101 Reasons I Luv Montreal

Autumn in Montreal. The sound was music to my soul. I knew that hook or crook, I would move heaven and earth to return in September.

And I did. This trip would be different from the last visit. The cool temps and sweater weather made me start packing a week early.

The fact that Hurricane Florence was bearing down on the East coast was not lost on me. I watched the weather reports anxiously checking and rechecking the weather in Montreal that week.

Finally, departure day and Florence had moved on…barely touching the Virginia coast. My thoughts are already in Montreal as I head to Amtrak for the first leg of my journey.

The best part turns out to be the Acela fast speed train that I have not ridden before.  It is a beautifully shaped train, sleek and modern, arriving from DC to the big Apple in record time.

Montreal is a cool 65 degrees when I disembark. I immediately notice the Rock n Roll Marathon signs as I approach the hotel. Although I had a list of things to do leading up to my born day, I added this event to the top of the list pleased that I had arrived at the start of this fun filled Marathon weekend.

My hotel as it turned out, was located a few blocks from the Marathon site. And I was able to enjoy the free concerts, free health screening, free massages, free healthy treats….that came along with the Marathon.

The trip will forever be known as the “Walking Week”. I was somewhat familiar with the area as it also was the site for the jazz festival. What I didn’t know was I was very close to Chinatown, Old Montreal and The Port.

Even though at times I felt I was walking in a big circle, the pleasant weather, inviting shops, exquisite food smells plus the music from the Rock n roll bands made my days in Montreal enjoyable.

A pic is worth a thousand words…check them out!20180919_11262220180921_14022820180921_16440320180921_18590320180922_13093320180922_15481920180922_22494520180922_22073720180922_22384220180923_09283920180923_10001220180923_10093820180923_10151620180924_15223620180924_134042

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cancer Calling

I knew when I looked at the caller ID.  Before I even hit the decline button. I didn’t want to hear those ugly words come out of anyone’s mouth.

Of course there was a message …We got the report back today… You need to call. I hit the delete message.

Voicemail/caller ID/merge calls…all this technology designed to enhance phone communication sometimes works at cross purposes with Humans.

I  think about how to dismantle this feature.

I pour some wine. Cut a pain pill in half. My jaw is still aching from the abscessed tooth. And promptly fall into a dreamless sleep.

The next day I call. No answer. I leave a message on the voicemail that no one ever listens too.

I continue with my day. Busying myself with all kinds of move related tasks. Dropping off clothes at a Baptist church clothes bank… someone will be happy with these cute dresses with tags still on them, shoes worn once still in the box, purses just like they came from the store paper wadded inside.

I think they call it a shopping addiction. I call it retail therapy. It seems to fill some void I have had this summer. But my new life cannot handle all this excess so I happily give it to the church.

Next stop Salvation army. Men just waking file out the door. One directs me to the office. The smell of urine and maleness  is strong in the dimly lit hallway. The worker who welcomes me is genuinely happy to see me.  I load her arms with comforters, pillows and almost new sheets. She thanks me warmly. I leave.

On to the hip upscale trendy part of town. Ironically, only a few blocks away from the seedy army of salvation. The owner of the upscale consignment shop greets me cheerfully. We have talked and she is anxious to see my wares…The mid century Swedish folding rope chairs I bought 20 years ago. They are worth $800 each. I have 4. They are in excellent condition. How much do I want for them. She is excited to have such a find in her little shop. She can see the dollar signs. Where do I sign. I just want to sell them and move on. They are a reminder of a time when monetarily my life was good but otherwise bad.

The phone rings. The caller ID flashes their name. It is their legal name.  Not the familiar one.  Too emotion engendering. I take a long deep breath.

I watch the squealing ancient coal cars scream past my car. I wonder what it would be like to disappear among those fast moving cars now. To be taken away from the insistent ring of this cell phone. Whisked away in a snarling, screeching mess of iron and steel. Destination unknown.

I hit the accept button.