It’s -32 with windchill. Frostbite in 3 minutes. It’s too far. -19 without wind, the high for the week. I thought about walking to the library to return a book but the one I requested isn’t in yet. I’m glad for online renewals.
We didn’t stay for the wedding, just touring around. Outside the church the neighbourhood had a bustle to it like a souk with all private businesses, smell of frying and spices. No chain stores. No glossy signs. Narrow street of cobblestone with some stones missing and mud patching it. Import clothes, barbers, people to do hair weaves, shoe repair, groceries. Families going about their businesses. Men out front smoking.
Closer to home, on trash day on a neighbouring street, was a Christmas Tree chopped into bits. It seems a drastic way to say goodbye to a season. Cathartic?
At home, a two-sided embroidery. I got it in a dusty shop, possibly in a Chinatown, where the aisles were narrow and piled high with dried goods, pottery, gift clothes, brick-a-brac. I can’t quite bring back yet where. Montreal? Ottawa? It replaces an enameled egg I got as a gift and (perhaps foolishly) mailed away as a gift that was never acknowledged. Ah well, what you had once stays fixed in the mind. That’s the only copy that ever mattered.
Notable Quotable: “I went back to my book/ hoping the problem of being with others might resolve itself gently” ~ Ken Babstock, Methodist Hatchet