Hergest Ridge

“Even when we sat on the balcony drinking, no one came out.”

I am not sure that Montréal will be any different, but I’m told that the general atmosphere in Québec is different from the rest of Canada. More European. But maybe an explanation is in order.

Constantine is one of the three students in my French class, the other being Jennifer, a professional ballet dancer. He’s planning on moving to Montréal, while Jennifer frequently travels to France. Out of the trio, I’m the only one still on a prowl for a good reason for spending my time and money on another language, but from my experience I needn’t put effort into the search - such reasons have a tendency to present themselves into the open without much coaxing.

For the roughly two years Constantine spent in Winnipeg, he’s been looking to get out. Judging by his heavy accent, our city is likely his first stop from the old country, Russia.

Having spent my younger years in eastern Europe, I knew the exact meaning of “no one come out when we sat on the balcony.”

At the time of my growing up in eastern Europe, when two or more sat around drinking, strangers, passersby, and neighbours would often show up with a bottle of vodka in one hand and a pack of cigarettes in the other. Here folks don’t know their neighbours name after living side by side for ten years.

Talking with Constantine about war, the time after, and the people we’ve met, I mentioned my old friend Vladimir who escaped from Russia at the time before the iron curtain let any light through.

“Vladimir Putin?” he asked jokingly.

“No, not him. If it was him, I’d either be driving a very nice car right now, or’d be pushing up the daises a long time ago.”

“Putin… he’s a nice guy.”

I did not detect sarcasm on the remark, nor did I ask. Maybe over a bottle of vodka or rum on the balcony, where we’d surely be uninterrupted - but not there and then, in the library.

Somewhere - and I really cannot recall where - I’ve heard a policy maker and scientist warn the public not to assume that those making the policy and decisions understand the issues at hand and are well informed on the subject matter. Being guilty of stating in the past “they know more about it then I do, and I have to assume they know what they are doing”, I was forced to reconsider.

Case and point: Linda Keen was fired from her position as the head of Canada’s nuclear watchdog upon refusal to reopen a nuclear reactor when it failed a safety check. Her professional opinion was overridden by the head of Canada, Mr. Stephen Harper, an economist and politician.

The mud is flying every which way in terms of the credibility of any claims, but those with two feet firmly planted on the ground do not dispute that a reactor deemed unsafe was brought online - a supposed expert in the field now fired, and overruled by an economist, politician and Co.

Without insinuating anything in regard to the names I have thus far mentioned, I think Bertrand Russell put it best when he said “The whole problem with the world is that fools and fanatics are always so certain of themselves, but wiser people so full of doubts.”

When important decisions are being made, we owe it to ourselves to step out of the sleepy consciousness which self-preserves with the modest suggestion that those calling the shots are always better suited to do so than anyone else.

Kochana moja, już dwadzieścia lat mineło, a wyobrazni do dzisaj z tobą rozmawiam. Marze sie często myśląc o tobie, tak samo jak dawniej, gdy byłem dzieckiem.

Glück gehabt.

I don’t have much to say, except that these songs alone make it worth learning French, just so I can sing along when no one is watching.
 

You probably remember the kids stories your mother, father, aunt and older sister used to read to you; The ones where the hero of the story starts out asking for something small, but to receive it they first have to bring something to another. To get that, they have to first bring yet another item to the character which possesses what they need to trade for what they really want. And so on…

It is in that fashion that I have found myself putting away laundry, and pausing in confusion as to why in the world I am putting away laundry when I really wanted to do work for a client instead. In this strange story, there is only one character. Two, if you consider my computer capable of asking and needing before giving.

Most of my work is better done with music, and with so much time at the computer I’m always searching for new goodies to lubricate the gray matter from which - in theory - my ideas for the work need come from. Having reached a point where I much needed something new for that effect, I happily clicked on a file who’s content I’ve yet to hear. As it often happens with computers, I promptly received a raspberry in response and not the effect I sought. Something to do with the computer being overburdened and being asked to remember too much. Too much. “Please, let me forget some of which I remember” it said. “I cannot remember any new more things, until you free me from some of the things you’ve asked me to remember thus far.”

Putting it like that, you’d think my computer is pretty intelligent. Alas, it is not. They’re all dumb.

“Sure, I’ll free you from some of your burden if you in turn remember my new music which I want to hear very much, and for which you need remember the details.”

Seeing that everything the computer had in its memory was precious to me, the Forget It button was not an option. I decided to shift some of the burden to a silver plated disc instead. It’s in the hallway, with the laundry - I remembered - by the kitchen at the front entrance. Yeah, right there in the basket… somewhere. Where’d it go? No use. Might as well put the laundry away instead of digging a tunnel through it. So there I was, now dealing with laundry when I wanted to work on a project at the desk. And if that isn’t enough, my overburdened memory convinced me that I’d remember none of this by sun down, which meant I needed to write it all now.

This isn’t so bad - I assure you. I just hope that which I seek is really in the laundry basket - that it just went for a ride down the hill of the fresh scented fabric and is now tucked in somewhere in a corner having a good laugh like a child that hid to avoid bed time.