March 31: A good laugh

I make my annual trek to Cinefranco, a festival featuring the best of current French cinema. I am entertained by Halal Five O’s Inspector Nerh-Nerh, a Franco-Algerian version of Inspector Clouseau. This style of over the top comedy is so well done by the French--think ‘That Man from Rio” and Jacques Tati’s “Mon Oncle” and "Dîner des Cons". While a good laugh is welcome, I also appreciate the old French dramas, which seldom deviates from the plot of a man and two women, or its variation: two men and one woman (think ‘Jules & Jim’).

March 30: Iceberg hooking is no sport

I foster my longterm fascination for Inuit culture. Years ago, I was one of the lucky ones sent by McGill’s rural medicine program north of the Arctic Circle to Inuvik. Besides great rural medicine education, I see pingoes in Tuktoyuktuk, walk on the Arctic Ocean at Sachs Harbour, Banks Island, visit the well equipped nursing outposts. I cross the mighty Mackenzie River on a skidoo pulled sled. I ride along the Dempster Highway.

Not so long ago, I picked up James Houston’s biography out of the bargain books bin. I am transported to the 1950’s when Houston introduced Inuit art to the rest of the world.

At home, I gaze at my own dancing bear. For more, I cross the street to visit the Museum of Inuit Art with its impressive collection of whale bone sculptures and soapstone pieces, or TD bank’s private collection nearby. Today, I view the Inuit Modern exhibition at the Art Gallery of Ontario--a giant dancing bear, an intricately carved Sedna, the intertwining of human and animals, the juxtaposition of shamans and Christian symbols, Ashevak’s famous enchanted owl.

Annie Pootoogook’s modern Inuit homelife pieces with Cornflakes and other packaged foods lends to thought. As a nutritionist, I fear the change of diet that exposure to the southern world brings. This is a people who, despite diets without fresh greens and sunlight, have survived. What would the introduction of convenience foods and other processed edibles do to this society?

I gaze at my favourite Lawren Harris scene: Lake Superior. I see "the original" when working in Northern Ontario. I view the curious juxtaposition of Alex Colville’s two paintings of his wife, 33 years apart. He is one of my favourite living Canadian artists.

I climb the Gehry designed staircase to view David Blackwood’s prints of Newfoundland. My summertime visit to Bonavista shows a quaint little fishing village, living up to the name bestowed by John Cabot. But Blackwood displays a much darker side of Bonavista. Even the wedding scene is sombre as a funeral march. I suspect he is much more realistic than my vision. Life is not easy on 'the Rock'. Difficulty earning a living is as present today with the demise of the cod industry as it was with seagoing fishermen in stormy seas. On display is a long hooked pole used by sailors to extricate themselves out of rough waters. Unmentioned is the need of icebergs or other firm objects nearby to use this pole effectively.

Enough right brain activity for the day--I return to Sunnybrook for day two of chest compressions and cardiac rhythms.

March 29: Relearning my ABC's

Beth, my Creative Writing instructor, emails me from France. She comments on my solo fine dining experience in Sarlat la Caneda (see February 25 blog entry). Eating alone does not even seem an oddity anymore. I eat well and vow not to let my singleness dictate my dining options. Luckily with culinary delights high on French priorities, solo dining is not uncommon. (In Paris, it is also not uncommon to meet nice young men outside restaurants and have a meal together...). There is the upside to being alone: I am sure that even with truffles before me, I would be more focused on the conversation than the decadence before me.

In Toronto, solo dining is a bit rarer. In smaller towns like Thunder Bay, I even get strange stares from fellow diners. Occasionally, the experience is memorable in a positive way.

When I first started working downtown, I decided on a whim to celebrate by dining at one of my favourite restaurants, Jump. The maitre d’ seats me, then promptly asks if I would like a magazine to read.

“Sure!” I replied.

“What would you like to read?”

“What magazines do you have? I’ll just pick from your selection.”

“Actually, I am going to buy you the magazine of your choice.”

“How about ‘Metropolitan Home’?”

He disappears. After 10 minutes, I see him walking into the restaurant, but stayed by the door. After another 15 minutes, he approaches the table, magazine in hand.

“I couldn’t find the magazine so I sent someone else to get it from another shop.”

A maitre d’, showing such rare thoughtfulness to the solo diner. I linger at the restaurant. I stay for dessert instead of rushing off after my main course. I relate this experience to many a diner over the years. It was a wise $6 dollar investment on his part.

I walk into Sunnybrook Health Science Centre. This does not really fit into my plans for the year but I need my advanced cardiac life support responder recertification. I relearn my ABC’s, except now it is CAB--circulation is now higher priority than airway and breathing. Chest compressions follow the rhythm of ‘Stayin’ Alive’.

March 28: Baking chemistry and hockey physics

A baking session is such a rarity these days, surprisingly for someone who has been baking since age 8 and has completed the George Brown College bakery arts certification. I whip up something simple: chocolate cookies chockful of cranberries, walnuts, and white chocolate.

I really need to get more kitchen cabinets with the new home design. Baking without removing all my pots from the oven and accessing my blender without balancing all the surrounding gadgetry is a pipe dream of mine. When I first moved into my current condo, the kitchen had no upper cabinets. These homes are designed for the downtown lifestyle (dining out with maybe a bottle of Perrier and some cheese and nibbles in the fridge?), surely not for someone who, along with all the meals out, still likes to put a meal together chez soi. Within months of occupying this space, I had some cabinets built, which made my kitchen a bit more functional, but I drool at the thought of enough kitchen space for easy access to my kitchen ware. I guess it would help if I stop going to William Ashley every year...

I dine with Corinne at an old haunt, Grazie. She, a sometimes hockey player, describes all the nuances of hockey sticks--fascinating! Again my left brain kicks in: the curvature, the reach, the weight--so much to think about when choosing a stick. The ice at Harbourfront Skating Rink has been cleared for the season. I will not face the dilemma of figure skates vs. hockey skates. Nor will I be able to stealthily shoot a few pucks before official rink opening hours. Instead, I consider biking among all the piles of dirty snow.

March 27: Dining around the globe

I dine well this week:

Monday: Thai vegan

Tuesday: Continental inspired

Wednesday: Greek

Thursday: Persian

Friday: Ethiopian

Saturday: Korean

Today: Mexican

This is why I love Toronto--I don’t think I can live on a single cuisine!

I meet with Shawna, May, and Elaine. May takes time between DiverseCity events and packing for Cambodia, and Shawna leaves behind her doctoral thesis writing, full time policing duties, and part time teaching duties. We wolf down burritos at Mexican Salsas, and chaser churros--a short sweet visit.

I stop off at Dark Horse for a tea to go with my dry ACLS manual reading. I like the vibe here. Maybe I’ll make this place my ‘cafe home’ for the rest of the year. While living in London, I breakfasted at Chez Paul each Sunday. Various friends would join me; occasionally, I will eat on my own with a good book or paper. I’d like to revive this Sunday ritual.

I take the long way home, just to stay warm. I pass the pre-teen girls lining up for a glimpse of ??? at the Juno Awards. I pass Toronto's own Banksy graffitied wall.

I call Louise in Thunder Bay. Not working this year also means not basking in her warm hospitality. A chat with her ups my mood considerably.

March 26: Top chocolate

John is in town this weekend. I am happy that he makes the effort to meet me, even with such a short trip. Our visits are so therapeutic.

I am in a strange funk. The fatigue, the stressors, the mountain of things requiring my attention is wearing on me. The trip to Vancouver seems to have derailed me more than I expected. Instead of heading to potluck dinner with friends, I commandeer a friend to just sit and chat. We do a chocolate tasting with some of my stock. Verdict: Soma wins hands down, Côte d’Or comes in a close second. Lindt is a very distant third. The others do not even make the final round.

March 25: Happy Friday

I arrive at the CBC building at 8:30. Instead of a long lineup at the door, the ticketing procedure has changed. Q Live is now a paid ticketed event. I get creative to capitalize on a ticket. I follow a woman with something in hand to the box office. Sure enough, she has an extra ticket. Success!

Weaving together a news magazine style live radio program with light and serious moments can be no easy feat. Jian Ghomeshi is not only brilliant but is well prepared in his craft, clearly demonstrated with the Shad, Ron MacLean, and Sylvia Tyson interviews. We get some backstory following the show. His mother is present today--how sweet!

Tonight, we top foodies (organizers of Foodaholics not-so-Anonymous) gather for a work/eat session at Nunu’s. We get lots done. More importantly, we get lots of tasty food into our tummies.

March 24: Mothers, good and otherwise

I finish Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother. The decision to read this book did not come lightly. Will this book give me insight or delve into dark memories? My verdict: this is not a particularly well written book by a mother who is trying to justify her verbal abuse tendencies. It leads neither to insight nor the satisfaction of a good read.

I work my first shift in 2 months: 4 hours and 45 minutes. The shift goes by fast--chatting with colleagues, seeing interesting cases, getting back into the groove of working.

I head to the end of the subway line to dine with Lydia at North--fitting to be dining on Persian food just after Persian New Year. Lydia and I had a few false starts the past few months, cancelling our rare visits. We have lots to catch up. Lydia is a full time mother of four and part time fitness instructor. She is one of the most natural mothers I know. Yet, with this inborn talent to mother, she adds much thought and care in what she imparts.

March 23: Piecing it all together

The snow falls fast and furious on this third day of Spring.

I return to the Ouzeri once again for their continuing prix-fixe menu--a good option for an “anything but Cantonese cuisine” meal.

I attend my last mosaics class today. Instead of starting a new project, I grout my three pieces and spend a bit of time socializing and admiring my classmates' handiwork. I am happy with my Calder inspired vase and my Mondrian inspired mirror.

March 22: The funny side of dark

I heard raves about MOMA’s Tim Burton exhibition, so I check it out with an open mind. His genius certainly shines through but I just cannot get beyond seeing his brilliance--his themes of the dark side of life laced with comedy is just not my kind of thing.

I dine with Caroline at Woodlot--great find--a full vegetarian menu with very knowledgeable staff, right down to marshmallows not being vegetarian. The vegetarian onion soup and tempeh and sunchoke ragout on polenta are lip smacking delicious. I will return for more.

March 21:Geese a-flying

Today marks the first full day of Spring and the first day of the Persian year. After all the occupational therapy and physiotherapy sessions these past few weeks, a retail therapy session is in order. I head to Eaton Centre with its geese sculpture. This is not my favourite Michael Snow piece. That would be "The Audience" outside the stadium formerly known as the Skydome.

I have to see for myself what all the hullabaloo is about. I pick up Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother. I compare my life to the book. Yes, my brother and I were encouraged to excel, straight A’s being the goal. My brother was a child prodigy as a pianist. I learned my multiplication tables by age 5. But then all that learning really did not feel like a chore. Growing up (on college campuses) was filled with many happy memories of traipsing through college classes--cookies from Yvonne in home economics class, peering into strange bottled specimens in biology lab, working at my first ‘paid’ job helping my mother staple papers, carrying around math books instead of dolls. My mother's method of instruction involves heaps of positive reinforcement. Not all Chinese mothers are as described in the book, nor would I consider Amy Chua’s child-rearing “the Chinese method”. In fact, I think she impose what I would consider as verbal abuse on her children.

I have homework--300 pages of very dry reading before next week’s advanced cardiac life responder recertification course. This time, the manual is just a compilation of articles--even drier than the usual. All I want is a set of concise diagrams to cue me through a “code”.

March 20: Appeasing appetites

We take Dad out for dim sum, another step towards returning to life in the community. Appetites are good all around. Another successful day out.

I head back to Toronto. Both suitcases’ handles are broken in transit. I do my part keeping luggage companies in business. I hobble home with luggage barely in tow.

March 19: Going home (temporarily)

A day pass: Dad is heading home for the first time since January 31st. He is excited. He hums Dvorak's "Goin' Home" as we exit the hospital. In some ways, his brain functions quite well.

With my brother, the grandkids, and I around, this is perfect for a test run at home. We figure out nuances of wheelchair access in the home. Nerissa is on hand to give an architect’s expertise on possible renovations.

Dad is keen to push the envelope. When left unattended momentarily, he gets up and walks on his own--frightening but also heartening. He can do it--and he has the will to do it.

March 18: Power of a smile

She’s the meanest,” my dad informs me. For my father, who rarely expresses an unkind word about anyone, this is a pretty big statement. I go against instinct fighting the urge to dislike her. I smile each time I pass her. It works! By the third smile, she comes over. We chat, quite pleasantly in fact. I hope that this will translate into a better attitude, not only towards my father, but for all other patients.

Ms. B is the other source of a rare smile in this place--crinkled eyes included. Today she is beaming, even more than usual. She is going home after 5 months of rehab. I am so happy for her but will miss her.

My brother and his kids arrive for a whirlwind visit. The presence of grandkids and another few muscles for furniture shuffling is welcome.

March 17: A rare smile

My big accomplishment today is convincing Mom to get a mani/pedi while I take care of Dad. Dad is tearful with the separation. Mom is torn but does eventually go--really, this is a huge accomplishment.

A full day: checking out wheelchairs, doing taxes for my parents, looking into extended health insurance coverage, visiting the dermatologist, plus rehab. Activities take time as rehab is all about relearning skills. All this makes for a very long day. Dad is exhausted. We skip physiotherapy. We barely make it through car transfers.

I chat with Mr. and Mrs. Lee, who shared a room with my dad at Vancouver General Hospital. Mr. Lee is has been a patient at the rehab centre for the past 6 weeks. I can always count on this lovely couple for a smile at the end of my day, which is a rarity in this hospital.

March 16: Right brain dysfunction

How ironic! Halfway through my year of the right brain, I discover first hand what the right brain does besides creativity. My father has left side neglect, short attention span, cognitive impairment, perception difficulties, some short term memory loss, perseveration, and most noticeably, left sided weakness.

March 15: Life beyond these walls

As myopic as life has been, cloistered in a rehab hospital these past few days, I have been following Japan’s earthquake and subsequent tsunami and nuclear incident closely. My father begs, “Don’t go to Japan. I need you here.” I do desire to help, but Japan will likely survive without my help. My parents, on the other hand, need me.

March 14: π=3.141592653...

Here is something perfect for the math geek and her mathematician father: it’s pi day, dedicated to eating pie and reciting the many digits of pi--great brain exercise for a post-stroke mathematician. He recites formulae for circumferences and areas and other related trivia. He appreciates the Shepherd’s pie and apple too.

March 13: Soul food

Dad sleeps through the night--a first. Mom is definitely better rested today.

I have dim sum with my great aunt and my mother’s cousin, Nerissa. A flash: why don’t I get Nerissa, an architect, to draw up the house floor plans requested by the occupational therapist? She agrees. She arrives at home with tape measure and accessibility regulations in hand. The computer generated plan will likely be the best drawing ever handed to OT.

I order some dim sum to go--my dad wolfs down all despite finishing lunch just prior to this. Good food--good for soul and body.

The Pangs visit. They have been family friends for 35 years. My father expresses such gratitude. What is not said but is blatant between the lines is the absence of many lifelong friends. No visit or call or even a personal email. His memory is keener than ever in some respects; he mentions all those who visit or call. I recall Denys Arcand’s “The Barbarian Invasions”. Do I need to coax people, with money or otherwise, to visit?

I have a fear of a long lonely existence. My paternal grandmother lived to 101, my maternal grandmother to 94. Both had outlived most of their friends. At the end, they had little to live for. One grandmother chose chain smoking as a slow form of suicide. I have friends, but the weather is fair now. Will these friends still be around at times of adversity?

March 12: Happy Birthday, Dad!

This is what I had envisioned for my dad’s 80th birthday celebration: a dinner feast, gathering of friends and family, maybe a big trip. Instead, we have a quiet day in a rehab hospital. Not ideal but a pleasant enough day. Mom, Dad, great aunt, cousin, and I gather along with the nurses to sing “Happy Birthday” with cake and candles.

The chicken served to Dad is disgusting-- I am sure that even non-vegetarians would agree. I have yet to see an intact vitamin C molecule on the tray--processed packaged foods. We really need to bring in healthier options if Dad is to get better.

March 11: Reluctant multitasker

Day two and I am already drained physically and emotionally. How can I survive the next 10 days? How can Mom survive in this state? Dad continues to have some abdominal pain throughout the night and Mom is fretting. I am up most of the night; this is harder than doing call. I am daughter, liaison, and, reluctantly, doctor.

My dad’s accomplishment of the day: Getting in and out of a car. He and I are so proud.

March 10: Supporting higher education

My dad calls. I can hear his excitement. He awaits my visit with impatience. I arrive at the rehab centre--pretty grim looking place. Few tax dollars are spent here, it appears. I can hardly recognize my father with his bruised face, due to a recent nighttime mishap. The physiotherapy and occupational therapy have done wonders though, which is what really matters. My father stands, sits, walks haltingly--great progress from 1 month ago.

I spend a couple hours on a classroom ‘shopping’ expedition. I search for the perfect room to dedicate to my father at Vancouver Community College, where he spent 21 years teaching math. This should be a great gift for his upcoming 80th birthday.

A 1967 Cobra replica sits in the entrance into the school, all polished and shiny--ready for its new owner, to be determined by lottery. The school has partnered with correction services so that a group of students who, instead of stealing cars, are learning to build cars.

My cousins, Grace and Aaron, drop by for a visit. I can hardly keep awake. My body is unable to discern its current time zone: Paris? Toronto? Certainly not Vancouver! By 6 p.m. all I want is sleep. Mom putters around for the next 2 hours. How can my mother and I be so different?

March 9: Male dominance

I pack my suitcase once again. Mom calls. Issues cannot wait until my arrival in Vancouver tonight. My dad is sent to the hospital once again.

Lunch and good company at O&B Canteen provides a welcome diversion from the turmoil surrounding my father’s illness.

The airport seems to be celebrating men’s day--the gender balance tips wildly with the departure of 27,000 convention attending miners. Swarms of suited men hover at the gate, hoping for that elusive seat on oversold flights. I am offered $200 to cede mine for a later flight, which I declined. The later flight arrives in Vancouver prior to mine. I arrive in Vancouver 2 hours late, exhausted.

March 8: I am woman

We celebrate the 100th International Women’s Day. Are we farther ahead than in 1911? I spend 4 hours doing what many consider as woman’s work. I am on my knees scrubbing floors after the departure of my painters.

This activity imbues in me respect for sisters around the world. At least I have a choice--no one is forcing me to do this, this is not my livelihood, and society does not expect this of me. I would make an unhappy ‘housewife’ or woman of leisure. I fight the urge to return to 'real' work. I give in a bit, offering to work for a day at a nearby clinic later this month.

All this work--time to play. I head to the Comedy Bar to attend the March Madness 3 on 3 improv tournament. I arrive, fall asleep, awaken briefly during intros, sleep again. An hour of this and I head home to a proper bed.

March 7: Playing the role of Rip

Toronto is the fourth largest concentration of theatre in the world, following London, New York, and Chicago. Its strength is in serious drama. Soulpepper, one of the more recent additions to the scene, has quickly become my theatre company of choice. I check out the “Fantasticks”, the well-reviewed revival of the long running musical. Cute, but not the drama I expect from Soulpepper. An older gentleman in quaint garb sitting in front row centre claps loudly with each appearance of the lead actor. He must be a favourite uncle, misguided in his enthusiasm. I see the cast distracted for an instant. I fall asleep at intermission and continue on until the closing song. I assume that the girl and boy resolve their issues and will live happily ever after. I really have to stop attending evening performances.

March 6: Love, peace, and forgiveness

Last improv class for me--I will have to forego the next two as I will be back in Vancouver. So much for taking a year off to spend more time in Toronto for classes. I only make 4 of the 8.

I walk the 6 kilometres towards home, strolling along Parkdale’s Queen Street West, popping into charming independent shops along the way. Hopefully by the time I take my next set of improv classes, I will be able to bike.

Tonight, I gather my humanitarian friends to attend ADRA’s World Focus event. The feature speaker is Kim Phuc, the young girl running from the napalm blast in the 1972 Pulitzer Prize winning photograph. She recounts her survival from severe burns after being left for dead, her meeting of a soldier who was part of the bombing mission of her village, her continuing contact with “Uncle Ut”, the photographer of the famous image, her defection to Canada during her honeymoon. The few words that I exchange with her show a personable woman, at peace with her life. She obviously takes her role seriously as a United Nations Goodwill Ambassador for peace.

March 5: Pad thai PO q2days prn

I get a rare visit from my cousin, Jerry. He has a heart of gold. He completed a computer science degree from McMaster University but now works at a job unrelated to computer science with no chance for advancement--sad, and such a waste. I take him to Khao San Road for his first experience with Thai food. Jeff Regular welcomes me back, obviously happy to see me fast becoming a regular. Mike, one of my foodie colleagues, is sitting at the next table--didn’t take him long to return either.

March 4: Going blank

The painters show up at my door at 8 a.m. Finally, I will be ridding myself of the aquas and yellows that so grate on my sensibilities and reverting to white with accent walls.

I remain close by at home all day.

Analynn drops by. She and I go back to my Cambodia days in 1999. I am happy that she and her family are settling in Toronto. We arrange a symbiotic relationship: she gets my furniture and I empty out my condo. I can’t wait--an empty room, a blank canvas.

I am lulled to sleep in my paint fume filled yet pleasantly hued bedroom.

March 3: Three chilies hot

Another new experience: I ride the GO commuter train for the first time. So simple! Why have I not done this in the past? I continue to revel in my carlessness.

All day is spent in ADRA Canada's board meeting. My brain is doing somersaults trying to comprehend all the budget numbers. Why am I here? I finally find a niche where I can contribute. I see the proposed development projects through the eyes of a humanitarian worker.

My train ride back to Toronto is accompanied by two young women giddy with excitement. They are heading to see Lady Gaga. The glitterati is passing through--Sir Elton John last night and Lady Gaga tonight.

I drop off my bags and head straight for dinner with my fellow gourmands, consuming everything on Khao San Road’s menu. I opt for the rare (sans fish sauce and shrimp paste) Thai vegetarian curry, loaded with tofu and squash, “Thai” medium heat--another yummy meal surrounded by fascinating people.

March 2: Tedium can be fun

First item on the local news: gas price is up to $1.23 per litre. I sell my car none too soon. I have yet to miss it. The cheque has been cashed and spent--just enough to pay for my France trip, truffles and all.

I wake up this morning thinking that I miss work. I miss the small procedures, the patient doc interaction, the camaraderie inside an office. Mosaics class to the rescue. I have the tedious task of scraping off dried up excess glue off tiles (lesson learnt...). This is just like a small medical procedure--just less financially rewarding.

Meeting, leisurely lunch with great company, another appointment, prep work for board meeting tomorrow, class. Another day zips by.

March 1: Jetlag/Décalage horaire

Jetlag--I am much better flying East than West. I am up from 12:30 a.m. to 8:30 a.m. My neighbours must have been swearing through the laundry loads, but this is the most environmentally friendly time to do laundry!

I awake to a friendly phone call from Florida. My end of the conversation is not too intelligible.

I have a drug dinner tonight. No, this is not when I consume drugs. I attend a dinner and talk sponsored by a pharmaceutical company. Canadian laws are pretty stringent on what pharmaceuticals can and cannot do. Continuing medical education talks are one of the few things that they can do. Even then, I am wary, just in case the speaker appears too biased. I don’t learn much tonight. Maybe I know the topic too well. Maybe my sleep deprived brain is just too sluggish. I ask for dessert to go. I really just want my bed.