Decembre 2024

Expectations of an ordinary day derailed when house mama called home. She and the guys were almost to Welcome Collective but her wallet was not. They'd taken the alternative transit route and she had almost missed getting off the first bus in time. That involved her wallet getting wedged under the door and it wouldn't come out right away, and the door kept trying to close. Tyler stood on the outside keeping his hand in the opening until she was able to retrieve the wallet and step off, quite embarrassed. 

The next bus ride passed in a regular fashion. She put her backpack under the seat and somewhere along the ride, the wallet softly plopped out unnoticed, so that it stayed on the 460 bus when she got off, and thus they parted ways. Later she checked through the bags they had with them and it was gone. Quelle horreur.

The three of us jumped in the Honda and drove by the bus stops not far away where they had switched lines, but it was nowhere. We returned home and I called STM, wondering if there would be a way to track it down. "It should show up at the lost and found at Berri-UQAM eventually," they said. "Usually it takes around 48 hours." I wondered how I could be sure. "That's only if someone is honest and gives it to the bus driver." I doubted it would ever get to Berri. 

A man and his two children were on the way to a school near Boulevard Lacordaire when they spied the portefeuille on the floor. The dad returned home with it and his wife checked the contents to try to determine how to find its owner. There were a couple possibilities, with a library card and a bank card inside.

We drove to Station Crémazie after that and sat in the parking lot under the Autoroute 40 to watch the buses that stopped by. If a 460 would come, I was going to run over there, jump on, and quick look for it. Time passed and a couple buses of other lines came and went. My idea grew less viable with the passing minutes. That particular route was a long one, and after all, buses switch to different routes after completion quite frequently I'm sure. Would that same bus come back around within a day, or even half a day? It could be anywhere in the city by now. Anyone could find the wallet and do anything with it. What were the chances of it passing in front of our noses? Maybe it had already. It's one thing just to lose a wallet, and sort of another to lose it in a city when you know it's probably still on the run going farther and farther away. No use in hanging out by Crémazie really, so we went home again. 

The home phone rang three times in our absence, and not much of a voice message was left besides a woman saying, "Allo? Allo?" and hanging up. Someone from the library was trying to get in touch.

Towards noon house mama let me know the wallet had been found. At least someone at a bank had called her number and told her where she could come pick it up. Only she couldn't, she was busy for the day, and forgot the place the man had told her. She gave him my number but I never got a call after that. She sent me the number on the caller ID and when I tried, it went to the voicemail of a Bank of Montreal worker. I found the name online and his bank branch so off we went again in high hopes. How neatly it was coming together.

The branch was in a neighborhood I've rarely been through if ever. Monsieur Sarseri was in his office and I quickly explained the situation. He knew nothing of a lost wallet, but some investigation revealed that the number I had called back on went to the Lacordaire branch of the bank, and that the wallet was probably there only I probably wouldn't be able to pick it up. She'd have to retrieve it herself. 

I went straight to that bank all the same, and then the whole thing got weird. I guess we had understood that we would find it at the bank, but the teller who knew the situation said that a lady had stopped in with a picture of Sabrina's ID and bank card, and by that he had looked up her profile and gotten her number. The lady didn't have the wallet with her but said she'd go home for it, and hadn't returned. Nor did she have an account at BMO so it's anyone's guess who she was. "It's really weird," said the teller.

Home again, we had a little late lunch and Alec took a nap. Sabrina returned by and by. Then right about 5:00 the telephone rang in the office but I wasn't quick enough to catch it. I heard the voicemail being left. "Allo? ... Allo?" I called the number back but it went to St. Léonard borough's central call system. I could be directed to a few places, including the library and the administrative offices. Someone answered at the offices but couldn't help me with the situation. He was very friendly and did what he could but found no leads for me. I figured new clues would be found tomorrow. 

Still later the CPS phone rang again and this time I was quick enough to catch Allo woman live on the line. She introduced herself and wanted to talk to Sabrina. She didn't speak English so I told her Sabrina didn't speak French, but I could try, so the librarian asked about a missing portefeuille and inside I said glory be. She gave a number and a name, Sarah, whom I should call. No, le portefeuille was not at the library; Sarah had it. I thanked her and dialed Sarah pronto. That conversation ended up being all in French, but she was relatively easy to understand. By the end we had a plan: meet at a market near Lacordaire/Jean Talon which was but two minutes from her apartment, and just eight from here. 

A mix of rain and snow had been falling for a while by the time I left in the Honda one more time, carefully out the slushy roads, thinking -- whew, if I didn't know a lick of French, there's no way we'd be any closer to finding the wallet. I parked by the market and redialed. She was just inside the entry with one of her children, waiting. I grabbed the Christmas goody box (one of those we made last week) and met her on the shadowy sidewalk. "Comment ça va?" she asked. Better now! I answered. 

She explained how she had visited first the library and then the bank, but didn't want to leave it at either place; she would worry about it ever after and wished rather to return it in person. "It is better that way!" She reached inside her coat and produced the wallet, briefly opening its zipper to show cash, cards, everything still inside it. Thank God. "May we give you a little gift?" I asked, trading for the wallet our Christmas box which she accepted with grace. 

We talked longer. I detailed where and when Sabrina had lost it and wondered where exactly it had been found, and she filled in her side of the story. I also learned that she moved from Algeria this past summer with her husband and two children. I didn't catch all the details she offered so I won't go spinning any tales, but in short it was a genial exchange, tout en français. We parted and I returned home with joy and a wallet scented with an exotic perfume.

So that's my long and dramatic story about a portefeuille that disappeared and came home within a day, and what transpired in between. 

There was a nice church service in the morning at our small chapel and we came home for one of those rare Sunday dinner's where it's just us. We were on the road for Roxton Falls so early it wasn't even dark yet. (That might be the last time it happens while we're here.) Early enough to get to the church house in the woods shortly after 4:00 p.m. where a final Christmas program practice was underway. 

After getting things fine-tuned, pizza arrived at the door and we had supper together. Sabrina also used that interlude to unpack Chelsea's tote of art mushrooms. They are all quite fine! She found the one she had in mind, one with a large moon behind tree silhouettes on a black background, and made the transaction for her self-chosen Christmas present from me. 

Then around seven the sanctuary filled up with most of the congregation and some visitors who sang a couple songs together. We walked in after that and delivered our programme de Noël in that small, resounding sanctuary. I've said it before but if you've never visited Roxton Falls church on a Sunday, well you need to. Just regular congregational singing on Sundays, especially the French singing, makes the church ring. There are so many fine chanteurs in that crowd.

Our group totaled seventeen: five girls and five guys that make up the Roxton Falls youth group, the youth leaders (Alex & Adrianna, Gary & Chelsea), the CPS Montreal boys, and I. We gave a program of fourteen songs: eight in English, four rolling French carols, and two special groups. The French numbers were the highlights for me, and overall it was a magical program to be a part of. 

Hugues & Amy invited us to their home down in the village for snack afterwards. Thierry & Chandra and Gary's stepped in the door as well, so it was a good time! Hot teas, crackers and French cheeses, fruit, and even roasted chestnuts to try. That was a first for me and honestly I'm still not sure what to make of them. We had to go before long and pick up Tyler and Micah over at Alex & Adrianna's, then on we went along the frosty, moonlit roads we cruised back to the highway and off to a glowing city. 

The city has lots of festive things to see and do nowadays. One feature drawing the crowds is the Great Montreal Christmas Market set up on the Place des Festivals, just around the corner from the Place des Arts metro station. The four of us set out around noon for some sightseeing and Christmas shopping. We made a couple stops, parked at Crémazie, and rode the metro downtown to the Place des Arts metro station. The underground sure was busy today. Aboveground it was sunny but well below freezing, and it didn't take us long to wish we had worn more layers. Outside the metro entrance was the sound of foreign music and it sure wasn't French. Palestine flags waved above the crowd gathered at a rally which we skirted around and soon found Place des Festivals. 

The charming Christmas market is an entire village of tiny chalets with all kinds of vendors, from jewelry and art to savory treats and steaming drinks. At one end we found a few fire pits. Some were gas but a couple were actual wood firepits smoking away. That's a rare thing, out of character for Montreal, you could say. We circled back to where lively harmonica music was being played, and worked out way to the exit at the end of the song. Our fingers and faces were well chilled so we decided to skedaddle and get indoors ASAP. We walked down past the rally and by now, a voice was yelling over a microphone to the people who repeated every line after him in an exotic sounding chant. The warmth of Complexe Desjardins was blissful to step into. 

We walked on to see the fountain below and all the sparkling lights. A winter display surrounds the fountain now, and not far away the carrousel was spinning around, full of children riding horses. We descended to that floor and soon found lunch in the noisy food court. The boys wanted a carousel ride but we had to go on to do a little shopping in the main part of the underground malls. We found pretty much all we needed at an Old Navy, including some new pajamas that Julian and Alec are stoked about. Close by was a woman playing a harp along with a soundtrack. It was very good playing, and she was all painted up and costumed to look like a winter woodland fairy of sorts. Also while we were in that mall we heard percussion coming from somewhere, and watched a couple moments as three drummers suited and masked as nutcrackers marched along the level below. 

By then it was around four so we rode the metro one stop back up to Place des Arts and found our way into Complexe Desjardins again. From 4:00 to 4:45 a small orchestra was playing on the stage near the fountain, and it was beautiful to listen to. Only a couple numbers were familiar Christmas carols or medleys. We watched a while from the level above, then Sabrina and Julian snuck down to see the carrousel closer and soon got in line for a ride. I joined them later and Alec went with them while I kept the stroller and stuff to one side, up near the musicians. For a couple dollars each, the boys got a magical carousel ride of their own. It looked like they were having the time of their lives, going up and down on the horses as the carousel spun. It all went smoothly until one mom, bless her heart, intended to step off and wait until the ride was finished. Somehow she careened into the control post and it crashed to the floor, disconnecting from its power source in the fall. The carousel went dark and came to a stop. The mom (and everything else too) was fine, and the ride soon resumed. 

After that we'd had enough for an afternoon. It was almost dark outdoors besides. The trains were full the whole way back to Crémazie, and it was good to be home by six for a change. 

The shortest day is coming, but these are the darkest evenings. Today's 4:10 p.m. sunset marks the end of a string of them on this island. From here the night will gradually come less early, though sunrises will come later until the solstice, when the daylight will total 8.7 hours that day according to timeanddate.com. 

When everyone was back from their activities we got ready and drove out into the cold, windy night. We parked behind the building where Welcome Collective is, rode up the elevator to the eighth floor, and were shone the way to the vacant section of that floor where a Christmas party was going on. There were small elf hats for Julian and Alec to wear. What a party it was! Liveliest one I've ever stepped into. People were everywhere, music was playing, and disco lights flashed colors all around. An uproarious round of musical chairs was underway, sort of fun to watch. A couple tables on the side were filled with food and drinks so we helped ourselves like the rest and mingled with the crowd. There was a good mix of Spanish, African, Haitian, and other ethnicities present. Everyone seemed to be in such a party mood and getting happier and happier. 

The main center of activity where the musical chairs ended and soon started over was under the swirling lights, near some glowing Christmas trees and a pile of gifts for children. Flavia, one of the head ladies of the organization, was in her element having a good time. We may have felt a little out of our element but it was fun all the same, and the guys enjoyed talking to the coworkers they've become friends with. Off to one side were some play things set up for children so our boys weren't too bored. Eventually various merrymakers and kids gathered under the disco lights to dance as the speakers continued blaring popular music clips. The atmosphere was never below 70 decibels, often nearer 80 (I have a handy app to check levels). Before long we gathered our things and stepped out into the tranquility of the hallway, rode the elevator back down, and dashed around the building through the biting wind to where we had parked. We visited the spacious Centre Rockland mall and found a couple things before going on home and snacking on some Christmas creations.

The air was mild first thing in the morning, up around 40°. Rain fell through the day, melting off a lot of the recent snow or at least turning it to slush. I thought it would be a good time to move my small juniper outdoors rather than on a freezing day with snow. Now it can get in on winter like the man at the bonsai shop said it should. 

Just a few evenings ago, with the help of a couple tutorials, I got out my small shears and gave the tree a careful reimagining. Up to this point it was little more than a bent-over cutting in a pot that reached over the side quite a way. It looked sort of cool as it was but also disproportionate. It was also looking pretty bushy toward the base so I snipped off quite a bit to achieve the desired effect. Once the wiring was done, I was satisfied with the result. Now it looks more correctly like a miniature, like an old and wind-blown juniper one might find on a mountain crest.

House mama ran off with the guys to Welcome Collective as usual, leaving the young sprites in my charge. After she was gone, she wanted me to find a recipe for peppernuts and in looking for that I found the recipe for a legendary melt-in-your-mouth confection: Opera Creams. Every year towards Christmas, a plate of these show up in the office at my job back in Pennsylvania, compliments of coworker Ruth who has made them for years, and how we love them. Every year it's a marvel anew, biting into one of those (and then another and another). 

The creation of these creams is a simple but very particular one. She had written all the instructions down for me and yet I'd never tried it, until today. There are only five ingredients, in order of volume: sugar, cream, butter, cocoa, and vanilla. Cook the first four together until the sticky, bubbly mass reaches 236° precisely; pull it off the heat, stir in vanilla, and let it cool undisturbed. That all went as planned. I waited until it was below 95° before scooping it into the mixer bowl and turning the mixer on. After a minute the stuff seemed to become more slippery, maybe it was because of the butter. I beat it for a while after and it didn't change. I was starting to think of what I could do with a flop of this sort, when I had to leave a bit to put Alec back in bed. Julian turned the beater off meanwhile, and when I came back something had changed. I resumed the mixer and watched the miracle that happens at the right point in the process, when the candy loses its shine and the color lightens. All that's left is to quickly scoop it out with a spoon to drop on waxed paper. I got that done and we took the pans down to the garage to cool. And now -- you should taste one for yourself. They are divine.

Machinery rumbled though our neighborhood this morning, scraping and clearing snow. I had only heard about the snow removal procedures in Montreal, and now today we saw it for the first time. Once the snow and slush was scraped into a long row down our side of the street, along came an enormous snowblower accompanied by a truck. They led a procession of empty dump trucks, each outfitted with tall sides and waiting their turn to be filled with snow. The ensemble cleaned it up pretty good too, leaving only puddles and a little slush behind. 

The doorbell rang quarter to three, and in came Regan with his stuffed backpack and another bag, ready to head for the airport before long. There was a little time though to relax and try a few opera creams. The boys were excited to have him here and immediately jumped on the couch for story time, so he read Hop on Pop for them. They probably won't have a chance quite like that again. We soon piled in the van and were off to join the slow traffic flow down the island. I didn't mind having that extra time for chatting. When they left at the start of October, Regan knew he'd probably be coming back once the new family arrived; and now, who can say when the next time will be? Montreal is home, down to the ordinary things that were a part of life for two years; people, places, even walking along Rue Jarry. We discussed quite a few things on the way and later sang three or four French songs we know by memory. Along the curb at the terminal he said goodbyes to the boys while I grabbed his things out of the trunk. How they wanted him to stay. "I wish we could live together in this city forever, but there are other things to do in life," he said before we parted ways. "I guess in heaven we can."

Once the guys returned from their day abroad we went over to Darrel & Natalie's for supper. Such a good time! Then we got busy downstairs with all the supplies they had bought for baking all kinds of Christmas goodies. The guys worked on cinnamon hard candy, seasoned crackers, and chocolate covered pretzels while the ladies did peppernuts. Darrel and I spent some time mixing an enormous batch of poppyseed bread batter in a large bowl. It was a recipe times eight; sixteen cups of flour, for example. After that was blended it went into small loaf tins and we kept the oven busy for the next few hours. Time really ran away on us and before we knew it the day was almost expired. We all needed our rest, the little boys especially, so we called it good for now. Sabrina will return tomorrow and help bake a bunch of cookies yet.

Often when winter comes, number one on my list of things I'm thankful for is a warm place to be. Here we are in a northern city where winter comes early. Throughout this city there are those who have no such luxury, and their presence in shadowy corners of metro stations or sacked out on benches by the platforms is a stark reminder. One could name many more fine things that are part of our life. We enjoyed a good combination of them on this Sunday.

My day technically began as a continuation from the end of yesterday. Keith & Karen and Andrea Wedel along with Anna Deeva flew in to Montreal a little past midnight, returning from their ten days abroad to Washington and California. So I stayed up after the rest went to bed, doing some language study and then going out to shovel more powder that was falling right merrily. I had hardly known it was snowing until noticing the general brightness outside and opening the door for a look. Later I got out on the highways with Keith's Dodge Caravan. I wouldn't say it was a super relaxing ride with the roads as bad as they were, but the traffic out there at that hour moved pretty confidently so I was at the airport before long. We dropped Anna off at her apartment on the return trip to CPS, and from there the Wedel's had a long haul yet to their home in the country. 

There were things to gather up and take along with us to church for the dinner. We got there a little late, but no matter. Unlocking church and turning on the lights is no longer ours to worry about. Tyler and Micah arrived pretty much on time with the Toews boys, so when we stepped in the door the group was already singing. Alex & Adrianna Penner came from Roxton Falls to help with the service. And it was so, so good to have Regan with us again, and hear the inspiration he brought for a message. Everyone stayed for dinner afterwards. Even Akli's wife came; we hadn't seen her for a few weeks. She's a teacher and recently switched schools, and it sounds like she's had a few adjustments with that. It seemed everyone was very upbeat, and why not, with the mission house filled again and an old friend back for a Sunday. 

Alexandria had their C.E. program in the evening so we drove out there and even took part with a couple songs (one of them, our favorite French carol). The program had many parts and it seemed like most were special songs, so that was great. The youth gathered afterward at Phil & Brenda Wiebe's, while we followed the map out through the woods to Jeremy & Brittany Isaac's. Brock & Brooke Toews, more of our age group, came too and it was a good time together, to the point we left plenty late. We ran to Phil's to pick up the boys, which of course took much longer than them jumping in the van, and rolled on to the city.

A city like this is so full of fine nooks. When we find a new one, we often marvel that we have never come here before. It's only reasonable as one can only do so much. You could spend a long, long time just discovering them all.

The shop we visited this afternoon for the first time soared to the top of my favorite places in Montreal: @Matcha. This tea shop sits on Rue Rachel in the Plateau Mont Royal neighborhood, the same street as the Amber restaurant and La Banquise. Two weeks ago when we dined on Indian food at Amber, we peered in the windows of the tea shop on our way back to the van. It looked like the place for us considering our love of matcha. It boasts 4.9 out of 5 stars across 400+ reviews, if that says anything.

Montreal is a bean enthusiast's dream with over sixty-eight dozen coffee shops, and I've been in a few of them. Not usually by myself, obviously. If you know me, you aren't surprised to hear that I usually get a hot chocolate, chai latte, or matcha latte. Very rarely have I found coffee shop matcha lattes to my liking. But move aside, Mollo, Myriade, Olympico, September, Crew Collective, and all those other cool coffee shops -- I've found a tea house after my own heart. 

We stepped through the wooden door into the quiet space and the proprietor greeted us, "Bonjour!"

"Bonjour! Hello!" we answered. He took a look at us and immediately made a connection. "You are Gary's friends? Gary and Chelsea?" 

I was less surprised that he knew them, than that he mentioned them right away. (I'd seen Chelsea's review on Google Maps before coming.) "I've known them for many years," Nestor said. "They are good friends. They are peaceful." He showed us one of Chelsea's artful mushrooms displayed on a shelf. 

"What's a good matcha to try?" I asked. He recommended his Iron Matcha ("that's Chelsea's favorite"), and Sabrina thought she'd like to try a black matcha ("that's Gary's favorite"). 

"Wow!" she said. "You remember what everyone likes?" But that's Nestor. He has some kind of a sharp memory, is wonderful with people, and is a master at tea. 

Black matcha was new to us. "It's black tea. 'Matcha' simply means 'ground tea.'" She opted for a chai in the end.

Julian said, "I want a blue matcha." 

"That would be a tea made from flowers."

For children he has a cold "teamonade" which he brought out in a small glass bottle with two cups for the boys. We were seated by the window, looking at books while waiting. The shop was a little dim, with lots of plants around, Nestor's own paintings displayed on the wall (they really are good), and soft music playing. A few other customers were absorbed in their books and drinks. Nestor was busy grinding and brewing the teas and soon brought our brimming cups. 

After draining the last drops of transcendent flavors we deposited our mugs on a counter and paid. "You don't want to take the rest with you?" he asked, referring to the unfinished teamonade, and sent the bottle home with us, not even questioning if we'd be back sometime to return it. "Or send it with Gary's, so they have a reason to come here again."

I picked up a handcrafted pottery teacup from the nearby shelf. "Do you make these too?"

"No, I just paint." 

On the counter is a rack holding at least a dozen more paintings, and flipping through, I found some magnificent ones. Soon we stepped out into the frosty air. Just like that we had found another friend in Montreal.

On the way out we turned down Mont Royal Avenue, glowing with color and abuzz with action. To quote mtl.org, "A great place to shop, Mont-Royal Avenue is full of little treasures: fashion boutiques, bookstores, vinyl record stores, cheese shops, bakeries, restaurants and specialty grocery stores." Nearly every tree lining both sides of the avenue has colored lights, a different color on each tree. 

We were taking in the sights when we came by a small plaza full of people. There was a song in the air. We rolled down a window and heard a French song with the music of O Christmas Tree being sung by a vocal ensemble. A little farther on we found a parking spot and hurried over there. Then the choir on the stage was singing a song called Mele Kalikimaka, which ends, 

"Here we know that Christmas will be green and bright

The sun to shine by day and all the stars at night

Mele Kalikimaka is Hawaii's way

To say Merry Christmas

A very Merry Christmas

A very, very, Merry, Merry Christmas to you."

An announcer told everyone that it was the last song for the evening so we hurried back to the warm van pronto. Too bad we hadn't discovered these Christmas carolers earlier, but maybe we'll run into them again sometime.

The breeze was sharp and I was glad for the layers I'd put on, especially the lined leather jacket which is really good at blocking the cold. Still I was none too warm for the long wait out at the bus stop. Yesterday the snow had fallen, even softened a little, but no longer. I thought of the North Wind, Kabibonokka, in the poem "The Song of Hiawatha." He has arrived on this island whether we welcome him or not. Here is one small portion from chapter two of this fascinating epic.

But the fierce Kabibonokka

Had his dwelling among icebergs,

In the everlasting snow-drifts,

In the kingdom of Wabasso,

In the land of the White Rabbit.

He it was whose hand in Autumn

Painted all the trees with scarlet,

Stained the leaves with red and yellow;

He it was who sent the snow-flake,

Sifting, hissing through the forest,

Froze the ponds, the lakes, the rivers,

Drove the loon and sea-gull southward,

Drove the cormorant and curlew

To their nests of sedge and sea-tang

In the realms of Shawondasee.*

♦ ♦ ♦

There was sunshine later in the morning but the air was no warmer. "Doughnuts?" Tyler asked as we left Welcome Hall.

"It's been a while," I said. Indeed, Micah hadn't yet been to Léché Desserts. Our footsteps took us across the railroad tracks and on up the sidewalk to the large brick building where this truly legit shop is found on the street level. 

We checked the glass showcase but couldn't find our favorite, the lemon meringue. "It's a summer flavor," the girl behind the counter explained. In its place was a chocolate mousse doughnut which I opted for (and found it about as good as those lemon meringues). Each of us got a hot chocolate to go. We scooted and slid along the icy back alley near the railroad and were soon back in the metro. 

Sometimes taking extra time with a diversion on the way home brings another treat. This one appeared very suddenly in the form of a man stepping on the train right close to where we were seated. He held a worn accordion and said he'd play two songs for some cash, and off he went into a very skillful performance. Such agility of fingers, and what harmonies! I didn't recognize anything until one part identified the piece as La vie en rose, and after that he modulated into a cheerful mélange of holiday tunes. Some applause and a few donations followed the last notes and he moved on up the train. 

We were stuck at Prefontaine for a few minutes over that time. The announcer said something about someone or someone's child being sick, thus the delay. I have no further details so I'm not sure just what the situation was. In the quiet of the waiting we could hear bright notes filtering down the train among the passengers as the accordion player treated some other folks to his performances.

"Was he homeless?" Sabrina asked later.

I wasn't sure. "Maybe down on his luck. He was playing for change." 

And like she remarked, folks like that are lucky in a sense because they have something to give in exchange. Finely honed skills put to use like that seem to garner a fairer response. 

And as one more treat, we were late enough back to Station Cadillac to be on time for the next 432 Express bus, so we were home before long. 

♦ ♦ ♦

It was a classic "metro singing at Jean Talon" scenario: step off the train about ten minutes late, walk through the station to the harp where we'll sing, and Regan Toews is already there waiting for us. He was, too! Regan flew in last evening and will spend most of a week showing Darrel the ropes of being a missionary in Montreal, meeting different people, stopping by places for volunteering, etc. And of course getting in on the weekend's activities. 

We sang out of the Christmas binders and that sure was a good time. Presently our numbers grew with the arrival of Pat & Vanessa and their three children, and then Matthew and Jeremy showed up. With a fine group of singers like that, we made the spacious station and corridors echo with joyful carols. I'd say it was one of the best Jean Talon singings we've had this year. 

Regan kindly brought three huge pizzas to CPS for supper and house mama fixed a side salad. It was so good to be together as we were. Too bad Caitlin and the girls couldn't be here also, just like old times. At the end of the evening, Tyler and Micah left with the Toews boys to spend two nights out at their home in the country.

♦ ♦ ♦

*From The Song of Hiawatha, Chapter II, "The Four Winds"

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

(I recommend this poem as a good read this winter.)

When snow falls in Montreal, the city gets on it pretty quick. There were a few inches accumulated by the early morning when Tyler and I ferried his friends off to the airport. They'd enjoyed their time here quite a bit it seemed, and just yesterday Matthew and Jeremy Toews picked them and Tyler up and went off to tour a little of Ottawa. They visited Parliament, and while they couldn't get in on a session where the prime minister was involved, a security guard took them in afterwards (or to another room) where they could see what the rest of us have only seen in pictures: Trudeau in real life, shaking hands with people. The guys also got a tour of the office of the house speaker, courtesy of the speaker himself. It sounded like an all-around interesting visit. 

The drive to the airport was even quicker than normal because of less traffic and a clear but briney Autoroute 40. A lot of it is elevated like one endless bridge down the island but there was no ice to slide on. Snow fell heavier for the next couple hours after our return. At daylight I pulled the shovels from under the front steps and got busy clearing our walks and pulling snow off the tempo. There's something satisfying about getting to stay put while snow falls and occasional sirens sound somewhere out on the boulevards. 

Tyler and Micah bundled up to head off to Welcome Collective but had to wait quite a while for a delayed bus. Julian and Alec were eager to do some sledding, and mama was craving an outing together, so I dug out snow clothes as well and off we went. I pulled the boys on a sled down the sidewalks, across the street to our nearest park, and then out through there to the far corner. The snowflakes were fatter now in the slightly milder air. Leaving that park we crossed Boulevard Viau and soon found ourselves at Parc Coubertin, which has a hill with trees, but open on both sides. We stood at the top of the hill and I had a flashback to October 19, standing here when all the trees were brilliant colors, and what I wrote about it: "We'll have to come back in the winter; both slopes look like good ones for sledding." Ratty green snow fences are set up over the hill, more to designate where people may sled rather than for catching blowing snow it seems. There were paths down the hillside, we weren't the first to come and try it out. 

We had ourselves a magical time out there, piling on the sled together. The boys were thrilled with the rides. Then we rolled balls of snow and stacked a snowman on top of the hill, finding mismatched sticks for arms, a leaf to stick out of a snow hat, and cones foraged from under the white pines for the facial features. Mama and the boys totally disappeared at the end of our outing. I'd been occupied and hadn't heard her shout to me earlier, so I did a lot of walking before finding them over at the Parc Coubertin playground. Together we trekked the kilometer back to the house, through the wonderlands of snowy parks. Tyler made us a good supper that evening of steak strips in sauce over rice with a Caesar salad. Outdoors, temperatures and a little more snow kept falling.

Night in the city is never quite dark, and anytime of the year when there are clouds, they capture the lights of this metropolis and cast a glow over everything. Snowstorms take that to a much greater effect. It's been below freezing most all the day, and flurries began flying in the later afternoon and continued into the night. 

But it's a strange, white night. The clouds and falling snow capture even more light, and the glow bounces off all the world below, not to mention everybody's lampposts flooding the front yards and streets. You could drive around the neighborhood without lights, go for a long walk, whatever you wish. If sitting out on the deck was a comfortable thing to do, you could read a book out there without straining the eyes too much -- I held a book out the back door to try it just now, and read a few lines.

Just a quick note on the arrival of the new missionary family in Montreal. Darrel & Natalie Ensz of Transylvania, LA reached their destination at last in the early afternoon. We first caught sight of them a few hours later when they stepped in the door to join us all for supper, and that was good getting to know them! One of Tyler's buddies, Corey, is a brother to Natalie so all the more reason to hang out. 

They seem like fun folks. Darrel is 30 and outgoing, Natalie is 25 and also seems outgoing. Their two young children are younger than Alec so for a change Alec doesn't seem like the baby anymore. Sabrina made (waaaay too much) discada for supper, with sides of rice, black beans, salsa, and horchata to drink. I'd soaked the rice overnight and did the rest of the process through the afternoon. There was tres leches cake for dessert later, and lots of fun conversations to participate in (or just listen). 

The children got acquainted a little too, or at least Julian and Alec were all-out showing their true colors and it got to be a little chaotic at times but everyone enjoyed it. Shouldn't we all, really? The Ensz's will find out sooner or later just what kind of folks they'll be putting up with for the next four months. Oh but it will be fun.

All were up for an early devotions and a grab & go breakfast that included fresh almond croissants and muffins from our favorite boulangerie along Viau, La Marguerite. It was an appropriate day for the start of December, beginning bright and cold and clouding over through the afternoon. It was still nippy by the evening. We hauled off to church again for the program involving Roxton Falls and Alexandria, and the crowd of around forty was primarily youth. There were just four couples and three children out of that number: Phil & Brenda Wiebe (back to spend another night and finish the painting upstairs tomorrow), Gary & Chelsea Nichols, Hugues & Amy and Louis Andries, and us. We had a good program socializing after that. Stepping out the door to head home we saw a world covered in a dusting of white. It's December, let it snow.