Parfait

How to write succinctly and accurately about my first few days of language study here in Montreal? Here's a quick effort without editing.

I really wanted to take a French Immersion class, but as time drew near, I wished I had just taken a vacation. I needed a vacation. Good news is, this feels like a vacation, so, yay! I get to have it both ways. Story of my (pretty dang nice) life, for the most part. By which I simply mean, I can't complain.

I'm really enjoying the rhythm of the city and the rhythm of my days here. Funny, I used to come to Montreal and regret that I couldn't stay up late and party in the streets (as I have done just once or twice with much pleasure) but this week I've loved settling in just as the streets start to hump and waking up in the morning as almost everyone else is still tucked away and all is quiet. And witnessing the gradual progression of energy and excitement throughout the day. It's a lovely rhythm and I feel like Pat and I are some kind of small harmony to the larger song; doing our own thing, but flitting in and out of the bigger picture. Quite a pleasure (and new experience) to feel so truly a part of city life.

I love routine and keeping busy and our days have accomodated these needs. I get up first, make and drink coffee, then Manny rolls out of bed and gets his cereal and we leave at 8:00 for day camp about a mile north of here, he on his scooter, me on my bike. He LOVES riding that scooter and cruises along pretty quickly. After depositing him at day camp (on Ave du Parc in the Mile End neighborhood), I head downtown with, seriously, 2 million other bike commuters! It is quick and easy to cruise down the bike lane on St. Urbain. One must be just as aware of the other bikes as the cars because there are just so many of them! I am very cautious, in part because I am not used to city riding and because of my bike accident 2 years ago. So when the light turns green, I let the masses of pedalers pass me and gently ease on down the road. I've got nothing to prove and plenty of time.

I arrive at the UQAM on St. Catherine (corner of Hotel de Ville) in time to sit in a little park and eat my yogurt before class at 9:00. Class is excellent. Perhaps a tad easy, but a relief that I'm not getting frusterated or overwhelmed. And I feel like I'm learning a lot and gaining much confidence. We speak, read and write in a completely intertwined way. There are nine students and one teacher, Guy, who is not bad to look at and very personable. And a really good, encouraging and enthusiastic teacher. Besides the U.S., other students in my class are from Canada, Korea, Italy, Mexico and Mongolia. So there is a nice diversity, too. And did I mention that Guy is pretty easy on the eyes? (Funny aside, if I had a picture of him to post, a lot of you would say he looks like Neil minus the bike racing tee-shirts!).

So I am in class until noon, at which time I have an hour for lunch. I bring a picnic and take a short walk to Place des Arts where I can sit and dine by the fountain or on the steps with about a million other lunch time revelers. Not too shabby.

The afternoon session is only 2 hours and is focused on conversation or guided tours (in French). Then I hop on my bike and head back up to Mile End et je rencontre mon fils. Then Patrick and I head home on scooter and bike, freshen up and hit the streets for a walk or groceries or what-have-you. We ate out tonight after a trip to the big salvation army store on the other side of town, but otherwise, we've eaten in and done puzzles, and just hung out. Tonight's tapas at Sala Rosa were outstanding. I especially loved the fried eggplant with cheese.

Then home for quiet time and tomorrow's lunch prep. Right now Pat is reading and I am writing and soon our day will end. I'll read my book and listen to the street sounds, which will pick up in the next few hours.

I could live here. I'm lucky to have a home here and no doubt my peace and relaxation this week owes much to that crucial fact. An adventure with all the comforts of home; parfait!

Placement Test

I think I failed my placement test this morning. I am taking a 3 week French Language class in Montreal and today is the first day. All we did so far was have a brief orientation and take a written and oral placement test. It was really quick for me because, well, I just don't know much French. The written part was multiple choice and you were supposed to stop when you couldn't answer any more questions and not try to guess. So that didn't take too long. Then I sat down with a nice lady who tried to have a conversation with me in french. That didn't take too long either. So I got out early. Actual classes don't start until tomorrow, but I do go back at 1:30 today for 45 minutes to learn about the activities that are supplements to the classes for the next 3 weeks.

Since I was so quick with my testing, I rode my bike back to the apartment, went for a run, bought a falafel and now I'm in the Parc des Ameriques where there is free wireless, gorgeous sunshine and a lovely breeze.

I'm really happy to be here now that I know how to (a) get Patrick to his daycamp (he rode the scooter this morning and was so excited about the whole thing. I can't wait to see him at 4:00 and hear about his day. I'm a little nervous for him and so proud of his bravery in doing something like this), (b) get myself to the University and (c) ride a bike around the city. I was kind of afraid of doing that, but so far so good! It's easier than I thought it would be and a great way to get around quickly. There are lots of streets with bike lanes.

And I think my course is going to be really excellent. The orientation and testing this morning had a very well-organized and professional feel to it and there are lots of people to answer questions. The campus is pretty huge, but our program is only in 2 buildings, so now that I know where those are, I'm feeling confident and ready to learn!

White Crosses and my bike.

This is Neil, I'm hijacking Zoe's blog.

A few years ago Zoe and I saw Jeffrey Foucault perform live. I’d never heard of him before that day. He opened with a song titled “Don’t Look for Me.” I was floored by his voice and fine guitar playing. We bought the cd after the performance and I listened to the studio version of the same song but it just did not impress as much as the live performance had. Many years back I had a Deadhead friend in college who once said, “the moment is superior to the artifact” when talking about the Dead’s music. For some reason that little quote has stuck with me. Initially it stuck because I thought it was a funny thing for one 19 year old stoner to say to another, but then as I dwelt on these seven words I came to conclude that this saying summed up my feelings about most things in life. I’ve never become attached to “stuff” (the only possession I'm really attached to is my road bike. Not so much because it's so great, but because I use all of the time, but if I were to lose I would not realistically be able to afford to replace it) and it dovetails nicely with my inability to remember just about anything. Alas, once again many years later, it would hold true for Jeffrey Foucault’s song. Purchasing the cd however was not a loss. It is a good cd, but what made me love it were the first two lines of the first song on the disc, “Cross of Flowers.” They are as follows:

There's a cross of flowers at the roadside
Where some fool bought it two years back

I will somewhat shamefully admit that I secretly and guiltily liked the irreverence of referring to the subject as a “fool” here. I can’t explain why, but I’ve always felt the same way when I saw a cross by the roadside. I hate them. I feel cold hearted admitting it, but it’s how I feel for some reason. The white roadside crosses, or descansos (in Spanish, descanso means “resting place”) are a common site on all of my main cycling routes from the house. There are three major routes that I commonly ride from home, one to the north, one to the south and one to the west. There is a white cross within 6 miles on each route. I see them up close every day as I meditatively peddle, therefore I spend a lot of time thinking about them. The cross means nothing to the person whose name emblazons it, obviously, and if I were asked if I wanted one, should I meet my demise in a car accident (or be splattered by a vehicle while on my bike on the road, I think that would qualify), I would emphatically say no, absolutely not. To me these shrines seem to be an extenuation of grief by and pity for the living. Perhaps it’s cathartic to work so diligently on these things, but I get the weird sense that the people who maintain them like doing it, I can’t imagine up-keeping one of these things for someone I had known. Similarly, after 9/11 and after the invasion (and subsequent occupation) of Iraq, stickers and flags on cars popped up everywhere. I felt the same weird way, “these people all sort of enjoy wallowing in this.” I’m not saying my interpretation is correct, it’s probably way off, but it is what it is and I’m admitting it for whatever purpose.

I decided to investigate these emotions. So like anyone who was having a slow day at the office I referred to the internet. You know, the internet, that place where, with enough research, the most common bug bite is potentially fatal, or at the very least, horrifyingly disfiguring. I thought this would be a great place to investigate. It wasn't. Here’s the first thing I stumble upon:

Mark the loss of a loved one to road accidents with a roadside memorial. Each roadside memorial is designed from UV-protected polyethylene, to make it last for years. The descanso – available with a personalized nameplate in several designs, from religious symbols, the national flag and animals – carry a and a mounting stake

Your Tribute Memorial Cross:

● Durably constructed from UV protected polyethylene

● Includes a mounting stake for easy installation

● Comes with a personalized nameplate

● Can be used for People or Pets

● Free Delivery included within 48 contiguous states

● Size: 24"H x 15"W x 2-1/2"D
Artwork and symbols are further below on the page
Ships in approximately 4 business days

Our Price: $175.00

Or if you're a little more strapped, 27- 45 bucks here.

Or maybe I don’t like them because I’m an Atheist. This article says, “Consider also the point that atheists and other non-christians find them offensive, annoying and depressing.” Wow, they apparently speak for me and they really hate those crosses.

Maybe I don’t like them because they are a little artifact that is just glued there in that moment and place of despair. I feel like maybe the survivors can’t move on and are stuck in a holding pattern. It’s like they are stuck in that spot, in that moment, in that awful time and place for as long as the shrine is maintained(and some are very meticulously maintained). It seems like the point is to not move forward, it’s to stay there in that spot forever. Ah, but I think the moment is superior, remember? So I prefer the moment or moments that come before that fateful split second in that tragic spot when I think about the people that I have loved who are no longer here.

Enough stalling. I have to write why I like camp if I ever want any more jelly.

Shelter

Remember that show, "This is Your Life"? I don't really remember it, but wasn't there a show where they brought out long lost friends, family members and colleagues from the person's past? Tonight was kind of like that for me, at least in regards to my work, which is inextricably a part of me.

Fourteen years ago I was a VISTA worker (Volunteers in Service to America) for a domestic/sexual violence program in Newport, Vermont. I quickly realized that the Northeast Kingdom really needed a shelter for battered women. I thought I would spend my year in VISTA making that happen. I was 24, full of hope and ideals. It didn't happen that year, or in the 14 years since, despite my wishes and hopes. Fast forward to 2009. Tonight we hosted a small reception for donors and community partners at our soon-to-open shelter for battered women; the first in the Northeast Kingdom. The shelter includes 8 crisis beds and 3 transitional apartments. It is an amazing facility and I didn't believe it would ever really happen until tonight. (An aside: It is strange to be thrilled and gratified by a shelter you are working to make unnecessary. Yet it is necessary, more necessary than ever, and I am grateful we can finally offer this crucial, basic support to survivors).

So here it is, finally, a shelter, an option to offer women when we are safety planning together. It is cause for celebration. But what really moved me about the reception tonight was the folks who attended. It was a "This is Your Life" of my work in the movement. Some of the committed and supportive attendees (in no particular order) included:

• The former coordinator of our state coalition, who coordinated the VISTAs in 1995 and therefore trained and mentored me extensively (she also organized a baby shower for me at the end of that year!)
• The advocate with whom I job-shared when my kids were little and I could only work part-time. We grew up in the work together for many years. I love her dearly.
• The former director of my organization who was the director when I volunteered on the hotline right after Harper was born. Another important mentor.
• The victim advocate from the prosecutor's office where I worked more than 10 years ago as part of a special domestic violence unit. She taught me everything about the criminal system, the courts, the community and lots about how to fight and speak up for survivors.
• A past director of an anti-poverty organization, which oversaw that first DV program for which I worked as a VISTA. Always a smart and thoughtful activist who is now on my organization's board.
• Our shelter coordinator, a strong and capable woman who I have known for almost a decade. We have worked side by side for years and I am so proud of her as she embarks on this new project with her whole self, heart and soul.
• Our Executive Director, who I think of as the conductor of a symphony waving a baton. Or is that a magic wand? She's also one of my best friends.
• My newest colleague, co-worker and comrade from the north who impresses me daily with her dedication, intelligence and advocacy skills. At least once a week I come home and tell my family how great she is.
• Our statewide coalition representative, who serves as an expert and support person for our work locally; someone I turn to when no one else has an answer to my question. She's just brilliant.
• So many more community people who have supported our work for longer than I've been doing the work. I'm so grateful for their continued, solid, persistent presence.
• My dad. What can I or do I even need to say about the profundity of the lovely fact of his presence on this special day?

What a list! But on the eve of the opening of our shelter (finally!) to have all of these people in the room filled my heart with love and gratitude. And really, the people who attended tonight were just a small representation of the many comrades I have the good fortune of knowing personally in this movement. Way too many to list here. It's nice to know we're not alone. It's good to have the shelter of community.

The Anti-Holiday

To escape fireworks*, parades, and the general celebration of so-called "Independence Day", I like to take my family to the Montreal Jazz Festival. We had a good time last year and decided to go again this weekend. Yesterday I was superpsyched to see That 1 Guy was giving a free show at 7:00 PM. I saw T1G several years ago and have been watching his tour schedule ever since in hopes of catching him again. His is a feel-good-laugh-riot-rock-out-with-your-socks-out show. I took some video clips, but there is nothing like the feeling of his live performance.

A clip from one of my favorite songs: Weasel Pot Pie...

At the end, Patrick got his autograph and a picture.

Happy Jazz Fest!

*My parents and I are the only people on the planet who do not love fireworks. We have our reasons. Not that they are the same reasons; no particular family trauma or anything like that. We're just weird, I guess.

It Seems Like Forever

Since this day.

I'm not one to complain about the weather (or too much else). But when I see the pictures of that perfect morning, I'm lonesome for the sweetness of early morning sun. Funny how it makes me miss my momma, gram, Camp, and everything else that is sunny and sweet. Though I like the sound of the rain at night and the cool breeze through my window.