Lena Horne

           

            On Wednesday I went down to the food bank at 11:00 and found the driveway empty, except for the red-faced woman, who was walking away. I suddenly wondered if the place was closed for some reason, but when I asked her, she told me it was open. They must have decided to give out the numbers early, because there was no line-up at all. I walked in, got number 24 and left.

            Although the streets were fairly clear after the storm, they were still slushy around the edges. I had a few things to do that day, so I decided to get them all done before going back to the food bank in the early afternoon, to avoid having to go out twice.

            I went to the bank to get my rent money and then I headed up to the Dufferin Mall. I needed a new reading lamp to replace the one that had died the day before and I wanted some blank rewritable DVDs to back up my computer files. When I walked into the back of the mall and approached the food court:

an elderly man with a cane

does a little dance

in front of the sombre old man

            I walked to Walmart, and though I knew the lamps would be on the lower floor, it took me some walking and asking before I found them. The ideal for me is a lamp that clamps to the top of the bookshelf to the left of my couch, and I found a small black one with a flexible stalk. The containing box was hilarious because in the space below “metal clip lamp”, where the French translation was supposed to be, were just the words, “French translation french”, instead of “lampe à pince en métal”. There were other styles of clip lamp from the same company, and I assume that they were made in the same Chinese factory, so I wonder what the glitch was on the packaging for this particular product.

            The checkout person was a very warm and friendly middle-aged woman wearing a colourful hijab.

            I went to The Source, where I found a pack of ten rewritable DVDs for nine dollars after tax. It’s been years since I’ve bought blank DVDs, but it seems to me that they used to be a lot more expensive.

            I needed to go to the supermarket, and I don’t really like the No Frills at the Dufferin Mall but I wanted to avoid cycling around too much, so I walked there and got a few things. Somehow though, while reaching for something on a shelf, I stubbed my left index fingernail and it began to bleed a little under the nail. It kind of smarted after that but I hoped it wouldn’t interfere with me forming guitar chords the next morning during practice.

            I rode back down to Queen, and west to Wind Mobile where I paid for my phone service, and then I took my stuff home and went back out the Healthcare Plus, two doors down from my place. The receptionist told me that my x-rays had come in and asked if I wanted to talk to the doctor about them. Of course I did, but he said there’s be a fifteen minute wait, so I went to the LCBO to buy three cans of Creemore to enjoy on New Years Eve, then I came back to the walk-in clinic. I sat for about ten minutes in the inner waiting area, from which place I could see and hear the receptionist from behind, but couldn’t see the patients. One guy came in without a health card and was told that he would have to pay $60.00 to just see the doctor. Another person wanted physiotherapy but the receptionist directed him to the physiotherapy clinic at 1206 King Street West, because it’s the only one in the neighbourhood that’s publicly funded.

            The doctor told me that no breaks or fractures showed up in my imaging and so that meant I had a sprain. That was good news but it didn’t stop my hand from hurting. He said it takes five to six weeks for a sprain to heal, so I’ve still got another two and a half weeks at the minimum.

            When I went back to the food bank, among the people waiting outside, there seemed to be fewer smokers than usual. The red faced woman was smoking as usual on the fire escape and she was talking with a woman sitting on her rollator walker, who was informing her that in Quebec most people speak French, but that Montreal is an international city where people speak, French, English and even Spanish. To this the red-faced woman said, as if it was part of the same conversation, “The Spanish Inquisition … that was pretty bad, wasn’t it?” The other woman agreed that it was a horrible thing and added; “Now we have ISIS!” The red-faced woman told her, “You’re a nice lady! I like you!” and added that she liked her boots. The woman with the rollator said that they were Doc Martens, and therefore orthopaedic boots. She said that in the UK, if you need orthopaedic shoes you can get the government to pay for your Doc Martens, but Canada doesn’t recognize the brand as being orthopaedic footwear.

            A tall, thin young man across the driveway was explaining to someone his strategy for staying off drugs. He said that if you need to go to a public place, go to a donut shop and have a coffee and a donut instead of going for a couple of beer. He explained that the buzz from the beer will just make you want to go and look for drugs.

            I listened to the music of the snow melting and trickling through the edges of the sewer grate in the middle of the driveway.

            A guy came out from the back of one of the businesses next door to the food bank, got in his car and turned the ignition. I’ve noticed that none of these neighbours ever seem to speak to the food bank clients in the driveway about them needing the way cleared so they can back out. This guy just sat there running his engine for a minute or so until a few people realized what he was going to do, then he began backing up in stops and starts as some people warned people to move. They could try something like, “Hi everybody! I just need to back my car out now, so if everybody could clear a path in the middle of the driveway I’d appreciate it!” But some people are shy.

            Three cops on their high horses went by. One of them waved and asked how it was going. Has anyone noticed that we don’t see police officers walking a beat anymore? At the speed the horse cops travel most of the time, they could go just as quickly on foot and actually form a relationship with the neighbourhood they are patrolling rather than towering above it.

            After our numbers were called, I was sitting inside, a couple of chairs away from the red faced woman, who was engaging the receptionist in conversation. “Is your name Janice?” she asked “No, it’s Paula.” The red-faced woman looked over at the refrigerator near the coffee maker and commented, “I remember when they used to defrost a refrigerator with pots. Kitchen pots! I haven’t defrosted a fridge since I was fourty-one!” Then she asked Paula, “Do people here talk at all about my rate of intellect?” Paula shook her head, and exclaimed with almost a whisper, “No!” and looked away.

            Someone whose number the doorperson had called came in and was obviously there for the first time. He took his number to the one food picking volunteer that is always nervous. She told him that his number was too high and that he’d have to go back outside. He obediently headed for the door but the doorperson said for him to take a seat.

            The nervous volunteer called my number. I didn’t need any rice or pasta, but I took some Ragu spaghetti sauce and a few canned items, including coconut milk. There was some whole grain cereal. There were four small containers of yogourt but when I got those home I saw that they were artificially sweetened, so I’ll have to give them to someone else. I had a choice between margarine and two 125-gram packages of proscuitto. I took the Italian ham. I didn’t need any bakery items but I could have used some raisin bread. I was told that there had only been four loaves and that the people with lower numbers had snatched them all up. The vegetable and fruit section seems to be Sue’s jurisdiction lately. She gave me several Granny Smith apples, some un-firm oranges, some potatoes, several peppers and a yam, then she patted my shoulder and wished me a happy new year.

            When I got home I set up the new lamp, thus freeing up the old microphone stand that had been holding the old lamp up for the last few years.

            I listened to a couple of episodes of Amos and Andy from the last one of 1944 to the first one of 1945. In the New Years Eve story, Andy at first thinks he’s the only from his circle of friends that will be invited to a party being thrown by one of the most prominent members of Harlem high society. One by one, he finds that all of his friends have actually received invitations but he hasn’t. It turns out to have been a mistake but Andy doesn’t know that, so he forms a plan to get himself invited. Andy has been dating the daughter of the man who is throwing the bash and pretends that he doesn’t know there is a party being planned. Even though Andy is broke he invites the young lady to a night on the town, thinking that she will feel obligated to stay at home for her father’s party and will invite Andy to come as well. Much to Andy’s disappointment she enthusiastically accepts his invitation. He has to cancel and becomes extremely bitter about his New Years Eve prospects. A friend of his comes and asks him for a favour but Andy refuses to even listen to what the favour is. The minister comes to see Andy and tells him about the parable of casting his bread upon the waters. It convinces him that even though his own New Years Eve is ruined, he should do something nice for someone else. He goes and tells his friend that he’ll do the favour and it turns out that his friend tells him that he needs someone to go out to all the high class Harlem clubs on New Years Eve and to report on which society people are there. This would be with a press pass that allows him free food and drink everywhere he goes plus he could bring a guest. His New Years Eve date was back on and he was on his way to pick the young lady up when he stopped by to thank the minister for his advice. The then minister asks him a favour. He needs him to serve as a witness at the wedding of a young couple he was marrying just then in his chapel. He’s a soldier on his way to Europe and they can’t afford a honeymoon. Andy is moved by their story and once again casts his bread on the waters. He gives them the press pass so they can party on New Years Eve. So Andy goes home and is starting to feel like a chump gain when his friend from the newspaper calls him and asks him for another favour. He needs him to escort a young actress to a private party. Andy asks for the woman’s name and his friend tells him, “Hold onto your hat! It’s Lena Horne!” “Lena Horne?” Andy exclaims, “She is the best lookin’ gal in the country!”

            The mother of a girlfriend I had back in the late 80s was a dead ringer for Lena Horne.

            On more than one occasion, Lena Horne’s name has come up in previous episodes. In fact, she’s the only female celebrity that’s been mentioned.

            I watched the tenth episode of the most recent season of Doctor Who. A friend of Clara’s wakes up with a tattoo that consists of three numbers on the back of his neck. That’s not so strange until he tells them that the number is changing every minute and counting down.