Juin 2024

Light blue, the color of the bright skies over Montreal on this paradise day. It's June, summer is here!

Light Blue, one of the top men's summer fragrances, by Dolce & Gabbana. "Strong and deep, the watery and citrus freshness is combined with a base of musky and woody notes for an irresistible and unique cologne for men" (Scentbird). Another source: "Dolce & Gabbana Light blue is a casual and breezy, sparkling fruity-floral scent that evokes the spirit of the Sicilian summer. Mouth-watering and fresh notes of lime and cedar are bringing an image of the South woods on the seashore."

It's there behind glass on the glimmering shelves in Jean Coutu. You can't miss it -- fragrances are the first thing you see when you step in the door, a lineup of ten different designers. I first discovered Light Blue while searching for an engagement gift for my fiancée six years ago, and purchased the women's version. Eventually I learned of the men's version and had my eye on it ever since. Now every time I stepped into Jean Coutu, I remembered. 

What better day than the unofficial start of summer to do something about it? Julian and I walked to the store and the transaction was made. It was my pick for the beautiful afternoon and evening out on the town, visiting some yard sales and later exploring Old Port (ever fuller with tourists). How can I describe Light Blue? It is the stuff of legend.

Evening sunshine illuminates the chapel though the large unshaded window, highlighting unfinished walls and carpet soiled from the past weeks' renovation work. Most all the seats are filled for the service on the topic of Inspiration Through Song. Surrounded by friends from Alexandria and Roxton Falls, we sing together and listen to special numbers. The fourteen or fifteen youth gather up front and sing a few at the end. A familiar phrase brings a prickle to my skin for some reason. 

"Kneeling on this battleground, seeing just how much You've done,

Knowing every victory was Your power in us."

God has done much for us here, and we are thankful for His protection and care. Such blessings like this time together we get to enjoy. Still we need and appreciate your prayers as we fill our place in this city.

After a day abroad in the city, the Saul's return to the house with some supplies and take charge of supper. Grilled burgers on toasted buns, grilled bacon-wrapped mushrooms filled with cream cheese, baked beans -- it's some fine dining! Then we hop in our vans and traverse the city to drive up Mont Royal. 

The woods are thick and deep green, and thousands of Queen Anne's lace along the winding road sweeten the air. The whole Mont Royal park is said to host more than five million visitors annually. The overlook is a highlight and always busy. A few tour buses wait at the top of the parking lot that fills up as darkness falls. 

The iconic panorama glitters before us. Somewhere downriver, see the colors flow along the Jacques-Cartier bridge. Scan your eyes to the right to find the general location of the Old Port. Not much of it can be seen behind the buildings and towers of the recent ages. The tower with the rotating beacon on top? That's Place Villa Marie. There's an observatory on top with 360° views. Look southward to the Champlain bridge, its span outlined with blue and green light. Hear the soft, atmospheric hum of the city. Day or night, this vista will never disappoint.

♦ ♦ ♦

(https://www.mtl.org/en/experience/welcome-montreal-mighty-mount-royal) 

(https://www.mtl.org/en/experience/montreal-iconic-rotating-beacon-atop-place-ville-marie) 

For a long time the cans lingered in the fridge downstairs. "Aha" drinks are good, if you're really thirsty, but to our collective disappointment it's nothing more than flavored sparkling water. I decided we wouldn't be buying them ever again.

Time passed and then a revelation, a brilliant way to redeem these undesirable sodas. "Aha!" we said. Tonight the experiment was perfected with gratifying results. It ought to be kept a CPS secret, this refreshing drink, but there's so little to it you'd probably guess. It's no more than vanilla ice cream and the sparkling water combined in a blender. 

And we just might be buying more in the future.

Just how long has it been? I grab a longboard off the garage wall and head down the sidewalk. At first it's unfamiliar, but then the feel comes back. Here I am, doing it again. I can't help but think of all those evenings when I'd scoot off to the park with a buddy and tennis gear, or buzz over to Radikal all together for gelatos.

This time I'm alone. I click-clack down the sidewalk and cross Rue Dujarié into "our" Parc Pie-XII. The tennis and basketball courts are lit up and occupied, and quite a few children are out yet on the playground equipment in the sand lot. I circle down around the pools and past the building where other children are doing their martial arts training, and go out around the loop that circles the farther ballfield.

Back along our street, I round the last corner and rumble down our sidewalk, and finally catch up to them -- Sabrina, the boys, and Marie-Josée returning from their walk in the park. (She arrived in time for supper this evening and is staying for part of the night, before leaving early for the airport. Her destination is Hillsboro, KS for Bible school.) 

A little bit later I go for another spin with Sabrina and the boys, in hopes of finding a small orphan squirrel they had seen earlier and maybe giving it some food. We cannot find him, but enjoy another loop around our beautiful park.

As the rain drove down we gathered around for a delectable supper: sushi. "It's one thing you rarely have too much of," someone said. 

Rob & Avril Koehn had arrived in Montreal around noon to spend the weekend. Rob is good friends with Jon from Pecos days. He also was a CPS boy here in Montreal the summer before I came, so I knew him briefly from a visit of his in 2017. And Avril, who doesn't know Avril Lohr from Belize? She and Sabrina have been friends for many years. So none of us were strangers around the table. It was a high time. 

Two cutting boards overflowed with segmented rolls: rainbow, spicy tuna, Philadelphia, California, shrimp tempura. Caleb had taken the time to fry one of the rolls and that was a good twist. There was plenty for all, even some left over at the end. Bubble tea crafted in the kitchen topped off the feast. 

I wound up my umbrella and slipped into a small booth in the restaurant. It sure was good to sit down and dry off for a bit after the long walk. 

One of the last clients at Welcome Hall needed some help getting her bags to the metro. She had a small baby strapped on her chest and had a long way to go, so I parted ways with Rob's and the guys to accompany her. We came aboveground at Station Snowdon in time to catch a bus two kilometers out to her apartment, and it started raining pretty good. I was thankful for the umbrella I'd thrown in my pack this morning. 

The rest had gone downtown for wood-fired pizza at Focolaio. On the rainy walk back to Station Snowdon I took a small detour, down past various shops and a piano store, et voilà, Snowdon Deli. My idea of doing the experience in French never materialized. West Montreal is very English after all. 

Snowdon Deli, serving up smoked meat and karnatzel 78 years and counting. Check out their website, and you'll see what I enjoyed, their legendary smoked meat sandwich on rye bread. They stack it so full in the middle that the halves readily topple. My only regret about this Montreal specialty? I hadn't ordered two. 

♦ ♦ ♦

(https://www.snowdondeli.com/) 

"The MURAL Festival is an annual international street art festival held every June since 2013 in Montreal, Quebec, Canada. It aims to celebrate the democratization of urban art in the city of Montréal. Artists from around the world are invited to participate in the festival every year and contribute with their personal perspectives of the art." (Wikipedia)

It's a busy weekend in Montreal, what with Canada's Formula 1 races on Notre Dame Island drawing roughly 100,000 people each day of the weekend. Other festivals and street fairs are happening too. 

We discovered one on our drive down to Station Cadillac and stopped to walk around there a while. Rue Jean Talon was closed to traffic from Boulevard Lacordaire west a couple blocks. Some of the booths were still being set up. At one, I learned a little about the huge project about to begin, extending the blue line of the metro up the island and adding five stops and bringing metro access through our own neighborhood, Saint-Léonard. 

The lady told me the groundbreaking is starting this fall with a target year "deux mille trente" (2030) for the completion. (I envy whoever will be here in six years.) Also I gathered that the method of digging the tunnels is going to be new for Montreal, using machines that will bore underground. The conversation took off (and remained) in French, and when I asked her if she knew English and told her I knew a little French, she voiced the coveted compliment: "Vous parlez très bien français!" 

Score!

There was a general Western theme to the games and props set up along the sidewalks. The boys loved one especially, where you could toss colorful rings onto plywood cactuses. Various food booths were ready to serve up some multicultural lunch. Other booths offered second hand clothing and household items at a bargain, and Sabrina filled a bag for the boys for $4. The SPVM (Montreal Police force) had a booth and offered some stuffed animals to the boys. 

Another interesting feature was a percussion band that struck up about 1:00 p.m. and what a wild racket they made! It was interesting just seeing a couple dozen people on drums doing their thing, with one woman leading and directing the performance in front and another woman twirling a large flag in the rear of the group as they slowly moved along the street. The air pulsed with the energy of their rhythms. 

We drove on to Station Cadillac and rode ten stops down the green line to Saint-Laurent. That station is right near the Quartier des Spectacles, the Entertainment District, with large open-air spaces for all the international festivals that happen downtown. We followed Boulevard Saint-Laurent up to find the Mural urban art festival. We discovered fewer murals than I was expecting, but there was so much else to see along there. At one interactive installation you could stand in front of a screen, and flowing lines of light on the screen would imitate the movement of your arms and legs, inviting you to dance and create a unique light show. At La Fabrique de Bagel along the boulevard we grabbed a delicious sandwich to share for a snack. Clouds piled over Mont Royal and soon sweeping rain was driving most pedestrians undercover. Just a shower, and the sun was out again. 

There was everything -- art, food, discounted clothing, and finally I got to see this for myself: a robotic arm holding a paintbrush, dipping onto a palette and creating strokes on a small canvas. I didn't hang around long enough to discover whether it was programmed to paint what it was painting, or if it was artificial intelligence at work generating something of its own. It reminded me instantly of that popular quote of recent origin, "I want AI to do my laundry and dishes so that I can do art and writing, not for AI to do my art and writing so that I can do my laundry and dishes."

The fair continued beyond Avenue Mont Royal but we did not. Rather Sabrina saw a coffee shop nearby, another Cafe Myriade, and ran in for a drink. We traversed Avenue Mont Royal from there which is largely a pedestrian street. 

Snapshot moment: "Look mom what I got!" says a little voice, and a little hand holds up an ice cream cone from a McDonald's on the corner. What's more, I have one too. We all turn down the avenue licking our treats, with a view of the crowds and the Olympic Tower framed in the distance. 

A large section of that avenue is a permanent pedestrian street, and it was full of much the same stuff as Saint-Laurent. Eventually it was all looking the same (and we'd seen enough weird people for a day) so we jumped on the metro at Station Mont Royal. Berri-UQAM was abuzz with crowds but we got on the green line okay and were soon back to our home station. 

♦ ♦ ♦

(https://www.stm.info/en/about/major_projects/major-metro-projects/blue-line-extension) 

A few months ago, Regan Toews came across a group of Christians singing simple two-part a cappella in a metro station while they handed out tracts and took some time to get acquainted. Ever after, a catchy phrase of their song kept running through his mind. He asked Dythor about this song but he didn't know it either. Regan also got in touch with this one woman of that group and she sent him some of the lyrics. 

Now it happened more recently that Dythor (who does a lot of evangelizing himself) and this woman met up and somehow discovered they both knew about Regan's search for this song which had no representation on paper; it was a memory song. And at the end of things, Regan received a voice message with a charismatic rendition of the melody which he forwarded to me. It was simple to put down, and I got Regan's approval on a vaguely accurate second voice. He said it sounded about right. I would love to have heard them singing it myself. 

We sang it together with Regan's a few times. It has catchy music and is the current hit with Julian and Azure (us all, really). Regan was assigned a song in Alexandria's C.E. service on the topic of Jesus Loves Me, so together we sang this simple, beautiful song. 

Jésus revient

Part 1 (sung twice)

Si tu es vivant, il faut accepter Jésus-Christ;

Après la mort, ce sera trop tard.

(If you are alive, you must accept Jesus Christ;

After death, it will be too late.)

Part 2

Jésus-Christ vous aime,

Il revient, Il revient très bientôt.

Repentons-nous. Alléluia!

Les temps sont finis. Jésus revient, Il revient très bientôt.

Repentons-nous. Alléluia!

(Jesus Christ loves you,

He is coming back, He is coming back very soon.

Let's repent. Alleluia!

The times are finished. Jesus is coming back, He is coming back very soon.

Let's repent. Alleluia!)

♦ ♦ ♦

On another note, Dythor and his family will soon be moving from Montreal to Prince George, BC. Today was their last time with us at our monthly potluck at church. The memory of singing a few French hymns together after dinner will always be a treasure. Grace hasn't been coming the last few weeks as she is great with child, but the boys always come with Dythor. They add so much life to the group that gathers on Sunday. Fortunately, they won't be too far from where the former CPS papas (Andrew & Brittany Thiessen) live, and also they won't be too far from where Regan's will live when they return home from Montreal later in the year. But we will miss them greatly!

Madame Avril needs some whipping cream for the French toast breakfast she's kindly frying up for us. I run off to Intermarché on Boulevard Viau for that, and on the way back, I think to myself why not? And stop at La Marguerite right near Viau/Valéry. The door is propped open on this bright morning and the sweet odors spill out across the sidewalk. It's always a magical experience, stepping into that boulangerie. Morning is a good time to come, especially for baguettes and croissants. The shelves are full and I spy those crusty, airy, golden brown pastries known as pain au chocolat, chocolate bread. 

Mid-afternoon, and it's tea time at CPS. It's just us, the little boys, and Rob & Avril. After one more jaunt downtown, they returned for some rest before packing up to fly out, on to their greater adventure overseas. We partake of tea, pain au chocolat, and some good conversations and all too soon we're running out of time. Rob's load their backpacks and say their goodbyes to house mama; the little boys ride along as I give our guests a ride to the aéroport. 

Then it's goodbye to some more of the finest folks I know. It truly was an honor to have them stop in Montréal. They came to see Jon; it was a high time for us all. Tomorrow they will be cruising around an island in the Azores, on a long layover to their destination in Europe. Au revoir, and happy trails. 

The trees overarching the back alley from Station Place St. Henri to Welcome Hall have long turned to a dense green canopy. It's like a walk in the woods. In the time of lilacs, some bushes along there held sweet clumps of white to enjoy. First you walk from the metro station down a back street, cross a road, run up a muddy little rut on the other side, and there it is, a dead-end paved trail for pedestrians. This 350-meter walkway parallels the train track and comes out on a street that crosses the tracks and there you are at Welcome Hall. 

This trail is kept relatively clean. At intervals, trash bags hang from the chain link fence and it looks like those get used, so maybe that's the secret. The trail passes a small park where you'll probably see a homeless person or two hanging out. On the fence between this walkway and the railroad there's a spot full of faded silk flowers and other things with a sign in years-old tribute to someone who died there, or was killed, who knows? It only adds to the macabre feel of the place. I have no idea what this alley is like at night but I guarantee I don't wish to find out. Daytime, no problem. It's a route well-traveled by all kinds of people. 

I come to the other end as the railroad crossing alarm begins to ring and the arms come down. Should I dash across? Last time it had been a long, long train. I decide otherwise, and there comes the VIA Rail, just a short passenger train, so the wait isn't as long but the train takes its time. Cars glide over the crossing and for a moment I wish I was in there too, looking out at the passing world, seeing this intersection from a perspective I have yet to experience.

I'd never been to a hat shop, but now was a good time. I took the boys so house mama would have the domain to herself for all the cleaning and stuff she wanted to do. We rode the metro downtown and then walked a little way to find Chapeaux Henri Henri, a business "Proudly serving Québec since 1932." 

If you like hats, and old shops, you'd like this one. It smells of felt and leather and quality. The walls are lined with shelves and stacks of hats in all styles. There's also a glass showcase in the center of the room. There's a section of cloth caps-- newsboy caps, floppy bucket hats, flat caps. I picked up a black felt one in the style I wear. The label said "bec a canard," duckbill. I'm not sure what I paid for mine off Amazon but I know it was inexpensive by comparison. This one I think was $120.00. Were there any hats available under $100.00? Maybe the bucket hats, I'm not sure.

I asked what the most expensive hat is. "It's the straw Panama hat," he said. "They are hand-woven, and they take eight weeks to make. Those we sell for $1,400.00." There's a whole spectrum of hats between a simple flat cap and a Panama. There are Stetsons, flat brims, fedoras, bowlers, trilbys, you name it. There was a showcase with really old styles, the top hats and stuff. Maybe it was just display, but I'd think they sell those too. What's more, they can make a custom hat for you.

"I'd like to see the Austrian style hat," I said. He found a small stack somewhere and brought them to the counter. The hats were a plain dark green, with three strands of a soft cotton cord around the crown for a band. It wasn't exactly what I'd visualized; I was looking for a bunch of feathers stuck in the band. 

"Now you have to go and hunt," he explained. "You walk through the forest and find feathers. This is just a blank slate." Ah. It's what you make it. 

"You have every imaginable hat here," I commented.

"Almost every kind, we don't have room for them all." He pointed to a stack of hat boxes high up. "Hat boxes are so voluminous. They aren't like shoe boxes which don't take up a lot of space. A lot of our building here is storage. For each hat, there are many different sizes, and then there are different colors. It adds up quickly."

Well I can only imagine how big their storage must necessarily be, then. Some of the caps probably don't take up as much room -- maybe the cloth and flat caps can be packed in bulk. But hats of any higher caliber will have their own boxes. 

(https://www.henrihenri.ca/us/) 

♦ ♦ ♦

Julian and Alec's grandpa Peachey's arrived in time for supper. That was an exciting time out on the sidewalk and the boys were thrilled. They went in for one hug after another! We had supper together out on the back porch and later took a walk through our park. The mosquitos cut our visit short. 

Back at the house we had cookies over ice cream, cookies that had spread flat on the pan because twice the butter had been added. House mama bewailed this next of a series of flops, but Saul had some encouragement. "It's just like my mom's stuff," he said. "It can be a flop but it always tastes good."

The six of us went touring, my folks and us four. Our first destination was the expansive botanical gardens. Now is a good time to see the roses, and with about seven thousand bushes, it's quite a sight. There are roses of all kinds and colors, innumerable fragrant blossoms. They were brilliant on such a clear morning. On our previous visit, the Chinese Gardens had been closed but now all was open. The bonsai gallery was a marvel to see. The oldest tree is a 275-year-old juniper and it's a beauty. Imagine, its life began around 1750 in Japan. What a treasure!

We spent about two hours in the gardens before finding the metro again and riding up to Jean Talon, for a lunch of poutine and tacos at the renowned open-air market. Then we walked around there for a while seeing all the fresh fruit and veggies, flowers, artisan stuff, cheeses, butcheries, and seafood. 

One more destination for the day: Old Port. We relaxed up on the Place d'Armes square by the fountain, then trekked off to find Rue St. Paul and see the sights. Out on Place Jacques Cartier, the hillside square, Dad patronized a caricature booth and it was fun watching the artist draw. Up toward the top of the square some flute music was being played, and as it ended I realized I knew the ending measures. I'd heard that exact song seven years ago. I scanned over the crowd, and yes, it was the South American band that's come for many summers and played their pan flutes, guitars, and shakers on this square. At the end of that song they took a break, and we walked up the hillside hoping they'd strike up again. Meanwhile we amused ourselves scattering crumbs for the pigeons and sparrows, and soon attracted a handfull of gulls. It was quite a collection of birds around us. We relaxed there a while but the trio never began playing so we walked on, back to Place d'Armes for another siesta on some benches under the trees. 

We noticed a few men in Scottish dress carrying bagpipes near the entrance of the cathedral, and after a while a third man with a drum joined them. At 5:00 the bells in the towers of the Notre Dame unleashed their din, drawing people from all directions to the square, and not long after that the pipers and drummer began playing, leading a procession along the sidewalk and up into the cathedral. It was a long string of older folks followed by an endless line of young people in black gowns and hats. It was clearly some kind of graduation ceremony beginning. 

We soon turned the other way and walked down the street and across to the metro station. It was getting pretty full everywhere, especially at Station Berri-UQAM. We crammed in all right and rode back up to our home station, and headed back to the house where the guys were preparing a Mongolian beef supper.

♦ ♦ ♦

(https://espacepourlavie.ca/en/gardens-and-greenhouses/rose-garden) 

(https://live.staticflickr.com/858/41748666160_369e780697_z.jpg) 

I might have done things differently, had I known how the afternoon would transpire. I'd parted ways with Caleb and Jon after the shift at Welcome Hall. They were off to find some little bakery or something and I headed home. Not far down the pedestrian trail parallel to the railroad tracks I saw someone pick up his bags, go a little farther, and set them down again. He was one of the last clients at the food distribution and was ill prepared to tote away all that stuff, so I offered to help. I carried two heavy bags while he carried two more, besides a small backpack. I still wonder how he'd even gotten that far.

Nicholas is a 37-year-old from Ghana, moved to Montreal only a month and a half ago. He's looking for a job so he can make some money and eventually bring his wife and two children to Canada, but he faces steep odds. Ghana money is worth but a fraction of the sum here, and rent is high. I correctly guessed it had been his first time to Welcome Hall. I offered to find a small wagon or cart for him. He brimmed with thankfulness on the way home and marveled at his good fortune. "You are my angel for the day," he said, over and over. 

We rode the metro up the orange line to Station Henri Bourassa, and rode a bus east for a few kilometers. Then it was another ten minute walk to where he lived. He told me a lot about his life and asked many questions about mine. It was an interesting time. We entered the slightly shoddy house and set the things on the kitchen floor. Soon he unlocked another door to some stairs down into a basement room -- the only part of the house he rents, and for $800/month at that. (Other rooms are rented out to people as well.) He urged me to have a seat and relax while he tended to other things. There was a bed, a dresser, a large suitcase full of stuff, and some more belongings sitting around. A dark curtain covered a small opened window to the outdoors. Really it wasn't much to look at. 

I wished I knew more about the culture and ways of his homeland, and guessed it might be hurtful to him if I turned down the services he insisted on offering, in his overwhelming gratitude. First off he wanted to prepare some food for me. Down the stairs he came with a plate stacked with slices of bread with fried eggs between, and a cup of hot water to mix up a drink similar to cocoa but more nutritional, with a mix from Africa. Next,  he insisted on washing my pants which had become a little soiled at the market that morning. I told him it was nothing, it was all dry and I could wash it at home. Well he wouldn't hear it. Soon the pants were in the washer upstairs and there I was, in that tiny room below, dining on an immigrant's provisions. I must confess the situation was remarkable beyond my expectations. I ate some of the bread and fried eggs and told him it was plenty, when he returned. "Oh no, you must eat it all!" So I did. 

Meanwhile he pulled out a pair of khaki drawstring pants that were quite baggy midway down and narrowed toward the ankles. These were for me to wear, and he was delighted with the result. So delighted he just had to take a bunch of pictures. Off we went to catch a bus to Place Bourassa to find a cart like I'd promised. We found one at Canadian Tire all right, a sturdy little collapsible wagon that should serve him well. Before leaving the mall I dashed into Super C and got a couple things, and we headed back. (I'll insert a note of sincere thanks to you all who give money to the CPS offerings; you never know who the funds might bless.)

We talked about many things. He had said he was Christian, and spoke some of his involvement in a couple churches in Ghana. He seemed unfamiliar with Mennonites altogether so he wanted to know more. We'll see if he comes to church on Sunday -- he was glad to learn where to find it, and he really seems to be searching. Here in Montreal, he has nobody. Hopefully he looks us up some Sunday.

Back at his apartment, he wanted to heat up some more food for me. After a time he brought down a large plate of rice and a container with chicken and a spicy sauce. I told him it was far too much. "Oh no, you must eat it all!" But it was physically impossible. I tried it out and it was good, but could take no more. Also he had a shirt to give me that was too small for him, from the Swiss luxury brand Philipp Plein. Well I tried it on and it fit perfectly! It was mine.

The house is near the Prairies River. He'd offered I should take the time and go for a swim. Okay, if not a swim, then at least a little walk down there to see it, just five minutes. So we did that yet and it was a pleasant walk. But time was getting away and I really had to go. I think he would have liked to entertain me the rest of the afternoon and evening, but the whole situation was becoming of such that I didn't share his wish. (It was, as a friend of mine would say, getting to the point of "Ooh la la la la la la la.") Nicholas accompanied me to the bus stop yet and we finally parted ways. 

Back on our sidewalk, I was unrecognizable to my wife who was walking back from the other direction, until I was up close. I was dressed in totally different clothes and carrying a bag, after all. It was good to be back with a little time to unwind before the stellar metro singing.

♦ ♦ ♦

A spot in the Square Victoria metro station was booked for our singing. It was the Friday for just us Montreal folks to sing, so I had invited the Zwygart boys and their wives to help us. Marc Toews's also joined us, having spent the day in Montreal with his brother Doug & Nancy and their family, so in the end we were a nice sized group. 

The harp sign for that spot is along a corridor, but just on up it ends at a domed room where a few other corridors branch off. This spot is incredible for singing! And with our size of group, the volume and effects were phenomenal. At every pause between verses or at the end of the song, you could always here the sustained echoes of the chord. I'd say that spot is next best to the acoustics of the glass hall, which you aren't supposed to linger in very long, as it's just a pedestrian corridor between Square Victoria and the Palais de Congres. This chamber would be very comparable to the Whisper Room in NYC's Grand Central Station; however it's much quieter in here and so the effects are more distinct. 

Not long after we were singing, an older man appeared by the harp sign down the corridor, and began playing his guitar. Oops, we thought. We had reserved this one all right, but just weren't right by the sign, and whatever he would play would surely be drowned by our own music. But then, a marvel. As each song of ours ended and his guitar melody echoed up to us, we discovered he was playing along with us all the while. We'd start in on another song, and he accompanied us from where he was! 

Later when I walked down the corridor with Julian, I observed some random people coming down past the guitar player and the light coming on when they realized he was playing along to the a cappella. Standing near him and hearing his accompaniment was a new and unforgettable moment. Likely it will never happen again. Doug Toews had talked to him for a time. The singer told him he plays and sings hymns, having been formerly part of a Christian rock band in New Brunswick. These songs were familiar to him, and though our group sings somewhere each Friday night, our paths hadn't crossed before. Our singing wrapped up around 7:15 and soon we went our ways. The old man was singing "What a Friend We Have in Jesus" and it was beautiful to hear. 

Nearer the station, we took a side tunnel and went up some escalators to detour through the glass hall with my folks. It's such a beautiful, quiet sanctuary to enter and stroll through. Together we sang Amazing Grace by memory and relished the crystal quality of the echoes. I have so many good memories in this place. If you come and want to experience it, I'll be glad to take you there. 

A bright, crisp morning of beauty. My folks left early to drive to a family reunion of my mom's relations in upstate NY. Hopefully they can come again to spend a whole weekend, we'll see.

After the rest of us dragged around and had breakfast, I ferried the guys to Danny & Tracey's place in Laval where family and friends were busy loading up a moving container and a van with all sorts of boxes. Danny's have bought a house nearer Roxton Falls, so if they show up on a Sunday morning at our church in Montreal anymore it'll be a rare occasion. 

♦ ♦ ♦

And so with a small break today, our weekend continues with more visitors. Shelton Wenger from Mississippi flies in late tonight, and another buddy will arrive tomorrow night. They plan to spend a couple days and then take the train from Montréal to New York City. This is going to be fun. Bienvenue à Montréal, mon ami!

She whispered in his ear, and he turned to me. "Happy Father's Day," he parroted. It was a happy one all right. We had a nice church service and then a picnic together at the Wilfrid-Bastien park. Casey & Beth Barkman from Alexandria joined us for that, as well as Christian (the man from Congo) and later, Akli and his wife. Not much took place in the afternoon for we needed to leave in good time to go to Roxton Falls. 

It seemed like attendance was slim at their CE service, and a couple parts were canceled. It was good as always to be in that small sanctuary, windows open to the evening air, green forest all around. After the planned parts there was a bit of congregational singing. They use four different books: Christian Hymnal, Gospel Hymns, the paperback Sélections, and the older, round-note French hymnal Célébrons Dieu. Out of that last book we sang some majestic songs. "Seigneur, que n'ai-je mille voix." Look it up sometime, if you never get to experience it at the Roxton church. And another, a favorite of mine: "Oh! prends mon âme." A gorgeous minor key song, whose ancient music is the national anthem of Israel. 

While the boys went with their friends afterward for some ice cream and to visit the waterfalls, the rest of us followed Wes & Laurie Penner to their home for a fine time together. They have a charming family of five boys so ours really enjoyed that. Wes was a CPS boy in Montreal sixteen years ago. After his term he moved to Roxton Falls from Manitoba and taught school for three years, marrying Laurie Vigneux sometime in there. He builds mini barns for a business and has a hobby farm on the side for his boys. We walked out in the cool evening to the trampoline which was already quite dewy so that didn't work so well. We continued past their berry patches to see their pastures and fields surrounded by woods. After they cut their hay they turn and rake it by hand. It doesn't amount to much but it's more for the activity and experience of it. Julian and Alec were delighted with the teeny kittens the Penner boys found in the small barn to show them. Chickens clucked around in another pen and some young steers watched us from another corner of the barn, open to pasture behind. Laurie baked up some nachos to devour and we all got further acquainted. As it always goes when we're out spending time with Roxton folks, the time was much too short and we really needed to start back to the city. 

We picked up Jon, Caleb, and Shelton back in the village and home we went. It took longer back on the island because of all the exits closed for road work but finally we were back. Then Caleb and I ran to the airport yet to pick up his cousin Jordan (Shelton's travel buddy for this trip).

And that was Father's Day.

A hush fills the vast expanse of the nave of Canada's largest cathedral, St. Joseph's Oratory on one side of Mont Royal. Towering concrete walls and architecture draw our eyes upward to the arched ceilings and farther still into the depths of a mammoth dome. Somehow the center of the dome doesn't seem as high above us as 200 feet, but it is. (The outer part of the dome rises another 118 feet beyond that, the highest point in Montreal.) 

There are a few visitors walking around or sitting in the benches, but it is so quiet. Being in a cathedral always gives a feeling of traveling back in time somehow. We rest for a bit on the front bench and toss around the idea of vandalizing the breathless atmosphere with a harmonic chord. Somehow it’s just hard to get off the ground with that one, because our efforts quickly unravel into suppressed laughter. After a bit we move toward the side of the nave where it’s dimmer and more secluded. There we manage to send a couple chords soaring into the cavernous space. It’s just loud enough to generate a second or two of echo, but we are struck with the magic. What would it be like if we could just all-out sing? We try a simple progression, but before long, we just can’t keep it together. Other visitors passing nearby are taking notice. Suddenly it is necessary that we examine and exclaim to one another about the wonderful but altogether blank concrete wall, and take extraordinary interest in some of the carved wood apostles mounted on it as we make our crafty exit from the nave.

After a time we are seen walking up a corridor away from the Square Victoria metro station. At the end of the tunnel we come to a round domed room that just last Friday we used for our singing. In the center of this chamber are two curved stone benches where we seat ourselves and then some more magic begins as we fill the room to overflowing with three-part harmony. “Touch Through Me.” “What Matters Most.” “Behold Our God” (that was stellar). “As the Deer.” We go on and on. It’s well after two o’clock and we have yet to find some lunch. But wait, the glass hall is just around the corner. It’s conveniently right on our way to Old Port. We walk through the even quieter space and listen to echoes of a slightly different effect. 

Then we’re off to find some fabulous crepes, stroll the boardwalk to the clock tower and back, soak in stunning views of the city from Canada’s tallest ferris wheel, and spend a fine afternoon racking up miles in Old Montreal.

Some more harmony is heard in a Honda Pilot as it descends Mont Royal late in the evening and rolls along the boulevards to return to 5385 Rue Francheville. One memorable day down, a collage of sights and sounds mingled with bright intervals of singing and echoes of music.

♦ ♦ ♦

(https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint_Joseph%27s_Oratory) 

It was already muggy as we took transit downtown and walked to Welcome Hall for the morning shift. For lunch the five of us demolished some marvelous pizzas at F&F along with some good Italian coke. The air was warm and heavy even in the shade. 

Caleb and Jon came along with us to Square Victoria and all together we sang a few songs in the domed chamber. Shortly after we sat down in the center, an elderly couple stopped by for a rest and were treated to some a cappella. We repeated some of yesterday’s songs, and “Behold Our God” went down more stellar than before. There was more traffic through the room and it seemed like a good number stopped even if briefly to experience the acoustics with us. We didn’t stay as long, for a musician was setting up down the corridor by the harp. All in all we found our own “metro singing” quite satisfying. Caleb and Jon went their way to their afternoon project while the rest of us continued to Old Port. 

This afternoon we spent more time indoors. First it was the L2 Lounge in Chinatown with some good bubble tea by the window overlooking the street and tree branches hung with red lanterns. 

Next it was a visit to one of the jewels of Old Montreal, the Notre Dame Basilica. This grand old church is even more impressive than the Oratory because of all the details – the endless colors, hand-painted decorations, large paintings, carvings, stained glass, sculptures, lighting, and the veritable fairytale castle that rises behind the ornate rostrum with alcoves showcasing holy sculptures. Above the main floor, two levels of seating rise along either side and it is said that this church can seat 8,000 to 10,000 worshipers. The organ too is impressive, comprising 7,000 pipes. We didn’t try any harmonic vandalism this time; so many more people were around, and this sanctuary seemed much more intimate and reverential. There is so much that could be described; maybe you'll have to see it for yourself sometime!

Now for a sidebar, we'll have our friend Shelton describe a scene on the square. 

♦ ♦ ♦

Pachelbels Disarming Canon

We step onto the stones of Place d’Armes, the summer sun beating down oppressively. The fountain with its statues is stunning as always, but the reason we listen closely and quicken our pace is underneath the trees where the shade gives a reprieve from the heat. There he sits, in his black T-shirt and jeans, with his gray hair falling over his eyes. What he holds propped on the ground is what has captivated us: a cello.

The piece being played is vaguely familiar and definitely classical, but it is hard to place. He continues to play and we discuss whether to request a number. His technique is most beautiful, with a perfect amount of tremolo. He plays a small part of Winter by Antonio Vivaldi. After another piece or two, I step up to him and ask about another piece, but he declines. Michael had suggested Canon in D, and I ask if he would play the well-beloved piece. The musician is most receptive to that selection, commenting that he won’t have to play the boring bass part. His speakers will fill that place, and he can play the other parts, which are far from mundane. They have wide-ranging high and low parts, with intricate fast notes and slow notes bringing lots of feeling.

The resulting experience that we are treated to is hard to explain. Many times, bowed strings bring out emotion in overflowing amounts!

Pachelbel's Canon is such a beautiful, rich mixture of intricacies and slow chord progressions. 

We walk away, reeling a bit from the experience (and thoroughly disarmed) as we walk down into Vieux (Old) Port, toward Place Jacques Cartier. 

~SW

♦ ♦ ♦

You can find many art galleries around Old Port. One that we'd visited yesterday was not what we'd expected, it was small and quite bizarre. This time we discovered galleries showcasing a variety of beautiful paintings and mixed-media art. Many canvases are large and have a price tag of thousands of dollars. It was a novel experience for me, visiting art galleries with friends and discussing the paintings and what we liked. 

On down a few blocks and up a street we found a bookstore, Librairie Bertrand, another air-conditioned oasis inside thick, ancient walls. We browsed for a while and headed back in the direction of Place d'Armes, the square in front of the basilica. We passed another art gallery at random, one with a small red carpet in front of the door and a group of ritzy visitors inside. The paintings on the walls looked very fine from what we could see.

We turned our weary footsteps back to the metro station, and instead of taking the train, we followed corridors above and underground to Complexe Desjardins, which is part of the underground city network, full of shopping, dining, and a large fountain in the middle of a spacious court. Here we rested a while to watch the show of water and light. There are a score of smaller jets that leap and dance and a trio of large central jets, one of which shoots to an impressive height periodically. 

One more place to visit, on the way home. We rode up Boulevard Viau from the Viau metro station and jumped off at our nearest boulangerie, La Marguerite. Shelves were bare of baguettes by now but surprise, there was still a mound of pain au chocolat! Jordan rose to the challenge and ordered "cinq macarons et un pain au chocolat." Shelton got a couple airy meringues and we followed our long shadows homeward down the streets. What a day.

But there was more to come. After a supper of tacos we headed out for a walk. The evening hadn’t cooled much. Even the mounds of gelato at Radikal were slumping a bit. We savored a few flavors and returned home for the last event of the day: some more singing. I hooked up my wireless mic system and off we went. Time faded into the background as harmonies overflowed into the next day. How do you know when you've sung the last song together? It's so sad to come to the close of an unforgettable time with friends. At the end, we were gathered around the kitchen for a bit, when a chorus began and others joined to sing "A Heart That Will Never Break Again" by memory. It was so good, I can't describe it.

♦ ♦ ♦

(https://www.mtl.org/en/experience/discover-neighbourhood-montreal-chinatown) 

(https://www.basiliquenotredame.ca/)

The Greyhound leaves the station at 7:00, so I drive Shelton and Jordan down the island in time to catch it. They will ride a bus to Saratoga Springs and take Amtrak on to NYC, then soar back to Mississippi. They had hoped to ride the train out of Montreal, but part of the route is shut down.

One last song, a few more words shared. A Honda Pilot parks along a curb, four-ways flashing. Then goodbyes, thanks, and best wishes are exchanged. I return alone. 

The day grows hotter and hotter, and by afternoon the temperature is in the lower 90's Fahrenheit. Real feel must be well over a hundred. Good thing for us this heat surge didn't come earlier in the week. Not much happens at 5385. We spend less time outdoors, do some work around the house, rest a little, and run for groceries later on. So the routines continue. 

♦ ♦ ♦

"Go gently thru the years, but go with strength;

Don't be ashamed of tears, of laughter or of fears,

For they're a part of you, and you're alive.

Climb mountains while you may, and sing your songs;

Start living every day, it won't be long

Before you turn around and wonder where life's gone."

Long live summer! With a sweltering heat wave, shouts of children in the splash park, sky growing heavy with a summer storm. Pounding rain sweeps across neighborhoods and cools the atmosphere. 

Long live the beautiful evening. Julian rides with me on the longboard to the park. We sit by the courts and watch a few pros send the tennis ball back and forth a score of times, then another. I count 53 passes before the net catches it. The public pool is abuzz with chatter of the crowd and water splashing. In the diamond beyond, a low-key baseball game is underway so we climb on the bleachers to watch the young boys playing and the dads coaching. 

Back at the house, steaks come off the grill and we gather around the patio table for supper put on by the guys. The sunset lights the underside of the clouds and glows on the planes ascending over us. I think of all the people flying out tonight. Are they taking one more longing look at the city below? Here we are at home, watching them go. What a satisfying feeling: we get to stay.

Long live summer! Vive l'été!

Imagine all the melodies heard around the world today. World Music Day, Fête de la musique, is celebrated in 120 countries. It's not as big in North America is it is in Europe; there may have been a few concerts in the city, but not much was to be seen out and about. 

The day was full of rhythm and song, all the same. The tranquility of the dawn. Our footsteps pounding the sidewalk as we sprinted to catch the bus (then we sat and waited a while anyway). The three-note chime of the metro as its doors closed at each station. Then more footsteps as we raced up 78 steps in Station St. Henri. And more music of the outdoors: a warbler in the treetops, crickets in the long grass. 

Then there's always music at Welcome Hall. The playlist of peppy Spanish songs at least easier to listen to than all the tiring and ugly rock, but after a few hours in that all, the relative silence outdoors is the most beautiful sound. The clanging alarm at the railroad crossing and the click-clack of the passenger train coming through. More footsteps, songbirds, beeping turnstiles, humming escalators, metro bells, and the musical French voice announcing the next station.

"You can hear music everywhere, if you have a heart that sings."

♦ ♦ ♦

The singing spot by the glass mural in the Place des Arts metro station is very popular. So coveted in fact that it took getting online by 6:00 a.m. a week ago on Friday and snatching it right when the reservation period opened. The Roxton youth joined us for metro singing there along with several couples we'd invited: Kelsey & Julia, Pat & Vanessa. 

Hundreds and hundreds of people passed by, likely a couple thousand in the little over an hour that we spent there. A river of faces that flowed on and on, some lighting up and saying Amen as they passed, many others taking it all in with great curiosity, and some ignoring altogether; but all heard and felt it, that was unavoidable. It was wonderful to have a large group to fill that busy station gospel harmony. Place des Arts on World Music Day was definitely a metro singing to remember.

♦ ♦ ♦

(https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/F%C3%AAte_de_la_Musique) 

House mama again bewails the results: last time we hosted metro singers there was just about enough supper for the folks, and this time, there was far too much jambalaya, and a crock pot full remains. Leftover food is not her joy. "I dare you to put me in the freezer for later," it seems to say. But she takes a different approach this time, dividing it into to-go cups for some homeless people. We find paper sacks and put the cups inside, along with a bottle of water, a little dark chocolate, a couple practical things, and some tracts. Then thirteen bags are stapled shut and stacked in sturdy grocery bags, and off we go to find the needy.

I know a couple places where the homeless hang out but where to start is the question. We settle for Station Place d'Armes down the orange line, the main metro access to Old Port. And would you know, all lunches but one soon disappear -- three people outside the station, and then nine more at a small encampment up across the avenue (that I'd never really noticed before), and the last one a little later to a man heading down a sidewalk. Their joy and gratitude for a little lunch tugs at our hearts. Just like that the totes are empty and we have only begun! Next time, we must prepare more.

For the Sunday evening activity we chose to visit Alexandria, where the congregation is hosting boys class. Our cousin Tedson Unruh of Hiawatha, KS is a part of that. We enjoyed a service full of special parts. At the end the courtesy committee assigned all the guys to their new hosts. We quick made sure to go say hello and chat a little with Tedson before all dispersed. Fortunately, he and another young man were assigned to the home of Jordan & Emilee Goossen, some of our good friends. "Come on over!" the Goossen's urged us.

We followed the map through the countryside and turned in a lane up to an old farmstead, with light glowing from the windows of a picture-perfect brick house, dating from the 1860's. Heavy rain was gushing by then and only getting heavier, so we all dashed in as fast as we could but still got pretty wet. I peeled my dress shirt off to dry it and gowned up in a spacious T-shirt Jordan kindly found for me. The ladies crafted some nachos, apples & dip, and iced tea, and what a jolly time we had together! I felt like I hardly knew my cousin, so it was really neat getting a little more acquainted. The other guy, Grant Koehn from Ronan, MT, was a lot of fun too. 

You should ask Sabrina more about the house. "There's a lot of vintage decor, totally down my line. There are really cool old picture frames in the living room. I loved the old green countertops in the kitchen and the deep windows," she comments. The brick walls of the house sit on a stone foundation and are three bricks deep, if I remember right. It was certainly a charming place to spend time with good friends on a stormy night.

Saint-Jean-Baptiste Day is celebrated in Quebec, more a patriotic holiday than a religious one. More than 50 years ago, according to Wikipedia, "The religious symbolism associated with the celebrations was replaced by political ideals of Quebec separatism." If you were at the right place and time this afternoon you would've seen blue and white flags by the hundreds waving and a big parade. I wasn't there, I only read about it. 

Later in the afternoon we went out to see if any grocery stores were open and lo, there was one, Marché Atlas, a supermarket with a Middle Eastern flavor. It was abuzz with scads of shoppers and we pushed in among them. There were all the usual fruits, veggies, meats, and then a larger butchery, seafood, bakery with loads of exotic desserts I've never seen, all kinds of Arabic foods and spices, and a small elevated resto where some visitors were dining. Another section of shelves held an enchanting display of colorful rugs, silver tea sets and platters, foreign fragrances, a rack of head scarves, and much more. The vibe was great and what's more, we found pretty well all we needed. We'll be back!

The nearby Wilfrid-Bastien park was full of people all afternoon and evening and it looked like something was happening at the pavilion. We took a walk over there after taking our groceries home. Lots of picnics had and were happening, children were everywhere, and a bunch were up on the pavilion stage jumping around and singing along to some popular music that was playing. Turns out this was one of the handful of Jean-Baptiste celebrations happening across the island. The event name: "Celebrating Diversity in Saint-Léonard." More activities must have taken place here but we'd missed those. 

We walked around the ponds some and spent time at the playground. Julian and Alec love running around there with the neighborhood children -- and how lucky they are for the opportunity, and exposure to different backgrounds. It's good to see the boys rip around and mingle with no fear of strangers, quite unlike my younger self back when I was their age. Then we walked back around the ponds and watched the ducks and geese in the water a bit, gathered some gray feathers, and strolled on home through the clear evening. 

♦ ♦ ♦

(https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint-Jean-Baptiste_Day) 

(https://www.google.com/maps/place/March%C3%A9+Atlas/@45.5874574,-73.5961032,13z/data=!4m6!3m5!1s0x4cc91fba3830b9a7:0xa3503d73578c5330!8m2!3d45.5684643!4d-73.5907392!16s%2Fg%2F11h5ryblqq?entry=ttu) 

Tuesday morning was open for a different project since food distribution wasn't happening due to the holiday weekend. So we traipsed over to Hélène's for a couple therapeutic hours mowing grass and uprooting weeds. Her flowerbeds needed attention with various plants sprung up among the lilies of the valley, and the flowerbed along the driveway was invaded by long grasses. There were even a few more maples to yank out. I wondered what it would look like by now if those seedlings by the hundreds had been left to grow all the spring. 

The backyard was groomed really well, and Caleb climbed on the flat sloped roof to figure out what was wrong with the gutter. "Last time it rained, it was like Niagara Falls coming off the roof, and nothing was coming down the spout," Hélène explained. She climbed on the roof as well to inspect things. (For that matter, she likes climbing on the roof now and then to cut tree branches or to look around. She's not one to stay away from the edge either. Is it the thrill, the potential danger? "I enjoy the feeling!" she said.) They unclogged the downspout and hosed it out good so that was a win. 

Meanwhile my efforts and later the efforts of Caleb and Jon were focused on the weeding out front. Sometimes it was hard to determine what was weed or flower, but those bushy things popping up here and there, those were certainly unwanted. What a difference it made to the overall appearance of the landscaping!

Hélène was surprised at the amount of vegetation stuffed in our buckets and the compost bin. Then she looked a little closer. "Oh, these!" She was grasping a clump of one of those bushy plants. "My echinacea flowers! How many did you pull out?"

Ooh la la la la la la la. All of them. 

Fondly she described the nice purple cones that would have crowned these rough stalks. But she was so kind about it. She said it was okay, that it indeed is hard to tell weeds and flowers apart sometimes, that no we didn't need to go buy more for her, and other such things. She dug down into the bin a little. 

"Oh, my prized rose! My Prince of Wales rose!" 

But this time, she was kidding. We shared a good laugh. 

We removed a lot of grass yet from the flowerbed bordering the driveway and wrapped up the project for now. Off we went to Reno Depot to search the garden section high and low. Finally echinacea plants were found but alas they weren't the purple variety. We brought a dozen of those back and had eleven in the ground before Hélène stepped out the door. 

She seemed pleased with the reparations, but still clings to the hope that some of the root systems of the purple coneflowers remain in the ground and will resurrect one day. Surely they will, Hélène. But for now, it's looking a lot better around the house!

It was like a scene straight out of that Curious George story in our bookcase. Julian was up to his neck in wonderful white foam.

In this particular tale, the good little monkey desires to write a letter himself after being unable to read one addressed to the Man with the Yellow Hat. He ends up with a big puddle of ink on the floor and the challenge of just how to clean it up. "Why, soap and water, that's what you clean up with." He dumps a box of soap powder on the floor and runs a garden hose in through the window. Go figure.

"Bubbles began to form, and then some lather, and more lather and more lather AND MORE LATHER."

We had stopped by the Wilfried-Bastien park to walk around a little, see the ducks and geese on the pond, and gather a few feathers. Back near the van we noticed something interesting across the boulevard at the Centre Leonardo Da Vinci. It was a huge mound of foam in front of the building and a bunch of kids running around in it. Apparently a small summer camp group had rented the service for an hour or so. A foam cannon blew nonstop, continually building the pile even as it was dissipating, and plastering whoever would stand in front of it. Like George, we "had never seen anything like it." It looked marvelous.

A man running the machine invited Julian to experience the bubbles and it took a little coaxing, but soon he was tearing around like George in the lather. Alec eventually joined him and Sabrina went back to drive the van home and take care of some groceries. After a while the folks turned off the cannon and began cleaning their equipment. The summer camp kids all got hosed off and enjoyed popsicles after that. 

The cloud of bubbles sank lower and lower. I plopped a slippery Alec in the stroller, Julian ran home barefoot, and that was the adventure for the afternoon.

♦ ♦ ♦

(www.wowfoam.com) 

"RÉSO: the réseau de la ville souterraine, or rather, the network of the underground city." 

The underground city of Montreal covers quite a large area, but it's not all connected in a straight line. A lot of it is, especially the shopping complexes accessible by the metro. It was a nice June day but rather chilly so how about doing a little exploring underground? I printed off a map and off we went for the afternoon. 

A row of seven malls covers the distance between Stations McGill & Peel: La Baie, Place de la Cathedrale, Complexe Les Ailes, Centre Eaton, Place Montreal Trust, Carrefour, and Les Cours. On and on we went through the polished spaces, window shopping and seeing every imaginable sort of thing for sale from economical to high-end. One whole level in Centre Eaton is named the Time-Out Market, devoted wholly to restaurants. Most of the malls are multi-level with a food court on the bottom. Montreal Trust in particular has five floors, and you can ride up in a glass walled elevator to the top for a fun perspective. 

Also in this mall I rediscovered the Indigo bookstore, where I'd come years back. "Indigo is now Canada's largest purveyor of ideas and inspirations to enrich your life, with books and eReading, specialty toys, gifts, and lifestyle enhancing products that affordably offer intrinsic quality, beauty and timeless design." It was all as I remembered, complete with the piano on the upper level. 

Julian and I played a couple melodies, and I was surprised when a woman came by and asked, "As the Deer? That is my favorite song!" "Mine too," I told her. We tried to remember what Psalm it's arranged from but found later I was off the mark a ways. I guess she enjoyed my ultra-basic two-part rendition of that beautiful music. I tried a couple other melodies: the Ashokan Farewell, and "Oh! prends mon âme." An older gentleman came along and asked to play so he took over from there. He had years of skill in his fingers and we watched for a bit before moving on. 

We returned to Centre Eaton and found our way through Place Villa Marie (the huge cruciform tower), Queen Elizabeth Hotel, Gare Centrale (Central Station), and there we were at Bonaventure on the orange line. We rode one up to Square Victoria and covered more ground from there all the way to Complexe Desjardins where the fountains are, and ended up at Place des Arts on the green line. I know there's ever so much more to see underground, but this was a good start.

♦ ♦ ♦

(https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Underground_City,_Montreal) 

(https://www.mtl.org/en/experience/guide-underground-city-shopping) 

What we couldn't figure out is how we had walked so close to this boulangerie and never known about it. Not seventy-five meters from where we turn out of the back alley and head across the railroad to Welcome Hall stands a large brick building which a hundred years ago was a textile factory. Now with its four stories of huge empty windows, you wouldn't know that anything happens in there at all, unless you walked right by it.

One of the volunteers told Caleb about the shop shortly before we left after the morning shift at Welcome Hall. "It's the best place to find Boston cremes." So we ran up Rue de Courcelle and found the shop, with a simple sign above the doorway and the door propped open. We each got a doughnut to go and briefly looked around this most vibey doughnut shop I've ever seen. Thick brick walls hung with art, wooden floor and pillars, tall windows, tasteful seating areas, and a coffee bar besides. It's a wonder for the senses. How didn't we know this was here? But that's how it is in a city I guess; there are neat places everywhere waiting to be discovered.

♦ ♦ ♦

(https://www.google.com/maps/place/L%C3%A9ch%C3%A9+Desserts/@45.4741506,-73.594812,16z/data=!3m1!4b1!4m6!3m5!1s0x4cc9109918bbfc8f:0xccaa9aec5f77d331!8m2!3d45.4741469!4d-73.5922371!16s%2Fg%2F1hm67444n?entry=ttu) 

The Marché aux puces Saint-Michel, a perfect place for a rainy afternoon. The four of us spent an hour or two in the mazes crammed with junk and treasure in search of a couple things we had seen on another visit. Antiques, jewelry, paintings, books, coins, collectibles, sculptures, housewares, decor, you name it, there's just loads of stuff spread across two floors in this large building. It's like your great-aunt's garage sale only times a hundred and it never ends, drawing in a lot of people weekend after weekend. There's a sense of community among the vendors, many of whom have been coming each weekend for years. The flea market is a culture of its own in a sense.

In the few visits to this intriguing place, I haven't made any purchases (house mama has) but I've learned a couple things. Number one, that you may think you've seen it all and indeed, it doesn't seem to change much, but beware because number two, if you see something really cool there it might disappear by your next visit. The main idea for coming this afternoon was to secure a real treasure I'd seen: a used, full-size plexiglass Metro sign like they have above the entrances of every Metro station in Montreal. 

I searched until I found the room where it had been, high on a shelf. I scanned the shelf, but it was gone, and the vendor confirmed my fear. "It sold a while ago. Things like that do come through here but they're pretty rare." A treasure like that will probably never surface in that flea market again; if so, maybe sometime in the distant future.

Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. C'est la vie.

♦ ♦ ♦

(https://www.journaldemontreal.com/2024/02/04/des-trouvailles-pour-tous-les-gouts-et-tous-les-budgets-au-marche-aux-puces-st-michel-a-montreal) 

(https://www.mapstmichel.com/kiosques) 

A bittersweet Sunday, the last day of June, and the farewell for Dythor and his family. They all came to church one last time, even Grace who by now is great with child. We sang more songs than average in the service, including a few of their favorites, and it seemed much too short. Dythor and his older boys add a lot to the singing as well. Church services will never be the same without their enthusiastic participation! There will always be good memories of singing with those folks. At the end we sang Amazing Grace yet and the service was over. 

The family even stayed for the dinner we had afterwards in their honor though earlier it wasn't their plan. Then towards 1:00 there were goodbyes and hugs all around and they were out the door. Tomorrow they travel far away to their new home in Prince George, Alberta. Whether we will meet again and sing God's praise together, God knows. If not in this life, then in the life to come.

But it has always been this way in Montreal, a place of changing faces; people coming and going, new friendships formed and memories made, and always more goodbyes. 

♦ ♦ ♦

When we've been there ten thousand years,

Bright shining as the sun,

We've no less days to sing God's praise

Than when we first begun.