I’ve been thinking about the Olympics – for what reason I don’t know because I am not a winter sports fan and therefore not particularly an Olympic Fan. Still, the ‘Boxing Roo” flag the Australians draped across their part of the Olympic Village, epitomizes the determined spirit that is alive as the Games are about to open. Living on Vancouver Island does not give us the sense of excitement that is perhaps prevalent in Vancouver. But sitting on the sidelines as a spectator does help to put these Olympic Games in perspective from a personal point of view.
I like the idea of the games because they are a once in a lifetime event for the host city to showcase itself to the rest of the world. Even though they require massive amounts of planning and money, I think they are worth it. There is a sense of national pride because the Canada and Vancouver are hosting the Olympics. There is a huge congregation of top athletes in one place for two weeks, not only competing for the highest honour, but also fostering camaraderie among the nations of the world.
The Olympic Games themselves are an historic event, having first been introduced to the world in the 8th Century BC where they took place in Olympia, Greece. They continued on until the 5th Century AD when, for some reason, they were abandoned. The Games were resurrected by Baron de Coubertin in 1894 when the first International Olympic Committee was founded and they have been growing ever since.
Apart from providing the host city and country with substantial economic benefits, there is the benefit of visitors coming from all over the world to see the games, and mingle with local residents, providing a potpourri of friendliness, entertainment, participation, excitement and, of course, a sense of global unity. Factored in is the historic journey of the Olympic Flame travelling from coast, to coast to coast. All Canadians have had a chance to be a part of this unique event and the nationalistic feeling it evoked.
What is the downside? Many people will sum up by saying it is a waste of time and money. Others will rebel and protest because they feel the amount of money necessary to host the Olympics, could be used for something much more worthwhile. The truth of the matter is that money has to be raised to cover the cost of the Olympics and would the same money be raised to cover the cost of deserving enterprises here at home?
In Vancouver there are also problems perhaps not encountered in other countries because of the geographical location of the city. Problems like traffic restrictions on many of the roads in and around the city. Before the games there was a general hue and cry about the lack of space to house visitors, but we now find there is still accommodation available in various parts of the city, and indeed at Whistler itself.
The media is naturally having a feeding frenzy on the subject of a possible ‘snowless’ Cypress Mountain and the deleterious effect they think it will have on the events taking place on Cypress. I suppose one could go on with a litany of woes which are always present at an event of this magnitude. But they will get us nowhere because the Games have come to Vancouver, whether we like it or not, there is snow on Cypress and they are about to open in a no doubt extraordinary fanfare and hopefully to provide many gold medals for Canada.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Friday, February 5, 2010
Book Review: Paths of Glory.
My paternal grandfather was a great outdoors man and although he never once climbed a mountain, he was all set to regale his granddaughter (me) with knowledge of the highest and most famous mountains throughout the world. This of course, included the climbers who scaled these peaks and his hero, George Leigh Mallory. For the uninitiated, George Mallory led two expeditions to climb Everest; one in 1922 and the other in 1924.
When Jeffrey Archer wrote his latest book ‘Paths of Glory’, it became a must read for me because Jeffrey Archer is a terrific story teller. Of course, I also knew about George Mallory and had an appetite to know more so that I would know exactly who my grandfather was lauding.
This is an excellent book and excellent subject matter. It is a true story written as fiction where ‘poetic’ license has been used to a point. However, all the facts are there and they alone are enough to produce a page turning story.
At that time, since Captain Scott’s demise at the South Pole, all eyes were looking for someone to execute the last remaining great feat, that of conquering Everest. Mallory certainly fitted the bill with his climbing abilities, second to none at that time. He was a handsome, charismatic man with a huge amount of drive and determination.
In fact Archer’s characterization of all men and women involved with this mindboggling project was so alive. I felt that I could join in the conversations they were having and feel the same way they were feeling at a time when history was in favour of the still strong British Empire. The story traces Mallory from his childhood, through his teenage years as he develops the art of climbing, through his service in the trenches during the first world war, his career as a school teacher and the ever nagging desire to climb the highest peak in the world – ‘because it is there’.
Mallory made two attempts to climb Everest and after the first experience and subsequent hooplah by the public, he really felt that he had had enough and that he would like to remain home with his wife and children. But, that was not to be since one of the second expedition planners visited Mallory’s wife, Ruth, and asked her to encourage George to go and take charge of the second expedition. This she did, although very much against her will. This book is not only an adventure story, it is also a beautiful old-fashioned love story.
Paths of Glory is also full of humour and I couldn’t help laughing out loud over the description of Mallory getting himself outfitted for the expedition. He went to the local clothing store with a list, and the store owner was busy making useful suggestions, while gathering together what Mallory thought he needed. When asked by the store owner if he would encounter snow, Mallory replied in the affirmative. So the store owner assured him that he would need an umbrella!
This is a stunning adventure of the human spirit, about men who were not deterred by climbing the highest peak in the world and overcoming all the inherent dangers it posed. In fact in some cases, they even made it sound as though they were off to an afternoon tea party, never mind Everest. After all, as Mallory said, “It’s because it’s there”.
When Jeffrey Archer wrote his latest book ‘Paths of Glory’, it became a must read for me because Jeffrey Archer is a terrific story teller. Of course, I also knew about George Mallory and had an appetite to know more so that I would know exactly who my grandfather was lauding.
This is an excellent book and excellent subject matter. It is a true story written as fiction where ‘poetic’ license has been used to a point. However, all the facts are there and they alone are enough to produce a page turning story.
At that time, since Captain Scott’s demise at the South Pole, all eyes were looking for someone to execute the last remaining great feat, that of conquering Everest. Mallory certainly fitted the bill with his climbing abilities, second to none at that time. He was a handsome, charismatic man with a huge amount of drive and determination.
In fact Archer’s characterization of all men and women involved with this mindboggling project was so alive. I felt that I could join in the conversations they were having and feel the same way they were feeling at a time when history was in favour of the still strong British Empire. The story traces Mallory from his childhood, through his teenage years as he develops the art of climbing, through his service in the trenches during the first world war, his career as a school teacher and the ever nagging desire to climb the highest peak in the world – ‘because it is there’.
Mallory made two attempts to climb Everest and after the first experience and subsequent hooplah by the public, he really felt that he had had enough and that he would like to remain home with his wife and children. But, that was not to be since one of the second expedition planners visited Mallory’s wife, Ruth, and asked her to encourage George to go and take charge of the second expedition. This she did, although very much against her will. This book is not only an adventure story, it is also a beautiful old-fashioned love story.
Paths of Glory is also full of humour and I couldn’t help laughing out loud over the description of Mallory getting himself outfitted for the expedition. He went to the local clothing store with a list, and the store owner was busy making useful suggestions, while gathering together what Mallory thought he needed. When asked by the store owner if he would encounter snow, Mallory replied in the affirmative. So the store owner assured him that he would need an umbrella!
This is a stunning adventure of the human spirit, about men who were not deterred by climbing the highest peak in the world and overcoming all the inherent dangers it posed. In fact in some cases, they even made it sound as though they were off to an afternoon tea party, never mind Everest. After all, as Mallory said, “It’s because it’s there”.
Monday, February 1, 2010
The Processed Turkey
Since the last post concerned food – albeit a yummy bread recipe, it has prompted me to tell you about my not so yummy experiences with the Christmas Turkey, because cooking it revealed something which was not known to me.
After collecting the 10lb bird from the store two days before Christmas, we kept it cool in the frig. After completing the necessary preparations before cooking we put it in the oven on Christmas day to cook according to the instructions on the plastic cover.
Removing it from the oven after the appropriate amount of cooking time, it seemed a little on the tough side and my husband felt that it needed another half hour. We gave it another half hour and it was still on the toughish side but we decided to eat it anyway.
I think this last Christmas was the first time I didn’t enjoy my turkey – it was tough, it certainly didn’t have the succulent turkey flavour, and we had no idea what the problem was.
Neither one of us wanted to have cold turkey the following day, so the next best thing was to boil it all up and make a soup. What a mistake! An awful smell pervaded the kitchen and I couldn’t figure out what it was. It was a smell I had experienced once before with some turkey legs cooked for the dog – for want of a better description, I detected a definite smell of stale bleach. Before I finished cooking the soup, the entire content was thrown out and that was the end of our turkey.
A few days later I was in the store that supplied us with the turkey, and I felt, after some cogitation, that I had to mention the turkey and I did. The meat manager was most sympathetic and glad that I reported it. He would get in touch with the suppliers.
A week later the suppliers were in touch with us, and admitted to my husband that just before they are finally packaged, the birds are bleached and rinsed and occasionally one slips through the rinsing stage. In our case, the bird that missed the rinsing stage was our turkey!
We were reimbursed by the company concerned but to me it was one more nail in the coffin of processed food. Yuk!
After collecting the 10lb bird from the store two days before Christmas, we kept it cool in the frig. After completing the necessary preparations before cooking we put it in the oven on Christmas day to cook according to the instructions on the plastic cover.
Removing it from the oven after the appropriate amount of cooking time, it seemed a little on the tough side and my husband felt that it needed another half hour. We gave it another half hour and it was still on the toughish side but we decided to eat it anyway.
I think this last Christmas was the first time I didn’t enjoy my turkey – it was tough, it certainly didn’t have the succulent turkey flavour, and we had no idea what the problem was.
Neither one of us wanted to have cold turkey the following day, so the next best thing was to boil it all up and make a soup. What a mistake! An awful smell pervaded the kitchen and I couldn’t figure out what it was. It was a smell I had experienced once before with some turkey legs cooked for the dog – for want of a better description, I detected a definite smell of stale bleach. Before I finished cooking the soup, the entire content was thrown out and that was the end of our turkey.
A few days later I was in the store that supplied us with the turkey, and I felt, after some cogitation, that I had to mention the turkey and I did. The meat manager was most sympathetic and glad that I reported it. He would get in touch with the suppliers.
A week later the suppliers were in touch with us, and admitted to my husband that just before they are finally packaged, the birds are bleached and rinsed and occasionally one slips through the rinsing stage. In our case, the bird that missed the rinsing stage was our turkey!
We were reimbursed by the company concerned but to me it was one more nail in the coffin of processed food. Yuk!
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Yummy Banana Yeast Bread
Gloria usually posts book reviews, but this time she has a surprise for us and it sounds delicious - I will be making it.
Winter is the best time to be baking bread. I love the aromas that come from the oven and fill the house with the promise of great eating to come. Of course, before that can happen, I need to find a recipe, get inspired and actually go through all the steps necessary to get that loaf into the oven.
The first step is to comb the recipe books for just the right bread. Anything needing a starter is out at the moment as the cupboard is bare on that front. Likewise anything with olives or exotic cheeses or unusual flours or oils will not be considered. Do I want a flat bread, a peasant bread, rolls, baguettes, a braid, or a nice pan loaf? Oh the decisions that must be made sometimes can stop a good intention right in its tracks.
Once the hurdle of making a choice is over and the ingredients and equipment are assembled, the process begins. Measure, mix, let rise, punch down, shape, rise again, bake and voila! There it is in all its glory. I stand holding this wonderful piece of work with a big smile on my face. Dinner will just be an accompaniment to this centerpiece.
My latest endeavour was a banana yeast bread. The day I made this we had Chicken Korma, steamed cauliflower, squash, rice and green beans to keep it company. Great meal and the bread was delicious. It turned out just a bit crusty, nicely rounded and deep brown in colour. Inside there was that distinctive yeast-produced airiness to the texture but still some moistness from the bananas. Very yummy later on as toast with honey.
For any of you who want to try it…
2 ½ c. whole wheat flour
1 c. white flour
1 tsp salt
1 tbsp dry skim-milk powder
1 tbsp sunflower seeds
1 tbsp sesame seeds
1 tbsp cracked wheat
2 tsp instant dry yeast
Mix all this together in a large mixing bowl. I have a Kitchenaid stand mixer with a dough hook.
Combine in a 2-cup measuring cup
2 mashed ripe bananas
2 tsp liquid honey
Enough water to bring the measure to 1 ½ cups
Pour this into the dry mixture and mix very well. Knead for 7 to 10 minutes. If it seems too dry or too wet (bananas vary in their moisture content) then add water or flour, depending, a tablespoon at a time until the dough is easy to knead. It is better for it to be slightly sticky than for it to be really dry.
Let rise covered until double – about 1- 1 ½ hours. Punch down and shape into two balls. Shaping two balls instead of one encourages rising. Place in a greased loaf pan, cover and rise another hour until doubled.
Bake in hot 425 F for 25 – 30 minutes. If the top gets too brown for your liking, cover loosely with foil.
Bring out the butter and enjoy.
Biddy Gloria
Winter is the best time to be baking bread. I love the aromas that come from the oven and fill the house with the promise of great eating to come. Of course, before that can happen, I need to find a recipe, get inspired and actually go through all the steps necessary to get that loaf into the oven.
The first step is to comb the recipe books for just the right bread. Anything needing a starter is out at the moment as the cupboard is bare on that front. Likewise anything with olives or exotic cheeses or unusual flours or oils will not be considered. Do I want a flat bread, a peasant bread, rolls, baguettes, a braid, or a nice pan loaf? Oh the decisions that must be made sometimes can stop a good intention right in its tracks.
Once the hurdle of making a choice is over and the ingredients and equipment are assembled, the process begins. Measure, mix, let rise, punch down, shape, rise again, bake and voila! There it is in all its glory. I stand holding this wonderful piece of work with a big smile on my face. Dinner will just be an accompaniment to this centerpiece.
My latest endeavour was a banana yeast bread. The day I made this we had Chicken Korma, steamed cauliflower, squash, rice and green beans to keep it company. Great meal and the bread was delicious. It turned out just a bit crusty, nicely rounded and deep brown in colour. Inside there was that distinctive yeast-produced airiness to the texture but still some moistness from the bananas. Very yummy later on as toast with honey.
For any of you who want to try it…
2 ½ c. whole wheat flour
1 c. white flour
1 tsp salt
1 tbsp dry skim-milk powder
1 tbsp sunflower seeds
1 tbsp sesame seeds
1 tbsp cracked wheat
2 tsp instant dry yeast
Mix all this together in a large mixing bowl. I have a Kitchenaid stand mixer with a dough hook.
Combine in a 2-cup measuring cup
2 mashed ripe bananas
2 tsp liquid honey
Enough water to bring the measure to 1 ½ cups
Pour this into the dry mixture and mix very well. Knead for 7 to 10 minutes. If it seems too dry or too wet (bananas vary in their moisture content) then add water or flour, depending, a tablespoon at a time until the dough is easy to knead. It is better for it to be slightly sticky than for it to be really dry.
Let rise covered until double – about 1- 1 ½ hours. Punch down and shape into two balls. Shaping two balls instead of one encourages rising. Place in a greased loaf pan, cover and rise another hour until doubled.
Bake in hot 425 F for 25 – 30 minutes. If the top gets too brown for your liking, cover loosely with foil.
Bring out the butter and enjoy.
Biddy Gloria
Monday, January 25, 2010
Vancouver and All That: The Lost Car
I stayed with my son, daughter-in-law and granddaughter Vera, while in Vancouver, and discovered that Vera had very little in the way of books to read. Apparently her books were left in the Philippines because transporting them by air was a no-go due to weight. So, I promised Vera that I would buy her some new books when I went out on Monday.
Monday afternoon found me in the children’s book department in Chapters, Metrotown.I had a wonderful time, but unfortunately my legs were causing me problems because of all the packing and cleaning over the weekend, so I had to keep resting. Sitting down was what I was going to do anyway, because I had arranged to meet second son and ex-husband in Metrotown and they were never on time. We were going to younger son’s condominium for negotiations on the purchase of the property.
Of course, they were late and late and very late, so I decided that the best thing for me was to return to downtown Vancouver as it was getting a little late for a meeting. Off I went to get the car, but upon arrival at the parking place there was no car. Around the mall entrance area I walked a couple of times, getting more panic stricken because in the trunk of the car was a fair amount of cash which I was to give someone downtown. Finally, on legs which would hardly carry me I made my way to the mall administration office to enquire whether any cars had been towed. No, they had not and it was suggested I see security right away.
Following their directions to the security office I couldn’t find it (typical), and almost in tears, I made my way back to Chapters to sit for a while. Suddenly, manna from heaven – a security guy appeared walking out of Chapters and I immediately flagged him down. Unfortunately, he didn’t represent the branch of security I wanted, but he did kindly offer to have a rep from traffic security come to me, so I wouldn’t have to walk.
The traffic security rep arrived five minutes later, seemingly quite enthused about assisting a doddery old woman who had lost her car. He told me how, quite often, people lost their car in the parkade, because they couldn’t remember where they had parked it. I vehemently denied that this was the my case. I was always attentive as to where I parked my car in parking lots and parkades, so there was very little possibility of me having forgotten where I had put the car.
At his request, I gave him all the details, took his duly offered arm, and rode the escalator down to the next floor. We went through the same procedures as I had done when I came to look for the car, and nothing was to be found. Finally, as we walked back into the building again, he turned and asked me if I had checked the lower floor!
Ding dong! Acute embarrassment swept over me because I hadn’t even thought about the lower floor. However, the embarrassment was tempered by the excitement of possibly finding the car and the money. Down to the next level we went to find the car. As we came out of the building doorway and turned in the direction of the parking spot, there gleamed a touch of bright red front car body belonging to my rented car. I could have jumped for joy.
The security rep couldn’t have been nicer in the face of the chagrin felt by yours truly. When we arrived back at Chapters, he even offered to go and find my son who was hopefully looking for me just outside the main entrance of Chapters. When they arrived back, I knew by the look on Michael’s face that it would be a while before I lived down that experience. I had hoped it would be over and done with that day. Fat chance!
Monday afternoon found me in the children’s book department in Chapters, Metrotown.I had a wonderful time, but unfortunately my legs were causing me problems because of all the packing and cleaning over the weekend, so I had to keep resting. Sitting down was what I was going to do anyway, because I had arranged to meet second son and ex-husband in Metrotown and they were never on time. We were going to younger son’s condominium for negotiations on the purchase of the property.
Of course, they were late and late and very late, so I decided that the best thing for me was to return to downtown Vancouver as it was getting a little late for a meeting. Off I went to get the car, but upon arrival at the parking place there was no car. Around the mall entrance area I walked a couple of times, getting more panic stricken because in the trunk of the car was a fair amount of cash which I was to give someone downtown. Finally, on legs which would hardly carry me I made my way to the mall administration office to enquire whether any cars had been towed. No, they had not and it was suggested I see security right away.
Following their directions to the security office I couldn’t find it (typical), and almost in tears, I made my way back to Chapters to sit for a while. Suddenly, manna from heaven – a security guy appeared walking out of Chapters and I immediately flagged him down. Unfortunately, he didn’t represent the branch of security I wanted, but he did kindly offer to have a rep from traffic security come to me, so I wouldn’t have to walk.
The traffic security rep arrived five minutes later, seemingly quite enthused about assisting a doddery old woman who had lost her car. He told me how, quite often, people lost their car in the parkade, because they couldn’t remember where they had parked it. I vehemently denied that this was the my case. I was always attentive as to where I parked my car in parking lots and parkades, so there was very little possibility of me having forgotten where I had put the car.
At his request, I gave him all the details, took his duly offered arm, and rode the escalator down to the next floor. We went through the same procedures as I had done when I came to look for the car, and nothing was to be found. Finally, as we walked back into the building again, he turned and asked me if I had checked the lower floor!
Ding dong! Acute embarrassment swept over me because I hadn’t even thought about the lower floor. However, the embarrassment was tempered by the excitement of possibly finding the car and the money. Down to the next level we went to find the car. As we came out of the building doorway and turned in the direction of the parking spot, there gleamed a touch of bright red front car body belonging to my rented car. I could have jumped for joy.
The security rep couldn’t have been nicer in the face of the chagrin felt by yours truly. When we arrived back at Chapters, he even offered to go and find my son who was hopefully looking for me just outside the main entrance of Chapters. When they arrived back, I knew by the look on Michael’s face that it would be a while before I lived down that experience. I had hoped it would be over and done with that day. Fat chance!
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Vancouver and All That….. The Skytrain
My next adventure in Vancouver, following the shock of the parkade rates, was an incident the following evening.
I had been working non-stop packing and cleaning at the condominium and decided to call it a day at about 10:00p.m. Son number one called me from downtown and offered to come and collect me from Burnaby in the car. I assured him there was no problem and he could pick me up at Burrard station downtown from the Skytrain.
Off I went with friend Bob who drove me to the Metro station and I boarded the Skytrain after just a few minutes wait. Settling myself down in the middle coach, to the rear, I took out some reading material (don’t even remember what it was).
At the following station a couple of men boarded the train. One was tallish, a little on the chubby side with a round face and totally out of it – drunk as a lord. The other was much quieter but seemed prepared to follow up on any remarks that came non-stop from the drunken one.
When they stepped onto the train, the first thing the drunken lord shouted was “Well, there’s grandma and how’s grandma this evening? I nearly died, but I am not sure whether it was because of fear or outrage. Outrage that apparently I looked my age – how dare they! Hadn’t I been told dozens of times that I didn’t look my age? The lesser drunken lord made his way to behind my seat and sat down to peer over my shoulder to see what I was reading, while there was a stream of unending grandma remarks coming from the drunken lord who had parked himself, thank goodness, by the door. There were no abusive remarks uttered, but I slowly started to get quite concerned because I was not sure where it all would end.
I sat rigidly staring at my book, not giving them the satisfaction of even recognizing the grandma tirade and I could see the three young girls in front of me showing a bit of concern.
Having received no joy in getting any reaction from me, the two men suddenly disappeared down to the other end of the car, and started on another subject. I relaxed a little, but not for long, because they soon came back and started on about grandma again. All of a sudden, one of the young girls sitting opposite to our drunken lord let him have it.
“For f…….. sake why don’t you just shut up?” she yelled at the top of her voice. “Leave her alone”. (Grandma, that is).
Just as she was about to hurl further rage in his direction and I think, if necessary, get up and hit him, we drew up at a station, the doors opened and there was a couple of Skytrain policemen. Never was I or anyone else in that car so thankful as they yanked the drunken lord out of the car onto the station platform.
The young girls in front of me immediately turned to make sure that I was OK, and I assured them with a forced smile that I was a tough old bird and would survive. They were not to know that I had a very heavy handbag at the ready at all times, and would have lashed out with all my strength if the drunken lord and his mate had approached me physically.
We concluded that, unbeknown to us, someone at the other end of the car must have called for help and there was definitely a communal sigh of relief when the closing doors shut out our intruder.
What a journey. Obviously I had been living in the past and had expected the journey to be calm and uneventful. Fat chance!
I had been working non-stop packing and cleaning at the condominium and decided to call it a day at about 10:00p.m. Son number one called me from downtown and offered to come and collect me from Burnaby in the car. I assured him there was no problem and he could pick me up at Burrard station downtown from the Skytrain.
Off I went with friend Bob who drove me to the Metro station and I boarded the Skytrain after just a few minutes wait. Settling myself down in the middle coach, to the rear, I took out some reading material (don’t even remember what it was).
At the following station a couple of men boarded the train. One was tallish, a little on the chubby side with a round face and totally out of it – drunk as a lord. The other was much quieter but seemed prepared to follow up on any remarks that came non-stop from the drunken one.
When they stepped onto the train, the first thing the drunken lord shouted was “Well, there’s grandma and how’s grandma this evening? I nearly died, but I am not sure whether it was because of fear or outrage. Outrage that apparently I looked my age – how dare they! Hadn’t I been told dozens of times that I didn’t look my age? The lesser drunken lord made his way to behind my seat and sat down to peer over my shoulder to see what I was reading, while there was a stream of unending grandma remarks coming from the drunken lord who had parked himself, thank goodness, by the door. There were no abusive remarks uttered, but I slowly started to get quite concerned because I was not sure where it all would end.
I sat rigidly staring at my book, not giving them the satisfaction of even recognizing the grandma tirade and I could see the three young girls in front of me showing a bit of concern.
Having received no joy in getting any reaction from me, the two men suddenly disappeared down to the other end of the car, and started on another subject. I relaxed a little, but not for long, because they soon came back and started on about grandma again. All of a sudden, one of the young girls sitting opposite to our drunken lord let him have it.
“For f…….. sake why don’t you just shut up?” she yelled at the top of her voice. “Leave her alone”. (Grandma, that is).
Just as she was about to hurl further rage in his direction and I think, if necessary, get up and hit him, we drew up at a station, the doors opened and there was a couple of Skytrain policemen. Never was I or anyone else in that car so thankful as they yanked the drunken lord out of the car onto the station platform.
The young girls in front of me immediately turned to make sure that I was OK, and I assured them with a forced smile that I was a tough old bird and would survive. They were not to know that I had a very heavy handbag at the ready at all times, and would have lashed out with all my strength if the drunken lord and his mate had approached me physically.
We concluded that, unbeknown to us, someone at the other end of the car must have called for help and there was definitely a communal sigh of relief when the closing doors shut out our intruder.
What a journey. Obviously I had been living in the past and had expected the journey to be calm and uneventful. Fat chance!
Friday, January 15, 2010
Vancouver and All That………..
It’s a New Year – 2010. However, it is a disastrous New Year for all people living in Haiti, and our thoughts and prayers must go out to these people facing a seemingly non-existent future, based on a very poor foundation of a past.
Welcome back to my Blog, to which I have returned with a multitude of New Year resolutions, knowing full well that practically none of them are going anywhere. That sounds like a bit of positive thinking, doesn’t it?
Thought I would write a few short blogs during the next couple of weeks about some very recent, unplanned and unwanted experiences on a trip to Vancouver. My mission to that fair city was to provide some help (mainly cleaning) for ex husband who was moving out of his condo, and to see my lovely granddaughter.
Instead of going on the ferry as a foot passenger, this time the mode of transportation was via rented car because I had to take some household items to my son and daughter in law, who had just moved into an apartment after arriving back from a sojourn in the Far East. They had not a stick of furniture or anything else for that matter, so the cry went out to family members and I volunteered to do my thing.
For me, driving in Vancouver is a bit of a nightmare, but I managed quite well until I arrived on the corner of West Georgia Street and Burrard. Here I had to find a parking place in order to meet an old friend for lunch, who I hadn’t seen for about four years. I must have been out of my tree if I even vaguely thought (which indeed I did), that there would be a parking space waiting for me to install my car. Fat chance! After doing the grand tour of the vicinity for about half an hour I was resigned to going into a parkade.
My friend and I had a wonderful lunch and a great catch up session, both of us ruing the difficulties of living at opposite ends of this vast country of ours. After about two and a half hours, she went her way and I went mine, back to collect the car. Not having a clue about the cost, I had my ten dollar bill ready to hand to the attendant, but was informed that the cost was $21.00! I had to ask him for a second time because I simply didn’t believe what he said; I had a heck of a time composing and reminding myself that the parking attendant had nothing to do with setting the sky-high rates in the parkade. After taking time to retrieve the additional payment from my bag, I reluctantly handed over the money.
With the stress caused by this exorbitant bill, it took me a while to set the car on a straight course to my son’s apartment which was not that far away, thank goodness.
Ah, well, more next time on this trip.
Welcome back to my Blog, to which I have returned with a multitude of New Year resolutions, knowing full well that practically none of them are going anywhere. That sounds like a bit of positive thinking, doesn’t it?
Thought I would write a few short blogs during the next couple of weeks about some very recent, unplanned and unwanted experiences on a trip to Vancouver. My mission to that fair city was to provide some help (mainly cleaning) for ex husband who was moving out of his condo, and to see my lovely granddaughter.
Instead of going on the ferry as a foot passenger, this time the mode of transportation was via rented car because I had to take some household items to my son and daughter in law, who had just moved into an apartment after arriving back from a sojourn in the Far East. They had not a stick of furniture or anything else for that matter, so the cry went out to family members and I volunteered to do my thing.
For me, driving in Vancouver is a bit of a nightmare, but I managed quite well until I arrived on the corner of West Georgia Street and Burrard. Here I had to find a parking place in order to meet an old friend for lunch, who I hadn’t seen for about four years. I must have been out of my tree if I even vaguely thought (which indeed I did), that there would be a parking space waiting for me to install my car. Fat chance! After doing the grand tour of the vicinity for about half an hour I was resigned to going into a parkade.
My friend and I had a wonderful lunch and a great catch up session, both of us ruing the difficulties of living at opposite ends of this vast country of ours. After about two and a half hours, she went her way and I went mine, back to collect the car. Not having a clue about the cost, I had my ten dollar bill ready to hand to the attendant, but was informed that the cost was $21.00! I had to ask him for a second time because I simply didn’t believe what he said; I had a heck of a time composing and reminding myself that the parking attendant had nothing to do with setting the sky-high rates in the parkade. After taking time to retrieve the additional payment from my bag, I reluctantly handed over the money.
With the stress caused by this exorbitant bill, it took me a while to set the car on a straight course to my son’s apartment which was not that far away, thank goodness.
Ah, well, more next time on this trip.
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