Good deeds

I did two good deeds today. The first one was saving a child's life. Well, maybe, anyway. A friend and I were walking south, home from school drop-off, on the narrow street that intersects our large one. We were chattering away (what, me, talk?) as we crossed the foot of a church driveway from which a large shiny black SUV was slowly reversing out. We hardly broke stride because we felt so confident that the driver saw us, as indeed s/he did. S/he braked. I love the fact that pedestrians have the right of way here (as they do in the UK) and drivers actually let them use it (as drivers in the UK do not). In England I'd definitely have checked whether the car planned to carry on regardless, hitting me if it must. Anyway, we walked safely past and the car resumed reversing. A tiny little boy, age 3 or so, on a tiny little bike, brand new, came zipping past us, heading north. I glanced vaguely round for his grown-up and realised he didn't have one anywhere in sight. I turned and grabbed his bike to halt him before standing behind the still-slowly-reversing car. The boy's head height was below the tops of the SUV's tires and it was impossible that the driver could have seen the child. The little boy looked surprised, the car came to an abrupt halt when I appeared in its rear window. My friend and I scanned the road for a grown-up in charge of the child. Finally we located her, riding a bike on the street several yards ahead and separated from the sidewalk by a wide grass verge. She had paused at a T-junction controlled by a stop sign. She turned to look for her son, spotted me holding onto him, and glared at me as if I were a madwoman. I called out 'The car was reversing!' but she didn't seem to hear or understand. I let go of the boy and he caught up to his mom. Luckily my friend was wheeling her own bike with a child trailer attached, which lent us credence as upstanding maternal figures rather than potential kidnappers. My friend and I walked on and continued our previous conversation. Not until a few hours later did I mentally return to the scene and think with a shock, 'I nearly saw a child killed today.' At school pick-up in the playground the friend and I reviewed the incident and agreed that it was all slightly unbelievable, but really happened.

My next good deed was to serve tea to the men cutting down a large tree in the empty yard next door. They said 'thank you'. And they gave me a log to use as a garden bench. We have a lot more light in our yard and kitchen now.

close encounters

He came to gobble up crumbs of matzo left in our garden. The cat, hissing at the back door, alerted us to his presence. Can raccoons be Jewish? If he comes back, we'll call him Elijah. Maybe I should leave out a glass of wine. Manishevitz, of course.

Culture shock

Some things just work differently here.

Buy me some peanuts and crackerjack...

Youngest child has joined a baseball team. She knows virtually nothing about baseball. We took her to one Blue Jays game, where she learned that you can buy an enormous Coke and a paper plate of French fries (that is, if your parents thought ahead and sold the family silver).

I took her to her first game. She was delighted to go, because two of her best friends were on her team. The rest was pretty much irrelevant. Nonetheless, she had to go to bat when it was her turn. One pitch: strike. Two pitches: strike two.. Three pitches: strike three. But wait. Four pitches: strike four! And so on, and so on. It turns out the little kids can bat until the pitcher (aka the manager, i.e. a grown up) gets bored. Then, even if the child hasn't managed to hit the ball, he or she may still run. It's like rounders in England: the players get to make up the rules as they go along. So off daughter goes, heading for first, confused but happy. Next up is daughter's very good chum. Again, one, two, three, four, five (etc.) strikes, and then - strike me pink- this child hits the ball! She runs to first base. My daughter, delighted for her friend, stands there with open arms, waiting to greet her with an enormous hug. They dance in circles, in each other's arms, around the square white cushion. 'Run! Run! Run!' we're all screaming at daughter. Eventually she looks up from her celebration, catches the drift, and trots off, smiling, to second base.

I see some practicing in our future...

What they say about spring

Two months ago I wrote 'We survived winter! Hooray for us!' This now comes under heading 1a: 'crowing too soon.' Also 1b: 'counting chickens before they have hatched.'

Spring has nearly done us in, or rather done me in. It's been cold, grey, miserable, and otherwise an extreme disappointment. The kids seem more resilient (youngest says: 'never mind, Mommy; we have lots of warm clothes now'). What's interesting is hearing what locals say about the season. There are two stock responses: a) 'Oh, this is really unusual! Last year at this time we had been wearing shorts and tee-shirts for a month! Wait till next year;' and b) 'Oh yes, this is spring in Canada. It's always cold and wet. Sometimes we even get snow in June! Ha, ha, ha. You'll see, next year.' I'm not sure which reply makes me feel worse: that we are a) unlucky and bearers of bad meteorology, or b) that we're not. The best response so far has been from a friend who said to me on a freezing cold, dismal, gray April day (my birthday, as it happened): 'Please let me apologize on behalf of the entire country of Canada.'

I'm thinking about it.

Needing a workout

Last week I decided to bake muffins for eldest child's school bake sale. This is not usually a good idea as no one ever buys my baked goods, but I found an easy recipe for which I had all of the ingredients to hand: chocolate bourbon muffins. All went well until I licked the spoon, and the bowl, while the muffins were in the oven, and honest to Betsy, the batter made me tipsy. Good thing I was only walking to younger children's school for pick-up; in my batter-addled state surely I was unfit for driving. My alcohol tolerance needs a workout! I'm ready for a gals' night out. The sad coda to this episode just reached me this evening: it turns out that son left the bag of muffins in his friend's father's car, so the fruits of my labor did not earn the school tuppence. And, again, no one bought my stuff.