Saturday, September 28, 2024
Into the Woods
I'm at my mom's house in Quincy, which is literally in the middle of a giant woods, such that the threat of a tree falling on us has been a genuine concern for as long as I can remember. Also? Weeds and brush. My father was always fighting weeds and brush, which I felt certain would contain snakes. My mother has continued the battle, but with scrawnier arms she stands less of a chance. I assume the whole house will be reclaimed by nature some day, and this may be for the best.
Before that happens, I'm doing my best to rescue some of the things that are meaningful to me. So I'm taking lots of books and records (not in the corporate sense of books and records, though that one is good too) back to Chicago. I've got a two-volume set of the Folklore of Quincy and Adams County, which my dad worked on with the great folklorist Harry Hyatt (this is a real thing), weighing down the back of the Prius, along with some of my parents' marked-up copies of novels I like (Faulkner, Fielding, Vonnegut). And my grandfather had some pretty great records, at least in my view, since I have the taste of someone who's been deceased for over two decades. But since the CSO performing Charles Ives and Perry Como in Irving Berlin's Mr. President are probably not anyone else's jam, we should probably move along.
I tend to keep a pretty low profile while I'm in town, in the wake of repeatedly being running into people at Wal-Mart while buying Hot Pockets in sweatpants and a "My Other Car is Oprah" t-shirt. But we did get the dog out for not one but two walks and I got a nice run in. Also, I discovered that Uber Eats actually works here, so there was no need to dine publicly for sustenance. (Although I did have a carry-out incident that left me feeling like Kathy Bates in Fried Green Tomatoes, but I've vowed never to speak of it again.)
Back to Chicago tomorrow morning, assuming the Prius can bear this load...
Sunday, September 22, 2024
This & That
It's a rainy, gross day in Chicago, perfect for staying home and catching up on the various household tasks I've been neglecting. I have already swapped out the clothes in my closet for the season, changed two lightbulbs, and vacuumed up approximately thirteen tons of dog hair. And -- bonus! -- it turns out the hand vac I thought was dead after I accidentally sucked up a bunch of water has miraculously been revived. This is where never throwing anything away really begins to pay off.
The past week has been pretty glorious weather-wise, though, if you ask me. (And people do tend to frequently talk to me about the weather, so let's just go with it.) I've been out in the hammock a lot, guilt reading New Yorkers and discovering a hidden treasure trove of Ian's Tori Amos tracks in my iTunes. I've gotten some quality runs in, as well as some shitty ones that I was frankly just kind of phoning in. And my plants are thriving, which will no doubt be a nice consolation when Chicago weather throttles them to death in November.
It's been a surprisingly social weekend, too, with an anniversary party Friday, a birthday party yesterday afternoon, and an outdoor movie night last night. So today is about regrouping and resetting before the shock of Monday kicks in. One can never be truly ready, but I find a little bit of Unsolved Mysteries goes a long way.
Friday, September 13, 2024
Ridin' the Rails
I alluded to one part of our Canada trip that was not so great. Now let me be specific: we were stuck on a train from Montreal to Quebec City for 14 hours.
It was supposed to be just over a three hour journey, leaving at 8:30 in the morning and arriving at 11:45. We had heard that Quebec City was beautiful and worth a day trip. We had naively mapped out an itinerary of sights to see in an afternoon before catching a return train at 5:40. None of that was to be.
Instead, about forty minutes from Quebec City, the train stopped, and they announced they had to do "mechanical checks." (Well, they announced it in French first, which became important as time went on and we got to see the anguished reactions of the French speakers before we had any idea of the substance of each announcement.) We sat for probably about an hour before they announced that we would start moving again, but at a reduced speed. Fine.
During the stop, the train attendants had leapt into action, bribing us with disgustingly sticky "oat bars," pretzels, and soft drinks. They continued to charge for alcohol. Later, they would come to regret having gone through the food and drink so quickly, as an attendant roamed the aisle with the sole remaining cup of water on the train, offering it to anyone who was "about to pass out." But at this initial stage, our fellow passengers were obsequiously polite to the staff, repeatedly telling them "you're doing a great job" and "we know this isn't your fault." This, of course, would not last.
I should also add that we had discovered early in the journey that we were seated next to the restroom and that the door did not fully lock unless you really forced it hard, which nobody ever did. So we were presented with a choice between hearing repeated accidental bathroom ambushes go down and taking on the role of telling would-be pee-ers "There's somebody in there." We opted for the latter, which got a bit old over the course of 14 hours.
So as you can already surmise, our reduced speed journey did not last for more than about ten minutes. We stopped again and they did more checks. Ian looked out the window and saw train parts strewn in the grass near the train, which seemed an ill omen. They announced that another train was coming in forty minutes and would push us the rest of the way to Quebec City. This plan was jettisoned several hours later and we were told we were backing up onto some siding so other trains could pass.
At this point pandemonium erupted. A passenger began marching up and down the aisles yelling, "No! They can't do this to us! They're going to let those trains pass and just leave us here! I'm mad and you should be too!"
Perhaps she was part of the group of passengers that had missed the departure of their cruise while sitting on the train and were out several thousand dollars. Perhaps she didn't find the complimentary glass of champagne offered to those passengers sufficient recompense. But regardless, she yelled. And she had supporters, some of whom clapped feebly and another of whom literally said "she's saying what we're all thinking." Another, however, cautioned that "we're not going to get anything by yelling."
Throughout this period, the engineers had been getting on and off the train for their various mechanical checks. Because we weren't getting a ton of information from the staff, some passengers starting asking the engineers. One of whom started screaming in both French and English that everyone needed to sit down. At which point we heard a woman yell "he pushed me!" and "did you see that?" And of course camera phones started to roll. And then the same engineer aggressively snatched the phone out of another passenger's hand. And I turned to Ian and said "We're not involved. We're not involved."
Fortunately an attendant returned the phone and cooled things down a bit. Speaking of which, I should add that whenever the train's engine was off (which was frequent), the air conditioning did not work. And the water did not run, including in the bathrooms. So we had to add "there's no water in there" to our bathroom speech. Without being too gross, let us just say that toilets were reaching concerning levels.
As another aside, Michelle died. We had no idea who that was (I have confirmed that M. Obama and both M. Williamses are well) but an older passenger near us returned to her seat in tears and shared that information with her husband. Apparently Michelle was hit by a car. She was not a train passenger, it seems, but regardless, our condolences.
Regardless, the next plan we heard was that we were all going to be moved to another train that was on the way to Quebec City. But it would not be there for a little while, so we would have to be patient. (!) One lucky diabetic lady got to exit the train, however, when she shared that she was feeling lightheaded. She got an ambulance. Another lady followed behind her, pleading with the staff that she was "having psychosomatic symptoms" herself. No dice.
Anyway, the rescue train eventually got there and we were transferred car by car over to it. There were literally six firefighters (illuminated by a spotlight on what was by now a dark, rainy night) enlisted to help us step down two steps on our train, step over a gap that was about a foot wide, and climb up two steps on the other side. I don't know that I've ever seen a more dramatic scene in real life. I felt like one of the Chilean miners being pulled to safety. And yet, I required no help at all to make what was in fact a fairly unchallenging crossing. Except maybe their moral support, I guess? Anyway, they had better luck with the passenger in front of us, who was in a wheelchair and seemed quite leery of their efforts to heft him and his chair from one train to the other. He was safely delivered, and they literally gave themselves a round of applause.
On the new train, all was not exactly well. Lots of people had to stand in the aisles or sit on the floor, since the rescue train had already had passengers of its own. But the attendants were very excited because the rail company had enlisted the firefighters in delivering pizza to the train. So they marched down the aisles with single slices of pizza stacked between napkins and just randomly handed them to passengers. I was glad not to have any dietary restrictions, even if I didn't exactly love my slice of peppers and mushrooms. It absolutely served the purpose of keeping us from eating one another.
Ultimately, we arrived in Quebec City at about 10:45 PM, or eleven hours late. And our train back to Montreal, which had also been delayed, was now scheduled to depart at 11 PM. We looked for food in the train station, but nothing was open, so we settled for a bag of Miss Vickie's chips each from a vending machine. And we very happily loaded back on to our return train, which would not get back to Montreal until 2:30 in the morning. The crew of that train seemed very stoked to offer us the leftover cold pizza.
Anyway, we did not see Quebec City. Aside from the train station, which we do not recommend. But we made it out alive, and were entertained by the ensuing news coverage. Apparently the Canadian Minister of Rail weighed in and said that passengers deserve better. And we are allegedly to receive a full refund. But of course the real compensation is all of the friends we made along the way.
Saturday, September 07, 2024
Quebecois
And so the Montreal adventures continued, as you knew/feared they would.
There were so many cute stores in Old Montreal, including this one, where we didn't actually buy anything, but I'm sure they were happy just to have us take pictures there.
I can't take a vacation without photographing churches. This one was across the street from our hotel, so low opportunity cost, as these things go.
Montreal hosted the Olympics in 1976. It left the city with $1.6 billion (Canadian) in debt and a string of corruption scandals, but the buildings still look kind of pretty.
The botanic garden has a variety of different spaces that purport to demonstrate what plants look like in other nations. This is supposed to be China, which checks out from my own very limited experience of that nation of 3.7 million square miles.
At the archaeology and history museum, you were able to walk through all sorts of ruins from Montreal past, including this tricked out sewer tunnel. I never thought I'd see walking in a sewer as a feature rather than a bug, but they had thoughtfully cleared any and all human waste out.
At the art museum, they encouraged you to take pictures with these cutouts. I do think I make an excellent severed head, and I shall update my resume accordingly.
I'm trying to figure out who should be most upset about these caricatures, but I'm really struggling. Daniel Craig looks a bit like Woody Allen, and Sean Penn like Einstein. Kirk Douglas should probably just be happy to be included.
Here's a shot of Old Montreal I took from where were were having dinner. Something was dripping down the back of my neck from the umbrella above for the entire meal, but still, poutine is poutine.
Wednesday, September 04, 2024
On the Road Again
We went to Montreal for the holiday weekend! I figured the labor movement would want that. It was a fun trip (with one huge exception that will be the subject of a later post / potential class action). Beautiful city, good friends, excessive amounts of poutine. Four stars, definite recommend.
There was an art museum involved, of course, and this one included this mass of stuffed animals somehow adhered to a wall. (In other words, this does not depict the gift shop.)
I am a sucker for artistic depictions of hell's sufferings. This was by a student of Bosch, who definitely knew how to depict some torture when he felt like it. I'm sure that was fun at parties.
Cheese! So much cheese! We went to one of their traditional open-air markets, and this shows but a tiny sliver of the array of cheeses available. I did not eat them all, but not for lack of trying.
This is the interior of the chateau on Mont Royal. I'm not sure if it is available for weddings, but it seems like it would be a fun choice.
Here's the exterior, just for your records.
This is the Notre Dame Basilica, where Celine Dion got married. Also where she had her husband's funeral. Full service facility.
The interior is really pretty, and (I am not making this up) they host a laser light show there. Definitely worth checking out, if you are into lasers or lights.
I took this picture because of the dog, but only now do I realize it sort of looks like the man is holding the dog hostage. Let's just assume that ended well.
