On Saturday I got up at 4:00 because I had
gone to bed earlier than usual. I decided to take advantage of the extra hour
to satisfy my curiosity as to whether the bedbugs were finally gone. In the
doorframe all I found was the greasy corpse of a bedbug that strangely didn’t
even give off a bedbug odour. I moved my mattress to check the baseboards, and
in the corner that corresponds to the top left of my bed I found a live bedbug
that was black inside. A little further along the baseboard though I killed one
that had fresh blood inside of it. A little further down there was another sick
one, but about halfway I crushed a large one that was red inside. I searched
the whole room and that’s all I found but if there were healthy ones there
might also be eggs. I vacuumed the area before I started my yoga. I felt a
little discouraged about there still being bedbugs but I guess I should feel
encouraged that I haven’t seen any crawling out in the open for two weeks.
Hopefully they won’t repopulate drastically before the next treatment on
December 4.
At
around 9:00 about six fire trucks wailed their way frantically along Queen,
turning in front of my place as they so often do to park in front of 245 Dunn
Avenue. It seems to me that they should just set up a fire station on the main
floor of building to save time, traffic and noise.
I
went down to the foodbank at 10:00 to stand in line in the cold rain, and after
locking my bike, I walked back to the end of the line just as a big middle aged
bleached blond woman and a slightly less large bushy haired middle aged man of
Indian descent took the place in front of me. They were both smokers who lit up
almost immediately. They didn’t look like they’d be that receptive to being
asked politely to step out of line while they were smoking, so I just stepped
back, almost out of range of the smoke, hugging myself in the cold. They swayed
from side to side as they talked as they smoked, with her doing most of the
talking. I wondered how many tobacco company executives are millionaires just
from sales to poor people alone. I went back behind them when they had finished
their cigarettes and then away when they lit up again. They were each on their
third cigarette when the line started moving, but I stayed to the side and
waited until they were done. When I took my place again, the woman mumbled
something about me butting in ahead of the frail old guy with the walker and
the fedora, even though he knew I was ahead of him. I guess one can’t step out of
line to avoid jeopardizing one’s health without getting accused of butting
ahead of someone.
I got number
twenty-four and went home. I came back at 11:00 only to find that they don’t
open until 11:30. I guess I knew and had forgotten that fact. I went home again
for a few minutes and on the way out I met Sundar, the building superintendent.
He’s moved out but he said he’d still be managing the building. I had been told
that he’d moved into the cockroach heaven of the West Lodge Apartments at the
top of O’Hara, but he said he’d gotten into a seniors residence. “You’re a
senior?” I asked with surprise. He nodded and confirmed, “I’m sixty.” I said,
“I’m sixty too!” and then wondered if he’d though I’d said, “I’m 62!” but I
didn’t clarify. He said that the hospital helped him get in because of his
health problems. He said he’s happy with the new place and I believed him.
When I got back to
the foodbank I noticed that the guy who’d been behind me in line with the
walker was already coming out with some bags of food. It turns out that the
foodbank decided to open early, perhaps because of the rain. I went right in.
There wasn’t really much this time around. They had some packages of green pea
crisps, which I’d never seen there before. In addition to the usual pasta there
was something that I thought was rice and picked it up but the volunteer said
that it wasn’t rice, though no one there knew what it was. She suggested it
might be tapioca. There was no rice other than packaged rice dish products. I
was disappointed that there was no cereal. In the cold section there was sour
cream, some frozen beef patties, and some slices of pizza in plastic bags,
probably left over from all the pizza they’ve been giving out over the last two
weeks. The bread was of a better quality this time around and I took a couple
of whole grain loaves that looked relatively fresh.
I spent the rest
of the day chipping away at my essay until the evening.
My daughter,
Astrid and her fiancé, Lauren arrived in town the day before and she invited me
out to dinner Saturday night. I thought it might be nice to give Lauren another
Toronto food experience that might not be as readily available in Montreal, so
we decided to go to a Tibetan restaurant in my neighbourhood. Astrid called me
from Lansdowne and Queen and said they’d meet me at my front door. It turned
out they had walked from Lansdowne subway station and stopped at the No Frills
along the way. When I came out she handed me two grocery bags full of food. I
don’t know if she did this consciously but most of Astrid’s food selections for
me were the same kinds of groceries I used to buy when she was living with me.
There was also a case of lemon soda. I took the bags back up stairs and then
the three of us walked to the Om Restaurant just past Lansdowne. I remember the
location back when it was a West Indian bar back in the late 80s. Om has a
pleasant atmosphere and the walls are done in warm orange earth tones, with
nice, mostly traditional Tibetan art on the walls. This atmosphere is
interrupted though by the television hanging down from the ceiling and which
looks about as appropriate as a mobile made of electrified razor blades hanging
down into a crib. I had the chilli chicken and a Moosehead. They ordered a platter,
which featured a selection of Asian appetizers such as spring rolls and
samosas, and I think for an entrée they had the shaptak, which is sautéed beef
with green chillies. Lauren couldn’t finish hers because she’s not used to that
much meat, so I took it home. Mine was very spicy, but I liked it. It was
wonderful to catch up with my daughter on her life in Montreal over a pleasant
meal in a pleasant place. We’re planning on getting together again before they
leave on Monday.
Later, I was at
home and I heard a woman screaming angry words. I looked out my window and saw
she was screaming at a young man. Then she suddenly slapped him and walked away
while he walked off in the other direction seemingly unaffected by the
assault. A few minutes later I heard
screaming again. They both must have walked back from the directions they had
gone, because they were standing on the same corner as before. This time I
could make out some of what she was screaming in the rain: “Your wife! Your
wife! Your wife! That’s all you ever think about! What about me?” Later things
had calmed down and she was merely talking loud as they walked, I assume to her
place, since it’s the direction she had stormed previously after slapping him.
I did some writing
for a while, but felt very tired about two hours before I would normally go to
bed and without exercising good oral hygiene, I flopped into bed and went to
sleep right away.
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