weekend in the big city

We are fast becoming, as Gramma Stella would say, "simple folk". We live up here in the countryside, almost an hour away from any form of public transit, let alone a taxi, far far let alone something as crazy as a tuk-tuk. We're surrounded by trees. As I type this, there is a glossy full moon hanging above our backyard, illuminating our entire lawn and rendering our outdoor lights unnecessary. (Last night at 2 am I went out to get some logs to throw on the fire after feeding Seung Yi, and when I went out on the porch I could see a deer (looking very still, like a deer in ye olde headlights as it were) munching on grass next to our birch trees). Downstairs, Phet is watching the end of Mary Poppins with Ji while Seung Yi snoozes on his chest. The wood fire is a-crackling away. I'm heading to bed because I am plum tuckered out from waking up at 5 am, from producing at least sixteen quarts of milk for my ravenous infant, and from running around at the beach with Ji.

There's basically no man-made noise around here except for the weekly passing of the garbage truck -- which takes only two bags per week. Any more and we get to take it to the dump ourselves! And take it we do. Phet had a great time zipping off to the dump last week while he was sorting out the shed. Nothing like cleaning and instantly disposing of stuff. Same sort of reasoning behind his desperate desire for a paper shredder. Luckily, the dump is on the way to school (bonus!) and it's pretty dang picturesque for a dump. It's nestled in these big dunes of sand (this is Sauble beach, after all) and is tidily tucked into a lurvely skinny-treed forest. Right now, with the leaves turning, and the cool weather making the garbage completely not stinky, the dump is the place to be.

So, uh, yeah, you can see that we're getting used to the quiet life. You know how the lyrics go...You are my wife! Goodbye, city life! We get up, take Ji to school, buy some groceries, talk to the cashiers (now that is really weird as far as I'm concerned...I keep going places, like Walmart, say, or the Zehrs, and people standing next to me strike up conversation. I've even started engaging in it myself. I found myself joshing with a fellow walking his dog at the beach this evening. Strike me down, gods of introversion!), go home, later go pick up Ji, and then cook dinner and chill out. We keep busy with little house projects. Nothing along the lines of Design Rivals or Debbie Travis. More like Dust Or No Dust? and Canada's Top Launderer.

This weekend, however, we had to truck down to the big city. Nope, not Flesherton -- although the high school there sure be happening. Not Owen Sound. Not even Orangeville. Nope, we went all the way. All the way to Toronto!

[Spoiler Alert: If you are thinking you might like to buy a zippy black station wagon -- cheap! -- don't read the following paragraph.] Here's the thing: our awesome new car was becoming not-so-awesome. For the second time, our power steering disappeared, leaving us heaving and hoing just to make the right turn out of the parking lot at Ji's school. Phet suffered through the lack of power steering for his driving test on Friday. He couldn't even do a hill park, the steering had gotten so bad. The licence was not awarded, but as we always say here on Fixed Address, hope springs eternal. Thus, we made our way post haste to Toronto to have our cheery little Esteem fixed up. We were not really happy to have to do this, but in the end it all turned out spiffingly. The car went to the Suzuki fixers, not the Toyota guys who had taken a look before, and got properly stitched up this time. No bad feelings about the Toyota men; they just didn't have the right info about the car and missed a faulty filter. On the way back the car was absolutely purrrrrfect and we are now once again PROUD owners of a car that (as one car review website put it) is excellent so long as you don't expect it to be an extension of your libido. Nope, not us. Our libidos (oes?) are firmly ensconced in the station wagon niche for the next, uh, eighteen years. Which is not to say, Phet, that I won't buy you that motorcycle you want. One day.

We also had to go to Toronto to get our (doo-doo-doo-doo!) (<- that's supposed to be a trumpety noise, not a poop sound) Indian visas. Phet had already had the very great pleasure of spending an entire foodless day with a yappy four year old waiting and waiting and waiting simply to submit his visa application two weeks ago. This time, he had the thrill of spending another day submitting mine and Seung Yi's. Whoo. Hoo. I've counselled Phet that he simply must get a codeine prescription before he goes to deal with real, live Indian beaurocracy in India.

The getting-of-the-visas was facilitated by the arrival of Seung Yi's passport a few days earlier. Many thanks to Mark for acting as guarantor! With his help we were able to get all the passport running about done in a single day. Whizz - to City Hall to get a special "letter for travel" since the birth certificate can't be issued for six months. Zoom - to the photographers to get a picture of Seung Yi. Have YOU ever tried to get a three week old baby to simultaneously have its back straight, its eyes open, its chin and ears visible, and yet not show your own hands propping it up from behind? I thought not. At least we didn't have to worry about her smiling. Then Zip - down to see Uncle Mark, who waited patiently for us while he was supposed to be on the way to the airport. And finally Whoosh - over to the passport office to submit the application and pay our big bucks to get that ever-so-important little blue booklet.

Aside from all the racing about, the weekend in Toronto was unaparalleledly (nice word, huh!) great. On Saturday Seung Yi and I hung out at her Gramma and Grampa's place and went shopping for a present for Phet because it was our SIX YEAR ANNIVERSARY. I finally caved in and bought Phet a shredder from Grand and Toy. I think that he didn't get me any gifts because just the week before he'd given me a heee-yuuuuuge diamond pendant and gold chain in appreciation of my baby-birthing. While we were out on our shopping spree we feasted on Armenian food at everyone's favourite Scarborough schwarma restaurant, The Armenian Kitchen. Later that evening we feasted at Randy's kitchen, chowing down on some fine ol' prime rib, mashed potatoes, turnips, and wonderfully sweet apple crisp. On Sunday , while Ji went off to the Science Centre with Uncles Jake and Ryan, we headed over to watch Tara's football soccer team kick ass down at Riverdale park west. Go YELLOW! Seung Yi very much enjoyed imbibing her milk field-side, and cheered along in her own grunty way. Mum entertained us by asking whether Ji would learn that "Whack the ball with the thingy" game in India. "Yes, Mum," I said I would try to get Ji interested in cricket. After the game we headed over to the infamous Mi Mi Restaurant on Gerrard for some noodles, followed by a drive-by diapering at Adam and Emma's. Lastly, it was over to Staples for some thrilling colour copying. Seung Yi took it upon herself to LOSE IT at this point, and had a complete and utter screaming breakdown. We couldn't understand why -- she'd been fed, cuddled, snuggled, everything -- until we went to the bathroom. Disaster crap! All the way up her tummy to her belly button! Yeeeeucchhh.

On Monday we had a giant Indian feast at Mum and Dad's, courtesy of Moti Mahal and the Lahore Tikka House. Em, fresh off a flight and still in high gear, joined us for dinner, much to our great pleasure. Ji tried a jalebi (one of those orange honey treats in the shape of a crazy pretzel) for the first time. "It's yummy, but it's too sticky. Too sticky for me. If I'd known it would be this sticky, I would have used a fork. You should have given me a fork." Then he turned to the remaining jalebis, saying, "Yes, a fork. Fork you! Fork you!" He didn't mean anything naughty by it, but we almost fell out of our chairs laughing.

Tuesday was insanely hot and sunny, and while Seung Yi, Ji and I played at the aunts' house, Phet was holed up at the Indian consulate. Heh heh. Wednesday dawned with a lightning storm. We got up early and headed out with aunt to the west end, picked up our trusty mobile, and trucked ourselves back out to the countryside. Unfortunately, Seung Yi slept all the way to Orangeville, so we didn't have a chance to stop at the Madras Dosa Hut ("The Excellent Dosa Place for you!") at 10886 Hurontario Street, which is officially the end of the road for dosas in Ontario as far as we can tell. Tim Horton's had to suffice. And when we entered the Horton's we knew -- we simple folk were once more back at home.

[Toronto-5-October-2006]