any problems riding again. I guess I'm just taking it for granted that I won't. Let's face it, there is nothing that I would let stop me from getting back in the saddle.

My good doctor was also kind enough to provide me with a prescription for some Tylenol 3s. Thanks to these, I managed to have an actual night's sleep last night. The first one in ages. I felt decidedly better as I drove into work this morning.

While I was standing outside on my break this morning, someone asked me if I hadn't been traumatized by the accident. The only thing that would traumatize me in any of this, is if there was a possibility of me not being able to ride again. Am I nervous about getting back on a bike? Hells, no!! I can't wait to be able to stretch out and grip the clutch lever. There will be no stopping me once I've managed to accomplish that...

A successful Sunday...

Although Sunday did not play out exactly as I had planned, it was nonetheless a resounding success and my daughter and I had a wonderful day of it. We left Orleans by way of the 17 at about 1030hrs. By the time we found ourselves approaching West Island Montreal, it was already well past noon. Actually it was closer to 1300 or 1330 hrs. We decided we would stay on the 40 instead of heading South to join up with the 20, which would have led us to Île Perrot where my Mum lives.

I called up my sister on her cell to advise her that we would now be stopping by on our way out of town instead. We followed the 40 until it turned into the Metropolitain Expressway, that elevated horror show which rockets traffic over the North End of Montreal, on their way to the Hippolite -Lafontaine Tunnel in Montreal's East End, where it then dives under the St.Lawrence River, funneling traffic to the South Shore and on to Québec City and all points East. My daughter gamely negotiated traffic as I attempted to serve as her navi-guesser, guiding her from one lane to the next as we approached our exit.

Before long, we found the off ramp leading to St.Laurent. By now, she had become conversant with the fact that the use of turn signals in Montreal is simply a suggestion. The true name of the game is to keep the other drivers guessing about your next move. We opted to skip over one block to the West and ended up on St.Urbain. This street and it's surrounding neighborhoods, figure prominently in the works of Montreal's Mordecai Richler, one of our most outspoken and venerated late Canadian authors.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mordecai_Richler

This area of the city simply oozes history and culture. It is a tangible and visible confluence of Montreal's diverse ethnic roots. The long, graceful and sometimes spiral wrought iron staircases, are not only iconic but are virtually unique to the older sections of Montreal, Verdun, Côte-des-Neiges, Westmount, LaSalle... You'll not find these anywhere else in North America. Once we figured ourselves far enough South, we headed East along one of the small cross streets which then cut across St.Laurent. Our first try, we noted that we were not far enough South. So we carried on until we found another small side street heading South. We then headed West, crossing over The Main yet again, in a bid to end up back on St.Urbain where we could once again head further South. It is a maze of one-way streets which we navigated patiently, despite our hunger which by now had reached epic proportions!

Despite my daughter burning a red light (not recklessly, mind you... but just as casually as you please...), we managed to find a 'parking space' on Rachel Street, fairly close to our final destination. I say fairly close because at this point, St.Laurent was closed to vehicular traffic for about 2 blocks North of Schwartz's. The street was filled with vendors and tents and people. They were milling about in the thousands, as far South as you could see along the length of St.Laurent.

We strolled along through the vendors stalls, right down the middle of the street. It had rained briefly as we were preparing to leave Ottawa, but the temperature was now a beautiflly sunny 30 degrees. Within 10 minutes we were coming up on "The Sign". That hallowed orange, white and black sign which told us we had arrived! Of course, the cue outside was enough of an indication. This day, they had actually set up a tented area outside the restaurant on the street itself, for those who might choose to enjoy their smoked meat 'al fresco'...

http://www.schwartzsdeli.com/index2.html

We had not been in line 10 minutes, when true to form, one of their waiters emerged outside, walked right up to us and said: "For two...?" I nodded and he said: "Follow me!" He spun on his heel and charged for the door as we passed probably a dozen people in line before disappearing inside. Once inside, we were surrounded by that familiar din, which can only be described as organized chaos. There was a snag, however... The two promised seats were no longer vacant. Gasp! How could this be? I had never experienced this type of situation here, ever... No worries, we were herded into a corner and asked to not move. That's akin to standing in the middle of Sherbrooke Street and being told the same thing. With the wait staff and dishes of food flying from one point to the other, there's no way We were going to step out into that! My daughter took the occasion to indulge in a washroom break...

Soon, our patience was rewarded and we found ourselves being seated with 4 other strangers. I was elated. Finally, here we were. Sitting down at Schwartz's, about to get a decent feed of smoked meat on. Happy days!! We discussed the menu briefly and were in agreement with what we would order. Our waiter was very soon back with us, pressing us for our order. It wasn't long in coming: "Two smoked meat platters, medium, with two sides of coleslaw and dills!" He confirmed that we wanted the meat 'medium' and headed off. Both of us were ravenous by this point. Just prior to our meals arriving, the rest of our table left, making room for a group of four from Connecticut. They were an amiable bunch and we bantered back and forth with them.

Then, with a fanfare provided by the Heavenly Hosts and angels singing in the background, our platters arrived. It doesn't matter how many times I go there, the anticipation and the elation when the food finally arrives (and the wait is never long...), is always the same. This time however, I got to share it with my daughter. She seemed well into the spirit of things and as we dug into our meals, I was pretty sure I was witnessing yet another convert to the "Power of the Schwartz", if her eyes rolling back in her head were any indication of how much she was enjoying it. (Yeah...just like a shark...).

I'd say that we ate our fill, but I'd be lying. We ate more than our fill and still had to get the leftovers bagged up for transport. I believe my little girl used the term 'Uber', so I think it was a hit with her. We waddled out into the afternoon sun at about 1500hrs. "If you hear screaming", she confided "that's just the stitching in the seams of my pants!". I laughed... No Bonsecours Market for us today. It was considerably later than I had originally planned on (by some 3 to 4 hours...). We slowly made our way North up 'The Main', casually inspecting the many wares which were for sale. Finally we reached Rachel Street, where we had managed to park. We found my daughter's car and were happy to discover that she had not incurred a parking ticket, for parking in what was not even a parking space, technically.

We slowly wound our way East for a few streets until we hit St.Denis, which we then took South. St.Denis leads you straight through the heart of Montreal's Latin Quarter. Again, a plethora of shops, boutiques, restaurants, and pubs line the street, on both sides. Eventuelly we hit a sign for the 720 West, which leads you to the Ville Marie Expressway. This marvel of engineering allows you to travel under the city, from the downtown are to the Avenues in Lachine. The very next thing you know, you're heading westward along the 20.

I phoned my sister to advise her of our progress and give her some sort of idea about out ETA (Estimated Time of Arrival). Little did I know that on weekends, the 20 narrows down to one lane, where it crosses the Galipeau Bridge at Ste.Anne-de-Bellevue, leading into Île Perrot. The resulting backlog of traffic, means that it will take you about 30-45 minutes to cover the last 2.5kms. As we finally made it across the bridge, we shot by Perrot Blvd. I called my sister so she could guide us in on our final approach.

"Where do I turn after we cross the bridge?"

"Right at the lights when you come over the bridge...you turn left on Perrot!"

"Crap! We just blew right past there...".

"Okay... no sweat! Just keep on going along the 20 until you come to the next set of lights and turn left...".

"Okay...we just passed those too! Wait! There's another set coming up... Hon, get into the left hand lane, we have to turn left here...".

"Okay... we're at De l'Île...".

"Holy crap...you went far!!"

"Don't talk to me, I ain't drivin'...I'm a gimp, remember...?"

"Okay... turn left down De l'Île and keep going until you come to a stop sign... You'll then turn left onto 5th Avenue".

"Right...okay. Got it. We're at the stop sign. Turning left...".

"Keep going until you come to Don Quichotte...".

"Is that the opposite of Donkey Open...?"

"Very funny... just keep going until you come to your second set of traffic lights..."

Eventually we were guided in for a landing at my Mom's new digs. We had a very enjoyable visit with my Mom, my sister and my niece. We could not tarry long. but we ended up staying until at least 1730hrs, by which time our timetable was a bit out of whack, for getting my little girl back home for 1830hrs. Nonetheless, we enjoyed a casual trip back, opting to get off at exit 17, which would bring us back to Orleans the very same way we left. We pulled into my driveway at precisely 1930hrs. I noticed that my better half's van was not in the driveway. Either she had yet to return from work or she already had and proceded out to supper.

I was happy to get home as it had been a longish day, albeit very fun. My daughter still had a 45 minute drive ahead of her, to make it home to Winchester. I rested for a spell in our living room, watching some mindless show about who knows what kind of animals... At 2019hrs, I phoned my little girl's cell, to see how she was doing. As it turned out, she was just turning onto her road and was within sight of her home. I thanked her again for such an enjoyable day and told her I hoped that she had had as much fun as I did. I promised her that we would do this again, but next time we would have her other sister along. When those two get together, it's like back when they were 6 or 8 years old. They're a real pair of goofs and pretty entertaining. :)

Yes... Sunday was definitely a very fun, very enjoyable, very successful day!

A weekend outing...

Okay... now remember that I'm 'old school' here. When I use the term 'outing', I don't mean broadcasting that someone's gay. I use it in it's actual meaning, such as I am going on an outing with my daughter this weekend to Montreal. It's not always about the gays, ya know... And while I'm at it, we're taking back the fucking rainbow, too...

But I digress... So this weekend will see my eldest daughter and myself heading out to Montreal. The plan is to stop in on my mother for a short visit, then venture downtown for a stopover at 'La Charcuterie hébraique de Montréal', or as normal human beings around the world know it: Schwartz's! For any of you who have never had the experience of dining at Schwartz's, this landmark Montreal deli has been there operating in the same fashion since 1928. No shit! They serve what has to be considered by far, the very best smoked meat to be found anywhere in the known Universe. Their list of customers is a veritable 'Who's Who' of world celebrities, but never mind that... that just means that some rich folk have good taste too.

What's that you say? New York delis?? Fehhhh!!! Please... don't make me laugh! Oy vey!! Are you meshuguna?? In my very best Jackie Mason voice, I say to you: "A candle they couldn't hold to this place!!" I recall when I used to live in Montreal, when asked about where to go for some Montreal smoked meat, we would send the tourists to Ben's on De Maisonneuve Blvd., or to Myer Dunn's on Ste.Catherine Street. Oh, sure... I was always a big fan of Dunn's as well... but for the absolute best, you had to make the trek up Saint Laurent (The Main) and stand in line like everyone else. We wouldn't tell the tourists about Schwartz's... That was for us locals...

Schwartz's is not just a deli or a diner. It's not just a 'food experience'. To some, Schwartz's is too cramped, too busy, too noisy... yet it's all part of the Schwartz's experience. You're hustled inside by one of the staff who will lead you to one of the small rows of tables that has a free chair or two. Private seating? HAH!! Forget it. You'll be lucky if you end up sitting with the person you came in with... They shoehorn you in between total strangers, then whirl away to get your water.

Seconds later, they're back waiting to take your order. If you're a 'newbie', it's always good to decide what you'll have while you're waiting in line. These lads are all go-go-go and there is a line of hungry, salivating people out there on the sidewalk waiting to take your place! Get a move on!! The smoked meat brisket comes in three categories for your sandwich or platter. Lean, medium and fat. You can order one or several sandwiches, or you can order the platter. The platter comes heaped with smoked meat brisket goodness, enough to 'build' yourself at least 4 good-sized sandwiches. Fries are always optional. By the way, to avoid making this particular faux-pas... ordering a smoked meat sandwich without one of their signature kosher dills, is pretty much unthinkable. They probably wouldn't slap you for doing so, but they really, really should...

So... following this gastronomical delight, we will then meander southwards towards the old part of town by the docks. Old Montreal... home to cobblestone streets and the Marché Bonsecours, where pedestrians rule. There are no end to the shops, boutiques, restaurants and pubs. The many, many outdoor 'terrasses' are the perfect place to cool one's heels while sipping on a cold drink and playing at being the fashion police. It's only considered rude to do this by the way, if you break out into braying laughter while pointing at someone. Such are the rules of the game, I'm told.

So yes... I am looking forward with great anticipation to this weekend. It will provide us with some quality Daddy-daughter time. Something there has been far too little of over the years, I fear.

I'm pretty excited...

A fundamental lack of understanding...

Recently, certain parts of New Brunswick and Quebec have had their coastal waters invaded by an inordinately large series of 'red tides'. A red tide is a discoloration of the sea caused by an accumulation of micro-organisms (dinoflagellates), which produce a substance that may contaminate shellfish. They are also sometimes referred to as algae blooms. Red tides occur naturally in coastal ocean waters, when certain environmental and climactic conditions are favorable to them. They are like the monsoons, earthquakes, volcanoes, tornadoes or the cycle of the locusts. They are created by nature. There is no defense against them and certainly no way to prevent them. Nature will simply have it's way...

Paralytic shellfish poisoning is a condition in humans caused by eating shellfish that have been contaminated by the micro-organisms that produce red tide.

So with this basic understanding under our belts, witness the contents of a translated e-mail which we received only yesterday from an irate woman in Quebec:

"For many days now, we have heard talk of these toxic red tides which are travelling up the St.Lawrence River, towards it's estuary. These tides have been responsible for the deaths of many sea birds and mammals (?). The body count increases daily. Fishing has been closed in many areas, which leads to the shutting down of the fishing industry and lack of work for the fishermen.

I want to know why Canada (note: not 'our government', but you guys...the other country next door...) doesn't get out it's pumping gear for these red tides. I understand there are heavy costs associated with this type of operation, but then again if this had been a marine oil spill, actions would have ben taken by now.

It seems as though everyone is just standing by waiting with their arms crossed, watching the ill effects of this red tide on our environment. Yet it is producing damages similar to any oil spill."

The only element missing from this 'Super Bowl of Stupidity', is the usual rant of: "If this was happening anywhere but the province of Quebec, the Canadian government would do something about it!!!" Oh yeah... they ingest their persecution complex straight from their mother's milk, from day one.

It should be needless to mention this, but why not: There is no government, force or entity that we know of, which can stem a red tide. Not even Superman could combat the effects of one, if he were real. So for any individual to think that our own government has some sort of overriding control over Nature herself...? Well, that's just pretty special...

It's like suggesting that respective governments cork all active volcanoes. Or perhaps that we ban the forming of tornadoes anywhere in Canada. Or forbid the presence of tsunamis along the West Coast... Sign a moratorium on heavy snowfalls, perhaps...?

Knock!...Knock!...Knock!!

This morning I stepped outside the house before coming into work, intent on getting a couple of pictures of our 'new' vehicle. It is a 2004 Mazda MPV, with a paltry 34,000kms on the clock. As I stepped outside, I felt the first irreversible sign of fall knocking on our door. It was all of 9 degrees. That's not summer morning weather anymore. Not even up in the wilds of Cape Breton... If I would have had shorts on, I would have suffered 'shrinkage'.

The seasons are once more in flux, as they continue their inexorable changes. My high aspirations of enjoying the serenity of a final road trip, before the end of the season, are looking more and more like empty boasts. Pie in the sky, some might say... Castles made of sand... I am nowhere close to starting any type of physiotherapy, I know this. The mending process itself will likely take far longer than what I may have hoped for. Let's face it, there is a lot to heal in there. The shoulder and the top section of my arm were completely reconstructed. I am slated for a follow-up appointment on the 26th of August. I do not hold any great hopes, but I have yet to throw in the towel either. I'm just trying to keep my hopes and expectations realistic.

I have always loved fall riding. Yes, I love riding any time of the year, but the fall provides such wonderfully comfortable weather for gearing up. Fleece tops under riding jackets, neck wraps, heavy, sturdy gauntlets... all designed to provide warmth, comfort and security. No worries about overheating either. The air is crisp and cool, with a different flavour to it. It brings me alive... I can still recall a trip last season to Oka, QC in mid-fall. The air was filled with the aroma of apples, as the trees lay heavy with them. What an experience that was.

I stopped for a couple of 'hot dogs steamés' and a bottle of spruce beer (la bière d'épinette), at the little restaurant near the Oka ferry. It was just wonderful...

*Sigh!*

The little things...

I climbed out of bed this morning at 0530, a half an hour before the alarm was due to go off. Primarily, because I just couldn't get comfortable and my shoulder was causing me grief. Secondly, because I got the notion that I would try to have a shower before heading into work today. Now, I have not had a shower at this point, since the accident on the 20th. of July.

Initially upon returning from the hospital, my lady would help me wash up with a facecloth as I stood in front of the sink. As I regained some mobility and my bandages were gradually retired, I was once more able to take charge of my own ablutions. It was still an imperfect process, but it served it's purpose. This morning, as soon as I had finished shaving, I turned on the shower and ditched my ever-present sling.

It felt incredibly good to just stand there in the stream of warm water. I found myself thinking how I had taken such a wonderful experience for granted. True, it was still a one-handed ordeal, but that Old Spice body wash had never smelled so good... nor could I recall feeling more refreshed once I had finished rinsing off. The towelling off proved a little problematic, as I simply threw a large towel across my back and trusted that over time it would suck the water off my body...

I suppose that psychologically, it was a win to simply be able to do one more thing that other 'normal people' do. It showed me that I had reached yet another benchmark, another stage at returning to normalcy. No matter that I resembled an arthritic bear as I attempted to dry myself afterwards. I had regained my independence and self-sufficiency on one more front. It's just a little thing, but I realize that it is this multitude of 'little things' which allows us to be who and how we are.

I will make a conscious effort from this day forth, to not take any of them for granted.