Tag Archives: Péter

Winter 2008

Last fall, and without much thought, I found myself buying a train ticket to the east coast to spend the holidays with friends. Christmas 2007 was the first Christmas I’d ever spent without my parents. I wasn’t sure what to expect. A complete change of scenery seemed like a good idea.

I was able to get a roomette for the overnight portion of the journey. Apparently VIA has generally discontinued the use of this equipment, opting instead for more opulent double rooms and suites, but for those of us who travel solo, roomettes are still the best way to go when we can get them. Between freight taking precedence and the snow, all my trains and connections were late, but I really didn’t mind or care. I was prepared with my new MP3 player, a very thick book and my knitting. Yes, in the wake of losing my mother, I seem to have taken up knitting again.

My dear friend and fellow writer, Kathy Mac, met me in Moncton and drove me back to her new house in Fredericton where I was met by a flurry of dogs, as well as her husband, her Dad and her Dad’s new girlfriend. Still others joined us for the Christmas feast. Although I missed my folks, I also felt at home and part of the celebration. Much of the holidays were spent doing plenty of nothing. After the family stresses of the last several years, that was a very welcome change and relief. The dogs had to be walked every day, so that was a good excuse to get outside and get some fresh air and exercise, but other than that, we talked and read and just hung out.

After a week in New Brunswick, it was time to re-board the train and head back, but not to Toronto. I stopped en route to visit my friend Péter in Gatineau. Here again, I was met at the train station and driven home where I was met by the flurry of a singular dog. We celebrated New Year’s with additional friends and a sumptuous feast, enjoying the goofiness of ringing in 2008 with dollar-store noisemakers and glow sticks. Much of the week was spent chatting, showing each other interesting Internet finds, watching movies and just hanging out. Of course, the dog had to be walked, so again that was an excuse to get outside and get some fresh air and exercise.

After two weeks of lying about, I came home five pounds heavier, carrying additional luggage, and much to the relief of my lovely feline beasties. The trip was a real and necessary time-out for me, a chance to reset the dials of my daily life. With so much of my time and energy having gone into parental care throughout my adult life, especially these last few years, not having that pull takes some time to get used to. While it’s liberating, it’s also kind of strange. It’s a major life adjustment that I’m still settling into. Although I’m getting a lot more writing done, I don’t yet know how to fill all this time.

While many Torontonians have been griping about this winter, with its snow and wind and cold, I’ve actually been enjoying it. This is a real winter, a real Canadian winter, at a time when we’ve become complacent about what that entails. But come on people, we live in Canada! We do get winter! Frankly, I’d rather have this than the messy, slushy overcast we usually get. This winter, it’s beautiful to look out the window. It’s a celebration of light. And while I’m hibernating perhaps even more than usual, it’s easier to take when I can look out at something joyous.

I am very fortunate to have good friends, people who understand me and are unquestioningly supportive; people I try to be there for when they need me too. I’m grateful that I was able to spend time in the homes of good friends through what might have been a rough couple of weeks otherwise. As the years continue, I’m sure I’ll come up with new and different ways to negotiate this season, but we certainly got it off to a fine beginning.

© Catherine Jenkins 2008

June 2002

May was a month of travel as the Swimming in the Ocean tour began. My first reading from the new book was in Peterborough (my old hometown), then I read in Ottawa (where I lived for a couple of years), Montréal and Kingston. Travel tends to adjust my perspective in a unique way. New environments enable me to see things I wouldn’t notice otherwise.

Peterborough is a pleasant enough place, but it was frustrating to spend my youth there, especially because I’d already travelled in Europe and knew there was a lot more arts and culture in the world than Peterborough could offer. Nevertheless, it was fun to get my picture in the paper because of the new book and to have an enthusiastic hometown crowd at the reading.

Ottawa and Montréal kind of run together in my head as I was back and forth between them for a week. (Note to self: Don’t ever again agree to readings which entail this kind of travel!) I stayed for the week at my friend Péter’s house in Hull where we ate good food and I raided his rhubarb patch. I spent a whole day wandering around Ottawa, up and down Bank Street, the Sparks Street Mall and the Market. I love the smell of the Ottawa market. The outside stalls only have fresh flowers, fruits, vegetables and maple syrup (for half the price it is in Toronto). You can buy fish and meat and cheese, but you have to enter a store to do so. So as you walk through the outside stalls, you’re never overcome by the smell of protein.

I’m not as familiar with Montréal, having never lived there. I’ve explored the old city on previous trips but this time, because my time was limited, I stuck pretty much to the area close to the McGill campus. I was disappointed that avenue des Pins had no pines or trees of any sort and pleased that I could understand as much French as I did (although I’m a long way from considering myself bilingual). On the second trip, Péter and I drove in his car so we went to Fairmount Bagel and bought a couple dozen each. They really are the best bagels I’ve ever had; they’re not tough the way most bought bagels are.

So I came back from the Ottawa-Montréal leg of the tour with rhubarb (which I stewed and preserved), bagels (some of which I froze) and maple syrup (which is sealed until the next time I make waffles). I think the store of comfort food has helped make up for the mild exhaustion.

As with Peterborough, the moment I got off the train in Kingston, I found the air easier to breathe than the air in Toronto. I’d never had much of an opportunity to explore Kingston, but I had a sense of comfort, of familiarity once I started walking around downtown. Sometimes I can’t picture a place in my head, but once my feet are on the ground, the familiarity of it is somehow evoked. This trip I had more time to wander and found some interesting juxtapositions that revealed a lot about the town and its history.

As I walked up Princess Street, I found its intersection with Clergy Street dominated by St. Andrews Presbyterian Church. On the side lawn rested a cannon, one that anyone entering the church’s side door would have to pass in front of. The plaque revealed that this was Shannon’s Cannon which was used in Londonderry, Ireland to defend the (Protestant) faith between 1649 and 1688, was presented to one William Shannon of Kingston in 1865, was subsequently presented to St. Andrews Church in 1909 and then restored in 1990.

Continuing the walk along Clergy Street, I found it intersected with Ordnance Street and when I entered McBurney (locally known as “Skeleton”) Park, I was confronted by a cement-mouthed cannon with the word “Peace” graffitied to its side. To my right stood an ornate stone Celtic Cross placed in memory of the estimated 10,000 Scottish and Irish immigrants who were buried in this park between 1813 and 1865. To my left was a kiddie’s wading pool and extensive playground equipment. Kingston is a complicated little town.I’ve lived in Toronto for over five years and I’m still getting usedto it. One has to park one’s body somewhere and nowhere is ever perfect; every place has its pros and cons so there doesn’t seem much point in complaining too loudly. I’m looking forward to exploring the polar opposites of Picton and New York City next month.