Friday, September 1, 2017

I got another eight hours of sleep and didn’t wake up refreshed.  I had to take an Aleve to get any sleep at all.  Arthritis has kicked in nicely, in both knees and hips, and it’s hard to find a comfortable position.  Elvon woke up complaining of dizziness, so I made him drink a bottle of water and raised the head of the bed, so he could watch TV and get a change of ideas.  I suspect he might be wondering if life is worth living anymore.  Morning dizziness is either a sign of dehydration or depression.  I know I have a touch of the latter.  I am mourning a life-style that is changing for the worse, for both of us.  The wheelchair is likely a permanent fixture, and the transfers to and from it are very difficult for him, me, and the care givers, who often get called in.  Physical therapy has been ordered and we should have it soon.  There are a lot of supportive people here to keep me going, but it’s still exhausting.  To compound it all, a very, very good friend is dying.  On this depressing note, I will leave you and get on with my day.

I am keeping this blog going because writing is therapeutic for me, and it may be of some use to some of you at some point.

I met Leona Biddle and her friend Jane, from Varenna, at The Breakfast Club, when I went to forage.  They had sympathetic ears and good advice.  Penny Mihaly is good to talk to, because she is a great person, and is going through the same thing, without the post-polio component.  They will be going on what will probably be Mike’s last big trip in a week or so, Budapest, Turkey, Spain.  We are good for each other.  Lexie Proietti and Sue Pierce offered good ears, should I need them.  Lexie is very spiritual and Sue, very experienced, in care-giving, both good resources.

Daughters Cathryn and Susan both called in.  They understand the situation and are very supportive.  Cathryn saw a lot of signs during our dinner at Bonaparte.  When we left she said “I don’t think he knew me.”  So, I asked him as soon as we got in the car.  Who was that we just had dinner with?”  And he answered “Cathryn.”  “And who is Cathryn?”  “My daughter.”  Cat wasn’t all that impressed, as she had told him about six times during dinner.  She thinks he may be trying to check out of life, and she may be right.  We’ll see our doctor next week and see what he thinks.  This is very hard on all of us.  Both daughters think I should put him on the list for “The Terraces”, our Memory care unit.  I will do that next week, as there is a long waiting list.  By the time his name comes up, it may really be time.

We did get to the gym, and Elvon had PT from Natalie.  The recumbent bike was in use, and he refused to get on the arm machine, so she took him back to bed.  When I was done exercising, Geri Novak was waiting for a massage.  Geri is another good ear, having gone through this same thing with her late husband.  The massage looked like a good idea and Jeff Rooney, our massage therapist, was free at 4:00 pm, so I booked myself in.  Both my hips and knees are giving trouble these days, likely from pushing the wheelchair.  Elvon still weights 180 pounds, and I think he is putting on weight.  Barb Christensen, joined Geri and me and offered her ear, too.  She’s our youngest inmate, a stroke victim.  She has been improving since she got here and is very sweet.  Jim Kavanaugh reminded me to take care of myself. His care-giving activities caused him to have a stroke.  Ed Gristing’s gave him a heart attack.  I get it.

Pat Gustafson, bless her heart, has arranged dinner for us with Mike Desky and Pat Finot.  Pati Simon called in to tell me to have Elvon drink plenty of water, and that Bill Potter had died.  When the doctors tell you it’s time, they are usually right.  Bill fought valiantly to the end.  A nicer, more positive man would be hard to find.  We loved him dearly and he will be sorely missed.  I am so glad I was able to get Elvon over to Napa a month ago, for lunch with the Potters at Celadon.  It makes a nice memory.

The lights in the Lodge went out during my massage.  Jeff finished with what the generator provided.  I went back and mustered Elvon, as we were due at Pat’s at 5:30 pm.  The power seemed to be back on.  I wheeled him down to the third elevator, as she lives at the other end of the building from us.  Nope, no elevator service.  None of them were working.  As I passed the lobby, on the way back, the fire doors clanged shut, too.  We were out again, all right.  It had been going on and off for a while.  I called Pat and asked her to please bring the party to our place, as we would probably have to get take-out and eat it there.  Elvon was never going to climb the stairs to the Dining Room.  It was just Pat and Mike, so far, as Pat Finot, who lives in a bungalow on the property, could not get her car out of the garage.

Jim Kavanaugh was in the lobby, too, and I realized he wouldn’t be able to get up to dinner, either, so I invited him back with us.  He was more than happy to come.  When everyone was settled with a drink in their hands, Pat and I went upstairs to see about dinner.  There was only one entrée and that was a strip steak, which was more like a pot roast.  No blue or well done, everybody gets medium rare.  We added a calabrese salad, and apple pie for dessert, and made it for five.  Pat Finot had made it up to the Dining Room, when a power spurt had let her open her garage door.  She never went to Pat G’s house to see the note on her door, saying to come to our place.  Too late now, her dinner was on the way.

Pat G and I went back, drank a little more wine, with cheese and crackers from her place, and the few Gascogne cheese cookies that we hadn’t consumed on the plane.  When we got the dinner is ready call, Mike and I went upstairs to fetch.  It turned out to be just fine and we had a great time.

Saturday, September 2, 2017

I am getting a lot of sleep, and am still not awakening refreshed, but I did get up at 8:30 am to go forage for breakfast.  It was a shower day, so I let Elvon sleep in, while I cleared some email, and called Chase about United’s pending charges.  It looked like they were trying to get the extra $591 to fly coach, out of our hide, twice.  What bandits.  Chase said to wait and see if they actually took it, and if they did, they would be happy to reverse it and dispute it with United. Then I dealt with August 29^th’s email and took a welcome sympathetic call from Pat Harrold in Vancouver.

By this time, I figured I had to face getting Elvon into the shower.  I wheeled the chair into the bed room, got him to get into it, and got him as far as the pot.  While he was on that, I made the bed, brushed the cat and put down a nice thick towel where he would next land.  Then I went back, got him off the pot and back into the chair, which I wheeled over to the sink.  I presented him with toothbrush, tooth paste, a glass of water, a razor and shaving soap, and he went to work.  I stripped, got into the shower and had a nice one.  I dried myself off, and wheeled Elvon into the shower, where he grabbed one of the bars and pulled himself up, so I could get him nice and clean.  Then I wheeled him back to the towel on the bed, and ministered to him, including a nice pedicure, and the application of coconut oil to the chafe he got flying home on one Depend.  The coconut oil fixed the problem in 3 days, and made it feel good while it was healing.  Good stuff, that. (Might be TMI, that, but I thought you might have a use for the information some day.)

By the time we had had breakfast, it was one o’clock, time for the gym.  He wouldn’t go.  He was just too tired.  The way he said it, he was too tired of life.  It didn’t make me feel any better.  I was exhausted myself.  This is all very draining.  I wheeled him back to bed and did a couple more days of email.  About three quarters of an hour later, I announced that I was going to the gym, and did he want to come?  He did.  So, we went, and he spent about 20 minutes on the recumbent bicycle, before he had to go to the bathroom, where we needed some help getting him off.

Back in the apartment, I continued writing this blog.  As I wrote, I started feeling better and better, and credited the blogging process.  But I am not so sure, because around 5:00 pm, I heard moving noises coming from the other room.  I got up to see and there he was, walking towards me, in Winnie Walker.  I think he was getting hungry and forgot he couldn’t walk.  I was delighted.  It wasn’t time for dinner, but I had him shave again, as he doesn’t do as good a job sitting down.  Then he got a half-hour rest and we went to dinner with Pat and Ted Johnson. Poor Ted, Pat had promised him I was depressed and would be subdued, and there I was, positively manic with glee.   Dinner was delicious, home-made guacamole and chips to start, shrimp and lemon cream risotto, and I had chocolate ice cream for dessert, because I like it better than lemon gelato.

Sunday, September 3, 2017

This is brunch day, so I went and got some fruit and orange juice, and took some breakfast meats out of the freezer.  The eggs, were laid yesterday and the day before.  They made fabulous French toast, with bacon, sausage and maple syrup.  I took care of the business of getting back the Holiday Inn points for part of the stay that we had missed, and got back to work on this.  Around one, the doorbell rang and it was Marissa Goldman, the Lodge Nurse.  She had figured out how to charge me for lift assists, etc., and wanted to explain it to me.  I was delighted with the price and readily agreed.  I am still going to get Elvon on to the wait list for memory care, but this gives us a good amount of breathing space, especially as he is getting better.  While we were talking, Elvon got back up on Winnie Walker, and got himself on to the toilet by himself, another first in five days.  If you don’t hear from me for a while, please take it as good news.  I’ll be taking care of business, with my renewed energy.   I’ll write again, when I need the therapy.

PS:  I’ll also write soon to tell you about Santa Rosa Dogfest and invite you to join me.

Tuesday, August 29, 2017

Air Canada’s wheelchair teams took very good care of us at SFO and Eric Hartman, our totally reliable driver and very interesting person, was there to meet us at the airport soon after landing.  The traffic was light at 10:00 pm and we were home soon after 11:00 pm.  Daniel, the night concierge, a member of the care giving team, was there with Elvon’s own wheelchair.  Between him and Eric, they got Elvon in, to the bathroom, and into his nightshirt.  He was asleep before I finished feeding Sylly P.

I was exhausted, I went to bed, too, but somehow it was 1:30 am.  I got up around 8:30 am, feeling refreshed, but that didn’t last long.  I went to the dining room and foraged for breakfast, which I brought back to the room, like ‘most every day here at Fountaingrove Lodge.  Michelle, one of the care givers, came to help me get Elvon up.  We couldn’t get him to hoist himself off the bed.  She said she’d come back with reinforcements later.  After she had left, I got smart and taught him how to use the bedside table to support himself, while I brought the wheelchair in behind him.  It’s a good wheelchair, the foot rests come off easily for getting it into tight corners like this.  It’s a good bedside table, too.  It was my grandmother Megan’s wedding present from her husband.  People were practical in the 1890s.

I wheeled him to the breakfast table and we both got to eat.  We were pretty hungry.  After he had eaten, and while he was still in the wheelchair, he agreed to attempt a shower.  This was a very good thing, as he was getting pretty high.  I wheeled him into the bathroom.  He got to sit and watch while I took my shower, then he was able to stand clutching one of the bars, while I hosed him down, sudsed him up, and rinsed him off.  Help, in the form of Manny and Shane, arrived just as we were finishing up.  I was exhausted, so they got him transferred to the bed and dressed, which was a big help.

While they were dressing him, I did a little unpacking, got the last Montreal blog out, and made a couple of essential phone calls, our evacuation insurance and a doctor’s appointment, which will be necessary or they won’t pay for anything at all.  When they were done, they suggested I take him to Wine Wednesday, which would be good for us.  It was, we re-connected with our Lodge buddies, had a couple of laughs, and a nice dinner with Bill Blair and John Kennedy.  It was corn and crab chowder, and a seafood linguini, which included lobster, clams, mussels, squid, etc. in a delicious white wine sauce.   We were in bed by nine, still pretty tired, but very well fed.

Thursday, August 31, 2017

I got up around 7:30 am and did the usual food run.  When I got back, Elvon got up into the wheelchair and let me wheel him to the toilet for a much needed constitutional, as he had skipped that yesterday.  When he was done, he couldn’t get up, so I called for a caregiver and Ashley came.  We got him on to the bed and I decided to take it from there myself, as he needed a little rest before dressing.  We discussed his physical therapy strategy and I let her go promising to wheel him to the gym at 1:00 pm.

He brushed his teeth at the breakfast table, ate and then shaved, all in the chair. By this time it was 11:30 am, so he decided to stay in the chair, rather than go through two transfers for a one hour nap.  The news lately is all about hurricane Harvey.  There are so many people so much worse off than we are, that I am able to count my blessings, still.  The big blessing is that we are settled into this fabulous place, with friends, gourmet food and lots of help.

By the time we got to the gym, I was exhausted again, but I did my 10 minutes of treadmill, and an almost full set of core strengthening exercises.  When we got back, I spent 20 minutes at my level, which was very refreshing, and continued with the laundry and unpacking that had been filling odd minutes all day.

We ate in, because I had fresh eggs from our Lodge hens, and fresh tomatoes from someone’s garden, all kindly left in our Bistro.  We started with a calabrese salad, minus the cheese and basil.  The main course was a cheese and fried onion omelet, with two eggs from each of yesterday and today.  It doesn’t get any better than that, unless you add a side of bacon, which I did.

After dinner I wheeled Elvon back to the bedroom, where he couldn’t wrap either his mind or his body around the concept of transferring to the bed.  I had to call for help from Manny.

Friday, September 1, 2017

I got another eight hours of sleep and didn’t wake up refreshed.  I had to take an Aleve to get any sleep at all.  Arthritis has kicked in nicely, in both knees and hips, and it’s hard to find a comfortable position.  Elvon woke up complaining of dizziness, so I made him drink a bottle of water and raised the head of the bed, so he could watch TV and get a change of ideas.  I suspect he might be wondering if life is worth living anymore.  Morning dizziness is either a sign of dehydration or depression.  I know I have a touch of the latter.  I am mourning a life-style that is changing for the worse, for both of us.  The wheelchair is likely permanent, and the transfers to and from it are very difficult for him, me, and the care givers, who often get called in.  Physical therapy has been ordered and we should have it soon.  There are a lot of supportive people here to keep me going, but it’s still exhausting.  To compound it all, a very, very good friend is dying.  On this depressing note, I will leave you and get on with my day.

I am keeping this blog going because writing is therapeutic for me, and it may be of some use to some of you at some point.

Sunday, August 27, 2017

After breakfast, I did a load of washing and ironing and wrote that last blog, not in that order.  Elvon is a concern, as he has embraced the wheelchair and urinal.  I put a fair bit of juice into trying to turn that around, too.  We were having our “crew dinner” at Kathie and Peter’s place.  They just moved into The Cavendish, a month ago.  It’s on the West Island, where they have been living for over 25 years.  It has all the amenities we enjoy at Fountaingrove Lodge, but is much, much bigger, and doesn’t have Chef Adam, our architecture, nor our view.  Pretty nice, though and easy living. It was able to provide a wheelchair for Elvon, thus saving me the trouble of finding someone on each end to get the one I rented in and out of the car.

Their apartment is about the same size as ours, with a balcony and a view over the swimming pool, which will be a snow field in January.  We had wine and hors d’oeuvres, with our hosts and Theresa Benedek and Terri Azzaria.  We don’t always get to see Terri, and she is a real kick.  If you think I am no nonsense, you haven’t met Terri.  We remembered our time at the Royal St. Lawrence Yacht Club, and on our sailing trips.  Just scattered memories, nothing maudlin.  We talked a lot about our new lives.  Theresa is in assisted living, too.  It’s a good place to end up.  It’s the ending up, we mind.

At 6:30 pm, we set off for dinner, and we were late, because it was at least three buildings over.  Elvon would never have got there without the wheelchair.  It took all my small change to push it there, as there was a pretty long up slope between two of the buildings.  It’s all inside and carpeted, of course, just far.  Brunch is the big meal on Sunday, so we didn’t get much choice at dinner.  The potage parmentier, salmon with dill sauce, and dessert were acceptable, though, and I slept like a baby after that meal.

We went back to Kathie and Peter’s for more conversation and I played Elvon’s 80^th birthday slide show.  There were scenes to remember in it, too.  That slide show is still not complete.  I have another twenty albums or so to go through.  Some of our conversation leaned to the scatological, and Theresa, who has heard it all before, wanted to know where our “broughtupsi” was.  Asked for the origin of the world, she admitted it was from her Jamaican childhood.  I wonder why she never used it before.  It’s not like we had broughtupsi thirty years ago, either.

Monday morning, Elvon got to the bathroom on Winnie, which was a very good thing.  I didn’t see taking him out to dinner, though.  He’s still shaky, and not every place is an assisted living place.  Our dinner dates were Chris and Marge Mapp, and Jo-Ann.  I called Chris and volunteered to buy whatever take-out we would agree on, if they would pick it up.  They knew a great Indian place, near them, Shahi Palace.  I called it and ordered: 4 meat samosas, daal makani, two orders of shrimp masala, lamb balti, butter chicken, alou goabi, rice and lots of naan.  They didn’t have mango chutney, so Jo-Ann picked that up for me, along with 4 pastries from la Gascogne.  We washed that lot down with two bottles of white and a bottle of red.  I woke up around 2:20 am and never got back to sleep, for processing.  It was well worth it, though.  I go back more than 50 years with these dear friends.

Tuesday morning, Elvon wouldn’t get out of bed and transfer to Winnie.  After reasoning with him, begging and pleading, I threatened him with calling for help.  He let me do it.  I got two big burley guys from the hotel and even they could not get him to transfer to walker or wheelchair.  He wasn’t just dead weight, he was fighting us.  There’s not a lot of fight in me after three hours sleep and five hours of processing.  I decided to give up and get him back home, where he can exercise properly and get his strength and confidence back.  I got him off the bed by feeding him breakfast and then having him use the breakfast table as the transfer vehicle.  I bathed him on the toilet with its raised seat, and had him dress there, too.  That worked pretty well, and he could get into the wheelchair in the bath room, with its grab bars.

I went online to United to change our $3252 business class tickets.  To get business today would have been over $5200 for the two of us, one way, yet.  The $3252 had been for return.  I had authorization from our evacuation insurance for the change fee, but it was just a small portion of that total.  I put us in economy for an extra $591, which they will cover, and planned to throw myself on the mercy of Air Canada.  Jo-Ann, bless her heart, came over to help me pack and return the car and the wheel chair.  That’s a real friend.  We made it to the airport with the requisite three hours to spare and they weren’t busy.  I got a lot of sympathy, but no free upgrades.  The price of the upgrades was down to $2076 Canadian, though.  So, I called SkyMed to see if they would fund that.  They would not, and I still didn’t think it was worth it.  The nice Air Canada agent got us into the Maple Leaf Lounge, though, and the nice agent there got us great seats across the aisle from each other.  The middle seat on my side is empty and my seatmate is Zack Darling, who lives near us in Santa Rosa, and is positively delightful.  I am signing off to share the rest of our Gascogne goodies with him and Elvon.

Zack was trying for an upgrade to Business but now thinks he landed in First.  Our food is so much better than we got in Business on the way.  Photo credits to Zack. Here we are:

Wednesday, August 23, 2017

About the Quebec license plate.  Je me souviens.  I got local commentary to the effect that it means “I remember every time the English screwed us.”  I wouldn’t be surprised.  Adam Symansky, our National Film Board Producer friend, made a documentary about it.  You can find it at the NFB website https://www.nfb.ca.   You can see the English online just by searching there for “A license to remember” and clicking through.  His wife, Judy, wrote “In my totally unbiased opinion it is a very interesting film for anyone interested in Quebec, and it has some really funny moments, too.”  It might be hard for anyone who has not lived here to understand, but I found it spot on – if there’s a spot to be on.

Wednesday, August 23, 2017

We had a quiet day at the Holiday Inn. I wanted Elvon to rest up for the big trip to Cornwall.  I washed and ironed and wrote that last blog you got.  For dinner, we met Marilyn and Ted Salhany at Le Sirène de la Mer.  Jo-Ann joined us with the Gascogne order for Cornwall.  I have known Marilyn since she was six, and she’s always fun.  The usually great restaurant disappointed, though.  The waiters had a little too much attitude, even for my taste.  I appreciated that they would not serve us Kebbe Nayeh, because they did not have a high enough quality of raw meat.  Too bad they didn’t tell me it was oyster night and I could have had a dozen, on the half shell, for $15.99.  The deep fried kebbe was good, mind you.  Ted had the fish and chips, because he had heard it was good, and I should have had it, too.  As it was, I had octopus, on the waiter’s recommendation, and it was no roaring hell.  The French fries came without the mayo I had ordered, and that took 10 minutes to get, while the fries got cold.  The restaurant was filling up and he was busy taking orders, but he could have got rid of us with a little bit of attention.  Then it came time for the bill.  There were five of us, but, as only Elvon and I had had dessert, and we had both had wine, and Elvon had shared in the fatoush (Lebanese salad), I figured we should pay a bit more.  So, we asked the waiter to divide by 6, give us three shares, Marilyn and Ted, two, and Jo-Ann, one.  Is everybody following me?  Well, the waiter wasn’t.  I explained about 3/6 being the same as ½.  I did the calculation for him.  No sign of intelligent life  Finally, Ted took over in Lebanese, and it still took another ten minutes before the guy got it.  Oh well.  We still had fun, because we brought our own wonderful company to the table.

Thursday, we were up at 6:00 am, a most ungodly hour, and on the road by 7:45 am.  There was just a bit of construction along our route and we arrived at John’s office at 9:05 am, for our 9:45 am appointment.  John’s 9:00 am had not shown up, so Elvon was in the hygienist’s chair by 9:15 am.  We were both out by 11:00 am, with clean teeth and clean bills of dental health.  Next stop, the LCBO to buy wine.  I decided to be silly with the whites and bought Hungaria, a sparkler, in honor of Rosemary’s and my Hungarian mothers, Monkey Bay, because I am one, Gato, an Italian cat, and Mateus, okay, so it’s a rosé, for old time’s sake.  The reds were better, Meiomi pinot noir and Sterling cab sav.  We got to Rosemary and Nick’s around noon, and manhandled Elvon up the two steps into their lovely flat house, the only private home I dared.  Susan Sidorchuk arrived just a few minutes later, with her eight-year-old Jenny.  We hadn’t seen her since she was a baby.

Gascogne’s croissants married Rosemary’s lobster salad, for a delicious and very welcome lunch.  A flock of Canada geese lighted on the lawn.  I took this picture and brought it back in to show to Nick, who taught me everything I know about composition.  His comment was “The heron’s plastic.”  Their neighbor put it there to keep the geese off their lawn.  It looks like it’s working.

After lunch, Elvon needed to go potty, so I put the toilet riser, that Jo-Ann had so kindly saved from last year, on to the john.  When he went to get up, he still couldn’t do it, without a grab bar.  So, three of us wrestled him off the thing.  That took a lot out of him, more than we realized.  We should have presented him with Grampa’s Captain’s chair, immediately.  We elected to walk him to the bed instead.  He didn’t make it.  Luckily Susan and I were still hanging on to him, and were able to lower him softly to the ground, when we could no longer hold him up.

We got him to the bed, and Nick helped us get him on to it.  After a good nap, and Nick found a transport chair in the garage, he was ready to join the party.  It was a good party, too.  John and Joanne and Sarah came over.  Sarah had to miss our dinner, as she had her very first baby sitting job to go to.  We had hors d’oeuvres on the deck, with the Hungaria, the Monkey Bay and an Oyster Bay, that snuck in.  Then we moved in to the dining room, and opened the Mateus.  It wasn’t all that bad.  I had been prepared to pour it down the sink, but we drank it.  We had corn-on-the-cob, the best in the world when it is in its very short season, and lasagna, and drank another Oyster Bay and both reds.  That’s seven bottles for seven people.  On boit, aussi.  I wheeled Elvon into bed, and we called it a night.

The next morning he was still shaky, so I wheeled him to breakfast in the chair.  I wasn’t feeling all that great myself.  I brought my computer out to charge in the dining room, and he spent a good half-hour explaining his 80^th birthday slide show to Jenny.  That’s the most he has said to anyone, in a couple of years.  Good on you, Jenny, for bringing him out.

After breakfast, which was brunch, really, we took advantage of Joanne’s being there, to wheel Elvon out the door and into the car.  Joanne is a physiotherapist, you see.  The drive to Montreal went well, and we were soon back in our room at the Holiday Inn, having stopped by the Gagcogne in Pointe Claire for all we needed for dinner with the Dedichiks.

Peter and Janet Dedichik used to be the Symanskys’ neighbors on Chesterfield.  We often shared a bottle of wine and Gascogne’s goodies before dinner.  More than couple of times, we actually made dinner out of them.  The Dedichiks live in the Eastern Townships now, near Knowlton, and miss the Gascogne as much as we do.  JoAnn, who was brought up on Chesterfield, joined us, but had to bring her own picnic.  Such are her allergies that she can’t eat a thing they make.  We had a ball, Janet’s smoked, salmon mousse, rilettes de lapin, mousse au foie de volailles, three wonderful stinky French cheeses, some bleu l’ermite, a good old cheddar, two baguettes, four bottles of wine and one of Pelligrino, heaven for us.  The Dedichiks walked us home and Elvon was fine.

Saturday morning, he wouldn’t get up and join Winnie Walker.  Luckily, I had had JoAnn pick up a urinal and a bed pan on her way over.  The urinal got used.  I tried to get him to get up every hour or so until I gave up around 1:30 pm, and started looking for a wheelchair.  The Holiday Inn would have been happy to provide one, but theirs had been stolen.  They went out and bought one, but it won’t be delivered until about Wednesday.  I found the phone number of the nearest Jean Coutu, and found they could rent us one for a $325 deposit and $20/week.  I hopped in the car and went right over.  That took longer than it should have, because Google thought I was on foot and led me down a cul-de-sac, where I could see the Jean Coutu, but could not drive there.

They loaded it into the car, because it was too heavy for me, and Pasquale at the Holiday Inn got it out.  I gave him a shower, right in it, and he was dressed and ready, when Roslyn and Real arrived with fabulous Chinese duck, Singapore noodles, Hong Kong noodles, beef and rice, and six daan tarts.  We wheeled Elvon down to the breakfast room, and had us a god Chinese feast.  Again, Elvon ate like a horse and was quite talkative.  He also had three of the daan tarts.

This morning, Sunday, he walked to the wheelchair, and we had Holiday Inn’s good breakfast.  After another rest, he walked Winnie to the bathroom.  We’re getting back to normal.

Monday, August 21, 2017

We got up and had a shower.  I love the water pressure in Montreal.  There is a lot of water in Quebec.  For as long as I can remember, there has been talk of exporting it.  We don’t though, not yet, anyway, so we just use all we want.  It’s not going to run out, unless we sell a hell of a lot of it. The contrast with California is stark.  Our shower could have been better, though.  What it needed was one more ability bar, so I wouldn’t have to reach around Elvon to put down or pick up the soap, or the shower head.  It’s an easy fix, so I asked for one.

Then we had breakfast and headed for the gym, just like home.  And, just like home, that meant that we hit the gym around 1:00 pm.  When we were done there, I took Elvon back to the room to rest and went to work across the room.

Around four, we left for Westmount village to pick up the eye drops at Jean Coutu, our local pharmacy chain.  JP used to own four of them.  Traffic was worse than I expected on the highway in, explained by the tow trucks loading five vehicles onto flatbeds, in the Turcot interchange. The pharmacy is across the street from my Montreal pedicure place, and I was in sore need of one.  If they took me right away, we could still make our reservation at Bonaparte.  They did, and I took four or five Duolingo Spanish lessons, while my toenails were being spruced up.  Three or four people took them with me and it was very jolly.

On to Bonaparte, where the street had been paved nicely and Elvon could again get in to his favorite Montreal restaurant.  His daughter, Cathryn, Matt’s father Lou, and his girlfriend, Patty, were already there.  Matt had to leave to attend his best friend’s funeral, back in New York.  So sad, too young to die.  Cat and Matt and Lou and Patty had been helping Ginger with her charity picnics.  They had hosted and entertained veterans on Saturday and were expecting about a hundred and fifty seriously disabled people tomorrow.  Ginger was likely calling that one off, though, as the weather forecast was grim.

Bonaparte is interesting.  Back in the 80’s I used it for expense account lunche, or had the simple lunch menu, when I had to pay for it myself.  It’s next door to Centaur Theatre, and still has a simple pre-performance menu, as well as high-end à la carte, and a six course tasting menu.  If we thought we could do six courses any more, that was only $81, and the quality is very high.  Cat and I had “Crème brûlée et foie gras de canard poêlé sur toasts de pain d’épices”.  The crème brulée was made of duck liver, egg yolks and cream, and was to die for.  The foi gras poêlé was divine, as seared foie gras usually is.  If you screw it up, it melts on you, and all you have is a puddle of grease.  Note the French word for “toast” in the description.  We could have made a meal of three of those, but would doubtless have been up all night.

As it was, we followed it with steak tartare and profiteroles au chocolat, and were fine.  Elvon had a salad, seafood linguini and two of my four profiteroles.  Cathryn wasn’t sharing.  Lou and Patty had the table d’hôte, which gave them a very nice salad, steak frites, and dessert.  Lou’s was lemon meringue pie and Patty’s was crème brulée.  A bottle of red, a bottle of white, nice cappuccinos, tea for us, and we were done.

Tuesday the twenty-second, Ginger’s party day, was a down day for us.  All she needed there, if she even had it, was one more cripple to take care of.  So, we stayed home.  Weather bug was pretty good.  There was a storm around 2:00 pm and another predicted for 7:00 pm.  It’s about time I told you about this Holiday Inn Express, too.  It has everything a HI Express has, but is a cut above.  It has four stars.  The décor is nice.  There’s a 3-foot Kugel Ball in the lobby, just like the Hilton in Hong Kong, when we were there.  The living room and library are very nice, and the breakfast room is large and well appointed.  Some of the chairs even have arms, for Elvon.  Tony, the Manager, is excellent, and he works with me.  I have a sweet deal on a couple of nights, not to move out, when we go to Cornwall.  They added a bar in the bathroom, too, as requested yesterday.  It’s that sort of thing that keeps us coming back.  Pasquale, Susan and Erika on the front desk bend over backwards for us, and our maid, Maria, is a darling.  The room itself is minimalist, but it’s a decent size and every piece of furniture works for us.  It has a king bed, an armchair with a footstool, that doubles as a breakfast table, with a towel as a table cloth.  The desk is a large two-table nest.  The part the computer is on can be pulled out and become our dinner table, with the desk chair and arm chair to sit in.

After all the usual, breakfast, work and gym time, I went out between storms, around 3:00 pm.  I drove West to St. Charles and North in a great circle route to the Western branch of l’obèserie.  For those of you new to this blog, that’s the Patisserie de Gascogne, now known simply as “La Gascogne”, the best bakery/pastry shop in the world, in our humble opinion.  I hit up the Royal Bank on St. Charles for $300 and kept going, passing another tow-truck, loading a banged up car.  There seems to be a lot of that around here.  I think I know why, but I don’t want to say, because I am a Quebec driver, too.

The traffic lights were out, as they were in all the stores on St. Charles, so I couldn’t hit that Dollarama.  I turned back East on Pierrefonds boulevard and went to the one on it.  It happened to be in the same little shopping center as a Tim Horton’s, so I had to have a donut before I toured one of my favorite stores.  Dollarama provided glass glasses to drink wine out of, a cutting board, a set of three kitchen knives, a pizza knife/server that is so good, I am going to take it home, a USB-MicroUSB cable, 24 wet-wipes, and a little bottle of rubbing alcohol, all for $25.  That sets me up for a couple of weeks.

I turned right on St. John’s Rd. and made for my true destination, La Gascogne.  There I put in an order for a croquant, which would serve 12, to be picked up by Jo-Anne tomorrow at 5:00 pm.  That would be dessert Thursday night at Rosemary and Nick Sidorchuk’s in Cornwall.  I added to that order, a little box of flaky appetizers, 6 croissants, 4 chocolatines, 3 carrot muffins, and 2 packets of chocolate covered orange peels.  Then I bought a baguette, a little pot of duck liver mousse, three Quebec cheeses, a Tiramisu and a key lime tart.  I already had a bottle of red wine, so we were set for dinner.

I moved the computer and paperwork to the top half of the desk and installed the lower table in front of our window.  I washed my dollar store purchases, opened the wine and laid out the spread, just in time for the sound and light show.  There was no lightning, as what it was, was a tornado.  It passed just a couple of miles from us, with lots of rain and 180 km/hour winds.  It uprooted trees, demolished cars, and threw roofs around.  We just saw our local trees bend, and the lovely rainbow when it was over.  Note the bottle of wine to the left, the seriously crappy industrial view in the foreground, the city and the rainbow in the distance.  It was pretty special.  Elvon’s favorite part was that he could see his bed from this particular table.  It didn’t hurt that every bite was of top quality.  Eating in can be very good in Montreal.  Bonsoir.

Saturday, August 19, 2017

We got up early and mustered, as we had a big day planned.  I actually went to the gym at 7:00 am.  I’ll never do that again.  It was packed.  I managed to get a treadmill for 10 minutes, but when I was ready to put my mat down, I couldn’t find a piece of floor that would fit a quarter of it.  So I went back to the room and lay down on a towel to exercise.  Now I know why I don’t get up early.  Everyone else does.

Elvon doesn’t, but I made him.  13 hours is enough sleep for anyone.  The Holiday Inn provided orange juice, sausages, scrambled eggs, hot frosted cinnamon buns and tea.  They provided a bunch of other things, too, but we couldn’t eat them all at once.  We were on the road by 10:15 am, and, despite the teeming barrel population on Montreal’s interchanges and bridges, we were in Lac Brome a little after Noon.  The duck place has expanded over to Asbestos.  That’s a town in Quebec, about 30 miles away.  They are born and raised for a short time here, and sent over there to fatten up and face their fate.  The store is still here, though, and I bought cans of foie gras, and appropriate condiments, for the women’s Technical Wine Group party in September.

On to Magog, for a visit with Glenn Coates, a retired Anglican minister, who used to live next door to Robert Lemire, in Danville, QC. Glenn was never your ordinary clergyman, and I’ll keep our secrets here, but we sure had a lot of fun.  His apartment is quite wonderful, complete with the gayest sofa I have ever seen.  I almost took a picture of it, but his view is too good to pass up. 

The geraniums are on his patio, what looks like a street is a bike path, and that’s the river beyond.  Not too shabby.  He doesn’t get to travel much, a prisoner of the too-good Canadian medical system.  Elvon felt that was a great shame.  It is interesting that Elvon is expressing opinions, these days.  I think traveling is doing him good. He even got to asking me what “Je me souviens” on the Quebec license plates means.  I knew it meant “I remember” but I didn’t know what they remember.  So, I googled, and you can, too.  There’s quite the controversy.  Which is why I don’t remember.

We left Glenn’s and checked into L’Etoile du Lac” where our own room had a pretty nice view.  This one is Lake Memphremagog” from our room.

And the weather looks threatening, but we were okay.  My phone said it would rain at 8:00 pm, and we’d be in the restaurant by that time.  We had a little party to show off this view before dinner, a couple of bottles of wine, a jar of “duck stuff” and some fabulous crackers, and we were done.  I got the wine glasses from the bar, along with an ice bucket.  I carried them back to the room myself, having refused the offer, in French, of a “bus girl”.  That’s how we talk here.

Our party consisted of our other family, Andrea and Paul Terni, JP and Ellen Morneau, and new friends, Andrea and Page Fairchild, who had thus far only been voices on the phone, booking cruises.  They are even better in person, and it was a perfect night.  Our restaurant, Au Gré du Vent, is a Table Champêtre, basically, farm to table.  They raise guinea fowl, wild boar, and a lot of veggies.  I had the wild boar.  Seven out of eight of us did.  It was lovely, as were the other five courses.  The wine was fine, and the company even better.  Paul wanted this particular picture, with some of the bottles.

We woke up on the 20^th to a glorious day.  There were still a few clouds about but it was mainly sunny.  The Auberge had an Eggs Benedict brunch that was sorely tempting, but we ate rich last night, and we had the fabulous Le Meac coming tonight.  We checked out and I popped into a Magog supermarket named “Le Vegetarian”, don’t laugh. It was breakfast.  I came out with some fruit, 4 small yogurts, 2 bottles of mango juice and 4 carrot muffins.  I also bought three Quebec cheeses to stock our refrigerator, because when we move back into the Holiday Inn, we’re staying.  I drove back near our hotel to a parking lot with a view.  The only problem is that it wanted $8.00 to park for the day.  People picnic there, walk the waterfront path, enjoy water sports, etc.  Luckily, a human being was collecting the money and he had a better idea for us.  “Vous continuez sur Principale, vous prennez Merry Sud, et c’est just passé le mec d’eau.”  Well “mec d’eau” was a new one on me, so I questioned it.  It was short for McDonald’s.  Breakfast was delicious, and we were soon on the road, bound for Montreal.  It was almost one.

Driving around the Eastern Townships, you always see a lot of bikers.  There are headquarters for Hell’s Angels and Outlaws, in these parts.  The bikers are ageing, just like us.  We saw more 4 wheeled bikes than the regular kind.  Why in God’s name anyone would want to ride a motorcycle with training wheels is beyond me.  Yes, I know, it’s when you no longer have the strength to keep the hog upright.  So, quit already, get a nice car and enjoy the ride.  I guess when you’re a Hell’s Angel, that’s not an option. To each his own.  We got to the Holiday Inn at around 2:45 pm, and had to wait a half-hour for our room to be ready.  Any old room would not do this time, as we were in for a couple of weeks. We went to the gym, and did the necessary there.  Then Elvon had a nice nap, and I unpacked and started this blog.

Google got us around the Montreal construction sites and to Le Meac about 15 minutes early.  We were soon joined by Linda Snell, Bev Rowat and Wendy Sissons.  Wendy and Bev are retired but Linda is still practicing and teaching medicine.  That was useful, because the steroid eye drops, that cost $US225 in Santa Rosa, are $CAD44.15 here.  Thank you, wonderful friend.  Business out of the way, we had a delightful meal, catching up on everyone’s travels.  I am sampling torchon de foie gras, from many restaurants, this trip.  My favorite presentation will be one of the small plates at WTWG in September.  This one was served with a pear condiment and a toasted brioche.  I have the ingredients for that, all but the brioche, which I’ll have to get locally, anyway.  I followed it with moules frites, another favorite.  We had to wait a very long time for the main course, so the restaurant comp’d us their famous pain perdu, for dessert.  It’s a three inch thick piece of French toast, from a brioche loaf, so soaked with egg and cream, that it’s practically custard.  Comes with gelato and butter and maple syrup.  Onyque.

Thursday, August 17, 2017

You would have thought Elvon would never travel again, after last year in Montreal.  But he wanted to come to see all our friends and our dentist, by whom he swears.  There’s good reason for that.  We both still have mouths full of our own teeth, with crowns only in the back, and three implants in Elvon’s jaw.  The kind of care we get from my cousin John, in Cornwall, would cost a fortune in the Stares.  It’s free to us because we are on Manulife’s Canadian dental plan.

That will easily cover the difference between what we have in the Bank of United, after the pelvis incident, and business class, non-stop. We’ll be back in the Holiday Inn Express, and, if it rains, our dinner partners will come to us with warm dead bird, Montreal smoked meat, or some ethnic treat.  There’s no shortage of good food for purchase in Montreal.  Leona and Norm are taking care of Sylly P with Pat Gustafson and Geri Novak visiting regularly, so she won’t be lonely.

We got up at 4:00 am and were almost read by 5:00 am.  At least I was in the lobby, fetching the bell cart.  The ever-reliable Eric was there already, and accompanied me back to the apartment.  He loaded up the cart and took it to the car, while I mustered Elvon out the door and re-entered a couple of times for little things I had forgotten.  Eric is an entrepreneur, and an author.  He used to own more than a dozen quit-smoking clinics, and has written a book on the subject.  Now he’s putting together a couple of “Fitness Festivals” for 2018.  He gets by on a couple of hours sleep and driving the likes of us around is recreational for him.  He knows his American History and can play devil’s advocate to any stance you may take.  Just what I needed at 5:30 am, mental stimulation.  We also got Vivaldi and I put him on to Music in the Vineyards, which I think he will attend and enjoy.

Check in was easy, and United’s Lounge was nice to spend time in, if rather pedestrian.  I don’t expect much from the airlines anymore.  And, here I am, in Air Crummy’s idea of Business class.  Somebody told me it wasn’t much, and it sure isn’t.  The seat is wider than my ass, but that isn’t worth $1000 more.  We got a barely edible breakfast and a couple of snacks, but nothing remotely special.  The entertainment selection on the miserable little TV set into the seat in front is the worst I have ever seen.  There is only one movie I have even heard of, HBO shows only one series, the music is unexceptional, etc.  They must be trying to force us to use the $20 Internet, which I refused to do, on principle.  Usually that doesn’t bother me, but when they are pushing you to it, it’s just wrong.

They landed on time, though, and by the time we got through customs, picked up our luggage and made it to the rental car pick up place, Jo-Ann Dery was there to help with Elvon.  He likes Jo-Ann and makes an effort to have a conversation.  The car is a golf cart.  I always pay for the cheapest and hope to be upgraded.  Last year I got a Grand Cherokee.  This one is a Nissan Micro, aptly named. It’s going to be great to park downtown.

For dinner with Jo-Ann, we picked Chenoys Deli, a Montreal institution, since 1936.  It’s a smoked meat place and there’s nothing like Montreal smoked meat.  Generations of McGill students fueled their studies at Ben’s.  I was one of them, although I was a picky kid, and had hot chicken sandwiches, while my friends ate that for which Montreal is famous.  It was only about twenty years later that I found out what I had been missing.  Yes, poutine was on offer, too, only not by that name.  It was just French fries and gravy then.

Getting to Chenoy’s was an adventure.  Jo-Ann had warned me I wouldn’t be able to turn left off St. John’s road to get in the place and suggested I turn into Baton Rouge’s parking lot and approach along De Salaberry.  I didn’t get that there was an entrance to Chenoy’s from De Salaberry, and turned left onto St. John’s to be in front of Chenoys.  Now, this is Montreal, still very much under construction, in the summer, and they are redoing St. John’s Road. (pardon me, Chemin St. Jean) There were barrels everywhere.  When I turned left, I chose the left lane, because that’s what you do when you turn left.  Well, I was all the way back over Highway 40, before I could get over to the right to go to a side street to make a U turn and try again.  On the second attempt, Jo-Ann guided me in by cell phone.  She could see me making the first left turn off De Salaberry from Chenoy’s parking lot.

I think the universe might have had a hand in all that, because as we were walking in Chenoy’s door, Ginger Petty was walking out.  What are the odds of that?   She was with her grandchildren, who are a lot older than I ever would have believed.  I knew their father when he was a kid.  Ginger looks fabulous, and the next day she would be hosting a hundred or so, very disabled people, for an annual picnic on Ile Bizard.   This year her house guests aren’t us, but they are Cat and Matt and Matt’s father and his girlfriend, Kathy.  Don’t you love the way the world turns?

Inside Chenoys, the wine was terrible, so we drank beer, and that was fine.  The smoked meat was still delicious.  We told Jo-Ann how much fun it was reading Travel & Leisure’s 100 Best Hotels list.  I had to get to number 27, before finding one I had stayed in, unless it was one of the tented camps in Africa, which dominate this year.  Number 27 is Hovey Manor in North Hatley, where we stayed for both of the Terni kids’ weddings and where my parents stayed on their honeymoon.  I wouldn’t compare it with the Shangri-La in HK, or Raffles in Singapore, but there you have it.  Jo-Ann wasn’t surprised.  The Clintons are staying there this week.

With happy tummies, we arrived at the Holiday Inn.  A lot of people check in at 11:30 pm, it seems.  After about ten minutes in line, I went out to get the rest of the luggage.  While I was out, our number came up and Elvon checked us in, all by himself.  Well, I’ll be damned and I was thrilled.  Up to our room we went and crashed.

Breakfast runs from 5:30 am to 10:00 am here.  I woke up at 9:50, lacking the enthusiasm to get down in time to forage breakfast.  I went back to bed.  The Ternis called about 10:30, which got me moving.  We had a shower and I went out to forage around 12:30 pm, we both having had Trader Joe’s Peanut Butter Pretzels for breakfast.  Don’t leave home without them.

I went “home” to Westmount village.  I hit the hardware store for Goo Gone, as the golf cart came with a nasty sticky stain on its mini hood.  Then I went to Alain Assedo, to order a nice pair of dark sunglasses.  This purchase has had to wait for my second cataract operation, which happened in June.  I picked up a couple of millefeuilles at the Patisserie de Gascogne and ¾ of a warm dead bird at Chalet BBQ.

At 4:30 pm, we were in the breakfast room of the Holiday Inn, feasting, with the bottle of Oyster Bay sauvignon bland that Jo-Ann had welcomed us with.  Just perfect.  You know us very well, Jo-Ann, as she should, it’s a 50+ year friendship.  The Holiday Inn let us eat us in their breakfast room, where we got free tea, in cups now embossed with this message:

They have it figured out.

Life could not be better, and so, good night.

I have been meaning to update this blog for over a year now, and it’s embarrassing that crass commercialism is making me do it today, but there you have it.  We moved into Fountaingrove Lodge last June, and now that the place is decorated to our taste and we have a bunch of great new friends, we couldn’t be happier with it.  I only took one trip, and it was a month ago, a cruise to Alaska, with Joan Westgate’s fabulous family.  I was too busy, working and playing to write, but do email me if you need tips on Alaska.  I wrote them up for another client who should just be back now.  But let’s stay with the décor, because it will lead me to my selling point.

The focal point of our living room is this custom made cabinet:

It was made by Dennis Douglas in Napa, at the behest of Deborah Robertson, who, with the help of Valerie Lasker, was our Interior Designer.  I had a lot to do with this cabinet, myself, and I am very proud of it.  Our little apartment is lovely, and we are very happy with it.

But, wanderlust still guides my life.  Elvon and I will be going to Montreal on August 17, and staying a couple of weeks.  Last year’s adventures taught me what I need to do to keep him well and happy.

Luckily, the Holiday Inn Express, pedestrian though it may be, fits our needs.  It’s flat, with elevators.   It has a good breakfast buffet, that I can forage at every day, just like here at Fountaingrove Lodge.  It has a gym, and they let us use the Breakfast room to entertain in the evenings.  So, when it rains and he won’t go out, the friends scheduled for that night will come to us, stopping at Chalet BBQ, or Chenoy’s or any on a zillion Montreal restaurants with good take out.  I am told it had been raining a lot this summer.  It’s a good thing we can eat a lot of warm dead bird.  It’s the best in the world.

Then, in February 2018, I am going back to work as a Concierge Host – Singapore to Hong Kong. 

If you’re looking for a special trip to beat the February blues.  I think I have it for you.  I have just been named Travel Leaders’ Distinctive Voyages concierge host for Celebrity’s Pingxi Lantern Festival Cruise, and I am taking Pat Gustafson along as my co-host.  FGL has proven it can take good care of Elvon.  I am so happy we live here.  So happy, that I sent this out to the entire lodge.

I’ll customize a three-day add-on in Hong Kong, where Elvon and I lived for many years.  My Hong Kong tours top Abercrombie’s.  I take my guests to the private clubs, where we, or our still good friends, were or still are, members.  That means horseracing at the Jockey Club in a Members’ Box, dinner at the Royal Hong Kong Yacht Club, maybe the Hong Kong Club, or The American Club or the China Club.  We don’t have time for them all.  There are special Chinese restaurants to sample, too.  We can hire a junk and go eat at Lamma Island or Cheung Chau, anything the group decides.  Planning it is going to be half the fun.

So, first thing I did was call Celebrity, and here’s what I found.

It’s a very special cruise, because of the Lantern Festivals, and it’s almost sold out!  There were only 3 Verandah cabins left, 2 Family Verandah cabins, 5 Sky Suites and 1 Celebrity suite.  I grabbed the 3 verandah guarantees with fictitious names and I am holding them until August 13.  Want one?

It’s a deal!  Cruise only, but with a lovely choice of perk packages, including a $909 per person beverage package –  Total fare for two people occupying the cabin, the perk package, services of a concierge host (moi), a free shore excursion in Hue that includes lunch:  $7,353.60 for TWO!!  That’s 14 days of cruising on a gorgeous ship, for $3,676.80 each.  The Family Verandahs are just a bit more and the suites are almost double that.

I’ll put us up in fabulous hotels in Singapore and Hong Kong, because you haven’t lived until you’ve been pampered in Raffles, or the Mandarin Oriental, or the Shangri-La – and there are more.  I’ll also invite Hong Kong friends along for dinner, so you can interface with real people who are my real friends.  They won’t be shy with you, because they’ll know you are my friends, too.  The ad-on will be optional and you don’t have to take it.  You’ll still get my best advice, for free.

Here’s the Itinerary:

And here’s the link http://tinyurl.com/SporeHKFeb2018

Call or email me to grab one of the very few cabins that are left.

It’s the last stop, but it’s a PIP
An LGBT Cruising ship.
The food’s delish, the view is art,
Our new friends are the bestest part.
We are as happy as can be
You just have to come and see.

The Harrises of Fountaingrove Lodge

4210 Thomas Lake Harris Dr., Apt 117
Santa Rosa, CA, 95403
707-738-3178 

Elvon, Helen and Sylly P

Cat’s Ass Cards, by Helen
www.helenmegan.com
where you’ll find the back story

And here it is:

Yes, we went around the world for the fourth time and, no, it never gets old.  We love the Amsterdam, its officers and crew, and the good fiends we have made over the years.  Elvon is slowing down, though, and it’s getting harder to take care of him, and about seventy other people.  So, after a brief visit with the Grays in Florida, we came home on May 5, to sell the house we had lived in for 22 years, and move here by June 10.

Pat Gustafson moved to Fountaingrove Lodge in February, and Susan Harris thought it would be just the place for us.  It had just opened up to straight couples, and we would be a good fit.  So, our place was secured, for occupancy May 31, thanks so much, Susan and Pat.  As she was living in our house with Sylly P, Susan also landed the job of staging the house, with Kim McPherson, our realtor.  It didn’t feel like home, when they were done, but it sure sold in a hurry, which was, after all, the objective.

The hard part was downsizing by half.  I miss some of the stuff we disposed of, but surprisingly little.  It’s liberating living small.  All that cruising was good preparation.  So much for moving out.  We’re still moving in, but we should be done in another two or three months.  We might even hang some pictures.  We brought enough with us.  For now, we look at our view, which is spectacular, and I work at keeping these old bodies fit, and selling travel.  2016 was my best year yet.  I am proud and pleased to report that, at least in one instance, I beat  the biggest Internet Travel Agency of all, on price.  There was never a contest on service.

We’re staying home, at least until June, and only taking short trips.  We enjoy dinner parties, almost every night, with our wonderful new friends. One of them turns out to have been in Elvon’s graduating class at Occidental College.  Small, small world.  Sylly P has settled in happily, but still demands a shrimp every night. We are planning a short cruise to Alaska in June, and, if that goes well, Northern Europe on the Prinsendam in August.  We love visitors and  Fountaingrove Lodge has a comfortable guest room.  Do come.

Love and purrs,

Elvon, Helen & Sylly P

Correction to my surmise on the Harrises.  This is from Isabel Gray, who comes from Scotland and goes back there pretty much every year:  “I don’t believe there is a Harris tartan – but I can assure you that Harris tweed is still made on the island of Harris – a small island off the North coast of Scotland and the islanders are still doing a good job!!”

My old agency manager, Scott, had a lot more to say on the subject:  “I’ve been wanting to respond, as a Scot Scott, to your attempt to spirit away the Harris Clan from their rightful home in the Outer Hebrides (I.e. Scotland) to the land of your own ancestors. Lassie, that just won’t do! And no, I did not just call you a dog to get even!  I have thought in the past that Elvon’s facial characteristics would fit in nicely with my paternal Grandmother’s family, especially when I learned Elvon’s father was a Presbyterian minister. The clues add up–and indeed, there is a Scottish tartan for the Harris clan: https://www.scotweb.co.uk/tartan/Harris/28141 “  Thanks, Scott.  I didn’t want to buy a kilt, but it’s nice to know.

I last left you on a plane from Amsterdam and we are now on a plane coming home from Montreal.  We got to Montreal in the evening of August 20, and picked up our rental car.  This year’s deal got us a Jeep Grand Cherokee for the price of a compact.  It’s a great upgrade, but the thing is enormous.  I loaded it up, called Chalet BBQ and drove straight there to pick up one of our favorite dinners.

I had been warned that Montreal was a construction site.  It hasn’t been this bad since Expo ’67, when they built the Decarie Expressway, the Champlain Bridge, the Turcotte Interchange and the Metro (subway).  Of course, except for a flurry of activity around the Olympics in 1976, they haven’t done much maintenance on any of it.  The past few years, you were taking your life into your hands driving around the city.

Montreal is turning 375 next year, and planning a big bash.  So, in true Montreal fashion, they are doing a “grand ménage”.  There are cones and barrels everywhere, excavators and earth movers, “acces au chantiers”, and no access to the street you want to drive on.  Somehow, I reached my destination and picked up our fragrant bag of chicken and fries.

We were staying at Ternis’ condo on Sherbrooke, because it was an apartment in an elevator building, and beautifully central.  Andrea and Paul don’t us it much in the summer, as they are mostly in their main house in Magog, in the Eastern townships.

Marc Edéry, a kind neighbor, had the key for us, and was waiting, when we arrived a little after nine.  Luckily, he’s substantial, or we would never have got in.  There are only two small steps into the building, but there’s no railing. Elvon just can’t handle that any more.  It’s as much a brain thing as a physical thing.  But, he placed his confidence in, and a good bit of his weight on, Marc, and made it into the apartment, while I parked the car under the building.

That was an adventure, too, and also required Marc’s help.  When they built that garage, there were no such things as Grand Cherokees.  It literally covered its parking spot.  We got the luggage out, and up to the apartment, just in time for Marc to join his friends at the cinema at 9:45 pm and Elvon and I tucked in to the wonderful offering from the Chalet BBQ.

That was it for the night.  We were exhausted.  I unpacked the bare necessities and we crawled into bed.  When we got up, in the morning, we were both in sore need of basic cleanliness.  But the apartment had only a tub, not a walk-in shower.  Elvon can’t get in and out of a tub.  So I gave him a sponge bath on the toilet seat.  When I was done, he couldn’t get off the toilet.  It was too low.  With a lot of effort, building up the level with towels on every attempt, he finally stood up, clutching the sink vanity.  He moved himself over to the door jam and glommed on to that.  I moved Winnie Walker into position and steadied her.

His hands were eight inches above the walker, and he would not let go of the door jam.   I spoke softly, and loudly, I pleaded, and swore.  I explained that he had no choice, he had to transfer to the walker or he would eventually fall down from exhaustion.  That was the path he took.

He managed to bum his way into the bedroom, but he could not get up on to the bed.  Over an hour had passed and I was at my wits end.  I took a shower to clear my head, and because I need one after a full day of travel and all that activity.  The shower did clear my head and I realized I needed help of the strong male variety.  If I called the cops, they would get him up, but they would also likely take us to the hospital for diagnosis.  I didn’t need a day there to know what’s wrong.

I called the Mapps, where we were scheduled to go to dinner.  My plan was to get Elvon up and take him straight there, while I moved us into a hotel with an accessible room and a gym.  God bless good old friends.  Chris came, with a lovely friend.  While they were on the way, I started packing.  They got him up, I got him dressed, stripped the bed, and we took everything, including the Ternis’ sheets and towels, to the Mapps’.  Marge gave us breakfast, while the clock struck noon.  It had been a four and a half hour exercise.

I put a load into their washing machine and found us a Holiday Inn Express near the airport.  While the Mapps finished our laundry, I went to the hotel, checked in, unpacked and managed 15 minutes of quiet meditation.  Then I went back to Mapps’, as dinner had been called for six.  I stopped by the liquor store on the way, but it closes early on Sunday, so I would have to deliver our wine next week.

Ginger Petty, and Andre and Jo Ann Dery, were the other guests, more dear old friends.  They were just what I needed.  It was the perfect evening.

To complicate matters further, my phone is dying.  Amazon agreed to replace it, but they can’t ship to Canada, so the plan was to pick it up in Newport on Monday, and have lunch with the Ternis and Fairchilds.

Monday, we slept a lot, showered, and used the hotel gym, which is a godsend.  We were going over to Linda and Bev’s for cocktails and consultation, and on to the Dump for dinner with Theresa Benedek, Kathie Keefer and their main squeezes, George and Peter.  Linda and Bev’s house presented problems, too, just a few steps up, but no railings for Elvon.  Luckily, the two of them are sturdy.  The Hong Kong Restaurant was easier, six steps with a nice serviceable railing.  The lobster and duck were as delicious as ever they have been.  The place has gone up and down in the forty years we have been frequenting it, but it’s at its peak now.

Tuesday, we went to Cornwall, where my cousin, John Sidorchuk, takes care of our teeth.  Usually, we sleep over at Rosemary and Nick’s in Long Sault, but tonight we had an event to attend back in Montreal.  Ellen and J.P. Morneau were celebrating their 50^th wedding anniversary, and we wouldn’t miss it for the world.

It took an hour and a half to get there from the Holiday Inn.  Without traffic and construction delays, it would have taken fifteen minutes.  Getting around Montreal is totally ridiculous.  The party was lovely, and it gave us a chance to connect with the Ternis.  Everything was delicious and the cake was unbelievable.  It was decorated with roses from their original wedding cake.  Ellen had kept them in her freezer all these years.  You would never have known they weren’t new.

Wednesday, August 24, we went back to Cornwall, for dinner with the family there.  We stopped at the Gascogne in Pointe Claire for Mille-feuilles, and other fine patisseries, chocolatines for breakfast, etc.  We enjoyed wine and appies on their lovely waterfront deck, and got to see John and Johanne’s lovely daughters, Sara and Lily, who are growing into fine specimens, indeed.  Best of all, we got to catch up with my closest relatives, and getting in to their lovely flat house wasn’t too hard.  Even there, we needed Nick’s strength and ingenuity to get over the two steps in, with no railing.  We also carry around a toilet raiser, so Elvon can get off the pot, when necessary.  We used it.

Thursday, we stayed in Cornwall until mid-afternoon, then drove to Montreal for dinner with Wendy Sissons.  We didn’t even bother to go back to the hotel, but just went straight to pick her up in Westmount.  It was another interesting construction avoidance exercise, but we had plenty of time.  We had settled on Elvon’s favorite Montreal restaurant, Bonaparte, in Old Montreal.  Wouldn’t you know it?  They had dug up the street in front of the restaurant and replaced it with plywood slabs, with eight inches of gravel between each one.  There were about 80 feet of this to get to the door of the place.  I went in and made my apologies, but I wasn’t even going to attempt this one with Elvon.  The Garde Manger, just down the street, had room, and it is usually a two month booking window.  Of course it did, no one could get there.  Our parking attendant drove Elvon right up to the door, where there was just one step, but, alas, nothing to hang on to.  Elvon wasn’t having any of it.

I remembered Le Bourlingeur, just at the corner and ran down to suss it out.  It’s just a modest bistro, in a very old building, six steps up from the curb, but it was fine.  The six steps were accompanied by a stout railing.  I went in and checked the location of the washroom, and it was on the flat, so we were good.  It was a few stars down from Bonaparte and Garde Manger, but my calf’s liver was excellent, as were Elvon’s fish and Wendy’s three kinds of sausage.  Profiteroles come in groups of three in Montreal, and they made a delicious dessert.  No French fries, though.  The city of Montreal won’t let them have a deep fryer in a heritage building.  We had a lovely time in spite of that.  Wendy is always fun.

Friday, we went to Ginger’s on Ile Bizard.  There, too, there are steps without railings to get in on the main floor.  So we came in through the garage under the house, on the lake side, where there’s a railing.  The place looks better than ever.  Both house and grounds are fabulous.  Ginger has a nice new three-tiered fountain, now.  It was a gift from Fox movies.  They filmed X-Men – The Apocalypse, on her property across the street.  They recreated their school there, with the fountain and a lot of special effects and moved the fountain to Ginger’s property when they were done.  There are glimpses of her grounds in the movie, and of her son, Mike.  Ginger’s personal assistant is Debbie Brousseau, who bought my 425 Victoria in 2000.  She had been in the Event Planning business for seven years, not so long ago, and still had all the contacts Fox would need to facilitate production in Montreal.

Debbie was there that afternoon, and it was great to reconnect with her, too.  Even Scruffy looked great.  Ginger has taken over his grooming and she’s doing the best job, ever.  We had fabulous butter and rosemary potatoes, filet mignon, and desserts from about three pastry shops.  When it came time to go, we reversed the process and all was well, until we got to the bottom of the stairs, when Elvon refused to transfer from railing to walker, again.  The three of us had to wrestle him off the railing, keeping him upright in the process.  That was the last straw.  Ginger called it.  We had to go home.

Cat and Matt were coming on Wednesday, though, and I didn’t see how I could take him away from a rare meeting with his East Coast daughter.  Ginger, however, just went into action.  Before we were even back at the hotel, she had called Cathryn and told her she had better get to Montreal in a hurry, because we could not go on as we were.  By the time I called Cat around nine-thirty in Saturday, she had rearranged her schedule and they would be in Montreal by Monday night.

I was still exhausted from the previous week, and took advantage of that by asking her to stop off in Newport, VT, and pick up my phone replacement.  Then I called United Airlines and brought our flights forward from September 10 to August 31.  I made sad phone calls to Ternis and Fairchilds, too, but was much relieved that all this was settled.  I don’t think it would have been all that safe for me to put in six hours of driving on Monday.  I wasn’t feeling that strong, and my heart was very heavy.

I finally caught up with my email on Saturday, and found out that the Simons had to get Sylly P out of their house, as Pati had developed a pretty severe allergy to her.  Luckily there was a contingency plan in place with The Lodge, and now she wouldn’t even have to wait long for us to come home.  Pat Gustafson met the Simons when they dropped her off, and visits her every day, so she doesn’t get too lonely.

We had Dim Sum at Kam Fung in Brossard with Roslyn and Real and stayed at the hotel on Saturday night.  We didn’t need much food after that.  We shared a bottle of wine and some cheese and duck liver paté from Gascogne, and were perfectly content.

Sunday we didn’t do much during the day.  I find I need a lot of sleep these days and I am indulging myself.  Elvon can sleep any time, anywhere, so it’s something we can enjoy together.  We have also been able to keep up our exercise program, thanks to the hotel gym.    Jo Ann Dery came over for a visit, around four-thirty and we met Rod and Claude for dinner at Le Petit Four Manago, on St. Charles Blvd., after checking that it was very flat.  They would have had us to their house, but we aren’t doing any more private homes.

We love Rod and Claude, and we had a wonderful meal at Manago.  I, for one, ate way too much, but the veal scaloppini with fettuccine Alfredo on the side was just too good.  Never mind the profiteroles.  Oh, my.  Oink.

Monday morning, I went out and replaced the cheap suitcase, which had broken, with another one.  I was ready to buy something better, but nothing I really wanted presented itself, so I went for another temporary solution.  Then I came back and emailed vcom that we wouldn’t be hosting around South America on the Prinsendam, in January and February.  We are going to stay home, and get help setting our lives up better.  Elvon will need a wheelchair, and I’ll need training in how to push it.  We’ll be welcoming visitors to our cruise ship that doesn’t leave the dock.

I spoke to Cathryn, as they were driving up, and suggested I go to Chalet BBQ and get us a meal that we could eat at the hotel, when she brought the phone by.  Matt was under the weather, so this turned out to be a good suggestion.  It’s nothing fancy, but very good, and a few pastries form Gascogne would make it special.

Tuesday, I packed, we exercised, and Cathryn came over to the hotel.  We went to Le Méac for dinner, and ate foie gras, rilettes, steak tartare, scallops, moules et frites, oh, yes, and crème brulée and profiteroles.  It’s time we get out of Montreal.  I can’t seem to do a fast day here.

Huge thanks to all our family and friends in Canada and California, for physical assistance, wonderful meals, moral support, and wise counsel.  Apologies and sincere regrets to those we missed.  We love you all.  I am going to have a nap now.

Footnote, September 3.  After a couple of days back at The Lodge, things are looking a lot better for us.  We are resting and picking up all our old activities, and then some.  Yesterday, we joined a discussion group on presidential elections, led by a resident named Terry Regan, and he’s a Reagan relative, too.  My grandfather Larry Megan, married a Mary Meehan, so I get that.  Today, we did a balance and movement class, that Elvon could follow from a chair.  He couldn’t do everything, but he followed along when he could and pronounced both classes of interesting.  He’ll come to anything, as long as I come, too, and seems to enjoy.  His favorite time remains dinner.  Mine, too.  It’s fabulous here.  Call me and we’ll buy you one.