I’m wondering if I’m a negligent grandmother…just allowed my twenty-five year old granddaughter to go to the deli by herself in the scary foreign city of Montreal. That may sound innocent enough but you know Quebec is a socialist province where they speak French and eat poutine. I probably should run after her before she accepts crepes from strangers.
Today was lazily pleasant, somewhat unsuccessful in terms of mission but redeemed by the fact we’re both remaining slothful (a skill I’m trying to teach all of my grandchildren—so far Teresa’s the expert but Patricia seems to be catching on), the sole activity of the day being attempted shopping.
Forty years ago I visited Montreal for an art festival of some sort. It was just before Christmas and I bought a very smart outfit for my 16 year old son (he hated it but he did look quite urbanely handsome in it long enough to take pictures) in this city’s underground shopping mall. Patricia wanted to see this place, probably because she couldn’t imagine her dad having had any sophisticated moments. So we left our ‘home’ at about noon and walked for the next five hours, Three in search of it, one inside, and one back home. Turns out to be a most ordinary mall…just one floor down. Malls have all peaked and dwindled in popularity in the interim and we’ve all turned to Amazon.
We did manage to purchase something of course and stopped at a Spanish restaurant for tacos on the way home. My throat’s sore and I think Patricia might have had a minute or two this evening of wishing for a somewhat livelier companion but hey, we still pretty much like each other and tomorrow we’re going on a city-wide tour and maybe I’ll hit a big department store for a gray jacket for the grandson wedding.
Any responsible blogger would go out and find some great photos at the amusement park. Just imagine them please. I wouldn’t even be writing this but I can’t get the TV to work so I’m bored. I’ll try to get Showtime on my computer and finish Homeland. What a good idea. If it works I can include a photo of the screen. Nah, I have a good (although depressing) book to read. Ohio by Stephen Markley. Fine writer but wish I had a pleasant little murder tale along.