Urban nightmare

OK, so I think I'm getting used to living in a big city. Or something. Here's how the dream went:

I was at some sort of conference where I had missed a few sessions and I found that I no longer existed on the lists of the organizers. Even the pushpin on the map that represented me was gone. So after putting the pushpin back where it goes...but not a white one or a red one...I headed out into the main corridor of the mall-type place where the offices for the conference organizers were. I saw many older people mall-walking and then a gang of 40-something red-t-shirt wearing cool guys walked by. They were quietly strutting their stuff and were led by this guy who was the 40-something version of the first guy I kissed in high school. Then I left the mall.

I found myself in a very rural area. The dirt roads were bumpy with muddy tractor tracks and yet there was a bus stop for STM bus 96. I considered waiting for the bus so I could head back to the city, but it was nice out so I decided to walk to the next farthest bus stop instead. I found myself walking amongst a group of women who were headed to the bus on their daily commute to the city for work. They were dressed in various combinations of black and were pulling wheeled suitcases behind them. They were bitchy. They were painfully slowly tiptoeing their way on the edges of the road trying to avoid the muddy spots so as to not soil their polished fancy shoes. I had on my sensible Keen sandals. About then I realized in a panic that I did not have my bus pass nor my wallet so I started walking back towards the village (? the place where the mall was). I wanted to call Bo and I saw ahead of me a farm that I was familiar with (not any farm that I actually know). Some people waved me over and I asked if I could use the phone. They motioned me towards a door where a very large fake blond woman said she would dial for me. She misdialed the first number and because Bo's number wasn't printed on some list that she had, she wouldn't make another call to the right number.

As I was trying to persuade her, I glanced down at my feet and they were horrifically swollen, which as any good pregnant woman knows, is a sign of preeclampsia and you need to get urgent medical attention. I asked the woman if she would at least call 911 for me. She begrudgingly obliged, told me that no one was answering and then put her head down on her desk and went to sleep. So there I was stuck in the middle of nowhere with preeclampsia.

Then I woke up, cried a just a little, was comforted by Bo, felt the baby move and confirmed that my ankles were normal-sized. All is good.

clin d'œil 9

Geez, I missed blogging the whole month of June! Can you say "distracted pregnant lady"?!? Can you say "end of the school year chaos"?!? (I'm not out of it yet, but I'm taking a break this weekend to visit friends at Sacandaga Lake in NY with Bo). Here's my class on a field trip to visit the hydroelectric plant at Beauharnois in June. They loved all the equipment required for the visit: hard hats, saftey glasses and special earphones to protect their ears but which also allowed them to hear the guide explaining everything. It is a really cool place to visit and it's free!

clin d'œil 8

Monday morning. No school today (4 and 1/2 weeks left...). Living room flooded by light. Yummy breakfast. Antique rug back from being cleaned and repaired. Chico and I can't get enough...the colors...the sun...oh my! Have a great day!

Immigration 101

As I wrote a few weeks ago, I recently became a permanent resident of Quebec. After Toronto, (and followed closely by Vancouver), Montreal is the city that receives the most immigrants in Canada, around 40,000 in 2008 . I am a proud member of the class of 2009.

In establishing myself in Montreal, I had to import my car, register and insure my car, import my furniture and belongings, change banks, doctors, dentists, get a temporary social security card, then a permanent one, procure a temporary work permit, sign up for the famous health insurance, file tax returns in two countries and the list goes on.

You would think that with 40,000 immigrants per year, the government and essential workers like bankers and doctors, would be rather well-informed in dealing with folks like me. But actually,on nearly each occasion, it is I who become the teacher of Immigration 101: Bijou style.

When I first moved, I opened a bank account at HSBC in Plattsburgh, NY. Since I hadn't sold my house yet and still had related expenses, I wanted to keep an American account (also handy when Grandma sends me a check for $25 for my birthday). HSBC's motto is "the world's local bank." Sounds perfect right? Well, it was so far from it. It took four weeks to process a Canadian postal money order. That did not seem very local. And I couldn't do any transactions at the Canadian branches of HSBC. So why did having an account at the world's local bank mean that I had to drive an hour and a half and go through customs any time I had a deposit to make. Not practical, no!

So then I found out that the Caisse Populaire Desjardins, a co-op type bank, offered accounts in US dollars. So I jumped on that. Even though I couldn't have an ATM card and had to go into the counter to do all my transactions, I thought it would be worth it. It probably is the best solution, but it would be better if they trained their tellers how to deal with these accounts. Every single time I've used this account for occasional withdrawals and deposits, the teller has had to call a supervisor to double-check the procedures. You would think that by now I would've encountered all the tellers. Apparently not. The supervisors know me by face and give me a smile of recognition each time, at least they get it.

As of April 1st, I am officially covered by the Canadian government's famous health insurance. But during the waiting period between being granted permanent residency and that date, all my prenatal care was nonetheless covered (one has got to take proper care of those future little Quebeckers). OK, I admit that probably few of the 40,000 annual immigrants are pregnant, but still. You should see the looks on the faces of the hospital employees when I show them the letter that says that my prenatal care is covered even though I don't have insurance until April 1st. Without fail, they start off by telling me, "you're going to have to pay up front and then try to get reimbursed." Then I show them the reverse side of my doctor's orders where the hospital accounting department has stamped their approval. I usually have to do this twice, once for the original employee and once for his/her supervisor. The hospital accountant knows me and greets me warmly each time I come by. Ironically, one time when I was at her office, she was training someone new and she actually said "oh this is good, you don't see this very often." At least she gets it, and thanks to me, so does her new employee.

So you see, thanks to my personalized version of Immigration 101, many Canadian employees are now better at their jobs. Glad to be contributing positively to society. Glad to be of service.

Pet Peeve Paddles

In 2002, I went to the NY State Fair with one of my friends from college. We went into one of the big vendor tents where, if you're shrewd (or at least breathing), you can get some interesting freebies. Many of the vendors were giving away cardboard "paddle/fans" printed with their company logo. They had wooden handles that resembled paint stirrers. The idea is that it's hot at the State Fair and if you walk around fanning yourself with one of their paddles, it's free advertising. (Chico will always be a New Yorker at heart...but he definitely loves Montreal!)

Well, since living in Montreal, I came up with an idea that would use similar technology. I would get myself one of those fashionably huge purses (a trend I have not as of yet embraced). Then I would fabricate a special pocket in which I would store, not one, but rather a series of such paddles. My paddles could serve to fan myself on a hot day, but more importantly, each one would bear a specific message--a message that would allow me technically to hold my tongue but still inform my fellow city dweller of his or her antisocial behavior. Of course, being in a rather bilingual culture, they would be reversible--in French on one side and English on the other.

Here's a sampling...

For the smokers:
"It's generally not a good idea to smoke when you're pregnant."
-or-
"You're not supposed to smoke in the metro station."

For the litterbugs:
"There's a garbage can right over there."
-or-
"You seemed to have dropped something!"

For the headset set:
"I'm really not interested in listening to your iPod with you."
-or-
"Maybe you should turn off your iPod (cellphone, etc.) and pay a little attention to your kid."

For the fashion-challenged:
"You might want to reconsider those pants (shoes, blouse, etc.) before leaving the house."
(OK sorry, maybe that's a little mean..)

For the oblivious:
"You could help bag your groceries instead of watching the cashier do it while we're all waiting behind you."
-or-
"Of course it's fine if your dog uses the sidewalk as its toilet--the sweet aroma of shit in its various stages of decomposition is delightful."

And lastly, the roadster paddle:
"I think your turn signal might be malfunctioning."

What custom message would you print on your paddles?

No more reading between the lines

In my last post, I spoke about the many appointments awaiting me in the month of February. All true. But those who have been privy to some "special news" in my life (and there are more and more of you since I have recently been turned on to Facebook) could read between the lines and know there were even more appointments that I wasn't listing. Also, I blamed my lack of posting on my weakened reflective powers, a theory which is actually supported by my posting history in winter 2007, but a few people knew there was another reason. I have been wanting to announce our "special news" but Bo encouraged me that an announcement should come later (sometime in early August, to be exact).

Speaking of Bo...my über-intelligent husband has started his own blog, just yesterday in fact. When reading Un républicain errant, I predict that you will find historical, political, social, economic, linguistic, musical and cinematographic commentary on today's society, particularly today's Quebec society...all in perfect French. Funny, in his very first posting he went right ahead and revealed, albeit subtly, our "special news" with a wonderful little phrase:
"bientôt père." I guess his readers don't have to do as much reading between the lines.

So here it is, with great joy...and little to no subtlety whatsoever:

Bo and Bijou are expecting a bébé in August!

January reflections...

...bring February appointments.

It's my last chance in January to post something...

It's clear from my blogging history that I am a slow blogger in winter. My reflective powers seem to weaken considerably as the sunlight decreases...well, either that, or maybe I just prefer to be cozied up in my fleecy bathrobe watching a good movie with Bo and then off to bed early.

I actually wrote a post a couple of days ago, but it is so lame that I didn't publish it.

I have of course been enjoying the 'Obamania' that rocked the world on the occasion of his inauguration this month. I happened to have a free period from 11:45 to 12:30. Perfect timing to watch Biden and Obama be sworn in and to listen, sometimes tearfully, to Obama's speech streaming live on CNN online in the faculty lunch room. Several of my colleagues were there and a mom of the school (who is American, living in Montreal with her family for a year). The two of us got a lot of attention with many comments that made it seem as if we were watching our first child graduate from college like "You must be so happy/proud/relieved." and "This is a big day for you." I thought of when I was in 6th grade. For one of Reagan's inaugurations, our teachers brought us all together to watch it and told us "this is important, and you'll be voting soon." I'm teaching 6th grade this year, so sharing my feelings a bit with my students felt timely. Lastly on this subject, I personally love Michelle Obama's style. She looked fantastic at every event.

I've also been knocked out by a horrible cold. Bo's going on his second week, I'm a week behind him. Much worse than the one that inspired the poem in October. I have missed a ton of school, which is doubly inconvenient because I have a million appointments these days that are pulling me out of school here and there.

The biggest of these appointments (so far) was last week when I was officially granted permanent residency in Quebec. (YAY!!!) If I choose, in a few years, I can apply for Canadian citizenship (I would have dual citizenship in that case). This means no more hassling with work permits. I just need to get my Quebec teaching permit, my Quebec driver's license, my health insurance, my social insurance...like I said lots of appointments...

So here's hoping for more sunlight in the coming days. I have a feeling there will be.

Slightly belated and sweetly sincere

This is one of four designs of holiday greeting card that you, my family and friends, would have received had I written, addressed and/or mailed a single one. Meilleurs Vœux means 'Best Wishes' and although it is an expression that is often used when we don't really have time to think of something more personal or clever to say, (like when signing a group birthday card in a hurry at work or when sending out a mass email (or blog?!)...); when taken literally and used sincerely it is meant to convey all the best wishes to the recipient, who in this case, I remind you again, is you, my friends and family.

Bo and I traveled to see Bo's family for Christmas. Our nephews at age 2 and 4 were in holiday high gear. My parents came to Montréal a few days later. We visited with them at the Hôtel Reine Élizabeth and they came to have lunch at our place before heading home. I've been spending this week on the phone catching up with old friends, putting off school work, and watching just enough TV. New Year's Eve was spent at the home of some close friends in our neighborhood (four out of the eight of us at the table were immigrants (or wanna-bes like me), and not one of the eight grew up in Montréal). After supper, we played a game and toasted the New Year at 12:15 when the last player guessed the word that was written on a post-it and stuck to her forehead.

Wishing you safe travels, warm hearths, laughter and magic this holiday season!

And truly the best wishes for 2009 to you and yours.