March Canadiana

1. Lechez les vitrines, "Lick the windows:"  the French phrase for window-shopping. When it's too cold to stick your tongue out and lick anything, snow and mud everywhere, we still stand transfixed in front of window displays of alive green things. The other day in Little Italy, I crossed the street to stare at a florist's window where an array of tall, opaque yellow, hand-blown glass vases held a small forest of orchids: yellow, golden, cream colored with brown and yellow spots. Next to me, a homeless man stood doing the exact same thing, like we were both starving.

I didn't go into the florist the other night; a signboard next to the door advertising tulips for $15 a bunch put me off.  I can't get used to the prices of flowers here. In March, the grocery stores in Vermont used to sell big bunches of tulips for $6. You could get a lovely bouquet for anywhere between $4 and $10. We're closer to distribution here, I'd think, and flowers always tend to be cheaper in all the cities I've visited - I don't get it. It's like I said: robbing the starving woman. 

2. Walking on St. Denis and Mont-Royal on Sunday night, people were screaming everywhere. It took me a minute to realize: sports bars. hockey. olympics.

3. Meanwhile, editorials in major newspapers chide Canadians for their "unbecoming displays of boosterism," this "unCanadian' nationalism!" during the past two weeks. "What's gotten into us?" they ask. I actually consider buying a cool T-shirt at the Bay, with Canada emblazoned across the front of yellow, blue, or red cotton; it's part of the Bay's official Olympic team gear, somehow so much less commercial-seeming here than in the U.S. But I don't because boosterism is frowned on, and I find that so refreshing after a lifetime of not being properly up on American sports.

4. We're mesmerized by a woman from the eastern ocean: "Near my house on the Bay of Fundy, the tides are 45 feet high," she says, "but we have a micro-climate; I grow peaches, and sweet and sour cherries. And we have lemon and orange trees in pots on wheels that we bring out in the summer, they do beautifully. Still, I want to move back to Montreal."

5. Railroad cars clatter by on the Canadian Pacific, bearing beaver logos and stylized sheaves of wheat. "That's our train," we say, when we see it on the overpass in the distance.

6. J.'s bike gets stolen on the first day it's sunny and warm enough to ride it. The heavy U-shaped lock is twisted like someone pried it with a crowbar; seems incredible, but the bike is definitely gone.

7. Kate's Canadian stereotypes make us laugh again.

8. We know the secret: spring is really coming, and it will be so poignant here that you want to hold each day tight in your hand, like a silken peony bud that's too beautiful to open.

9. That won't be for another four weeks or so. Or maybe eight.

10. I mailed my first package to Nunavut yesterday! And it cost the same as any Canadian postage, even though the Arctic is way, way far away. It's still Canada.

Comments

[Marja-Leena]

Nice list! Odd about the price of tulips there. They are cheap at most grocery stores and especially the many little 'corner stores' that have flowers for sale outside all year round. Florists, on the other hand, are expensive.

We were quite surprised at the change in Canadians during this Olympics, the boosterism was quite joyful, not that aggressive I'm-better-than-you kind. Now that it's all over, we'll probably all get back to normal. No, we didn't get any t-shirts but did try to buy the mitts for everyone in the family at Christmas but they were sold out.

Sorry to hear about the bike theft! F's bike got stolen off the back carrier on our van while we were downtown one evening a couple of years ago. The powerful lock was sawn right through. Thankfully he'd removed the battery pack, for it was an electrical assist bike. In fact made in Quebec, and quickly replaced by same.

[Jan]

Despite the cacti in the window, this shop looks warm, moist and fragrant inside. No wonder you hungered at the window. It evokes the same response in me as I look at the photo.

I don't know if I could live the winter without flowers inside my home. I have several dried flower arrangements, bright and airy, but somehow it's not the same as silky, vibrant petals, is it. I always have to add at least one bouquet of cut flowers. I debate over price and which blossoms will survive the longest, afraid my husband will find fresh flowers frivolous (gratefully, he never objects). Is it too late in the season to consider forcing bulbs? For me it's an easy expense to justify: I can plant the bulbs outside later and enjoy new growth for years to come. And it's something---new green life visibly growing day by day despite the gray skies. My regular houseplants never create the same reaction. I cannot tell if familiarity dulls my awareness of their slow patient growth, or if I just need that burst of color and spring energy to startle my senses.

The one that touches the deepest is #8. I'm so ready. You are making it hard to wait.

[Kim]

I bought myself a pot of tulips for Valentine's Day. Exactly...six dollars. When they came into full bloom, I can tell you I would have definitely shelled out more. They were glorious. Wish I could send you a pot just like them to brighten your winter.

[ej]

you can tell that someone is homeless just by standing next to them?

I would not mind paying for flowers if I knew it decent wages and good growing practices.

[Mouse]

"you can tell that someone is homeless just by standing next to them?"

that question struck me
I can tell if a person is homeless by their clothes, their appearance, their smell
by their 'air of appartness'

they who dwell on the fringes of society have a very distinctive attitude, it's one of defiance mingled with desperation

But most of all I can tell that someone is homeless because, while I see him and look into his eyes and smile, to other passers-by he is invisible