Today turns out to be phone day--catching up with friends from around the globe.
I get a Skype call bright and early from Daniel in Australia. Such a rare treat. Since our last chat he has embarked on fatherhood. For the 5 months in Paris in 1994, we conversed solely in French. We now function with Aussie and Canadian accented English. In 2001, we made good use of our overlapping stints in London. Hearing Handel’s Messiah at Westminster Abbey and dining at Michelin starred Rousillon were shared memorable moments.
Next Skype call: Craig and I go back even further--we met 30 years ago in Mr. Price's Chemistry class. Fate has it that our worlds meet. We have run into each other on the streets of Vancouver and Toronto no less than 5 times. Craig is a displaced Vancouverite currently living in Boston. Tonight he will be watching the hockey game within the safe confines of the Canadian consulate. Consular roles include protection of its citizens from dangers outside its walls. I just did not imagine this extending to overzealous hockey fans.
My errands take me to Kensington Market. Third attempt to eat at Agave y Aguacate. I watch the chef rush in, late again. The lineup begins. He starts preparing each order from scratch. Sample the tartness of the lime. A touch of salt...a bit more salt...a drop more of lime. A bit of showmanship? A bit of neurosis? The end result is a delicately flavoured Sikil Pal, a traditional Mayan pumpkin seed dip.
I head to the large outdoor screen by the Air Canada Centre to watch game 7 of the Stanley Cup finals.
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I watch only 4 minutes of the hockey game, but what significant 4 minutes they are. A shorthanded goal. Score 3-0 for Boston. End of 2nd period. I head home and contemplate a Luongo shirt burning ritual.
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