O, Canada!

After about a year of trying, Ed and I finally coordinated with one of our favorite couples Jenny and Kumanan for a weekend away. Our exotic destination: Montreal. Three of the four of us hadn't been, and though I was initially a little disappointed we didn't end up choosing some place with a beach I ended up having a truly wonderful time.

Jenny has just started the third year of her medical residency and has a schedule that's about as crazy as you'd expect. Her husband Kumanan works for UNICEF and is constantly jetting off to places like Ghana and Geneva. He's on the go about as much as he's home. As a result, pinning the two of them down at the same time was tricky. But on Friday afternoon we successfully rendezvoused at LaGuardia airport and the quick, hour-long flight was over in no time. We took the first of what would turn out to be many, many cab rides to the Old City, dropped our bags off at the Place D'Arms, and flagged another cab. Most restaurants in Montreal seemed to be open just as late as restaurants in New York luckily, and so sitting down to a sushi dinner at 11:00 P.M. turned out not the be a problem. (I recommend the restaurant, Park, most highly.) Our waitress was incredibly friendly, a trend I noticed over and over again in our interactions with Canadians, and gave us tips about things to do in the city.

We slept in the next morning, then walked through the charming old town to a nearby coffee shop for breakfast. The French waiter was very apologetic that he'd messed up the design in my latte, but I assured him I thought it was abstract and avant garde. After the time they spent in Geneva, both Kumanan and Jenny speak some French, and while some people (mostly cab drivers) were happy to speak only in French Ed and I found that English worked just as well, too. No one was snobby about having to switch languages for us, especially if we returned their "Bonjour" with enthusiasm first.

I immediately regretted my very good breakfast once we arrived at our next stop, however. Marche Jean-Talon had been recommended to us, and it did not disappoint. It's an enormous covered market that sells the most delectable produce you can imagine alongside small-batch wine, organic honey, flowers, and every maple product in existence. I ate so many free samples of berries and various fruits I thought I was going to burst. Everything was fresh, ripe, and mouthwatering. If fruit always tasted this good parents wouldn't have to beg their kids to finish it.  

The central area of the market. The whole thing is covered so it can be used during Montreal's bone-chilling winters.

We bought a bottle of sparkling rose for later consumption and the proprietor kindly uncorked the bottle for us and gave us some little plastic cups from a stack he had available for doling out samples. Our next stop was the Plateau/Mile End area. I never got a good feel for what the difference between the two neighborhoods is, nor where one ends and the other begins, but suffice it to say they are both really cool. We wandered along Rue St. Laurent, another recommendation, stopping along the way at a French-style coffee shop for beer, then, later, at a bar for cold drinks and grilled cheese sandwiches. There are loads of boutiques and interesting antique shops in that area and everyone is nice as can be. Were it not for the winters in Montreal, I'd be very tempted to move there. 

Our last planned stop was Mont Royal, a "mountain" that offers a good view of the city. Jenny and I were both able to "hike" it easily in sandals, though our feet did get a bit dusty. It was a hot day, and so the shady trails were nice. It took the four of us about twenty minutes to get to the main viewing area, which is accessible by car and was crowded with people taking in the view of the city. It was, indeed, very pretty, but we decided to keep going up a little ways for a bit of quiet. The very top of Mont Royal was marked by a large transmission tower and was too thickly wooded to provide much of a view. We wandered onward to the foot of a large wire cross where we opened the bottle of by now very warm rose and toasted our day so far. As we sat sipping, a man with an outrageously thick French accent wandered by and commented that he'd climbed to the top of the cross in the '80s, before they put up the safety barriers. We chatted about his exploits for a few moments, then he sauntered away again. 

After rinsing off at the hotel, we were back on the road again to Le Chien Fumant (a.k.a. The Smoking Dog), a restaurant that had come very highly recommended. It did not disappoint. We told our waiter about food allergies and restrictions and asked him to bring us whatever the chef recommended, which he did with great enthusiasm. The food was creative and delectable and we weren't able to get close to finishing everything. Our cheerful waiter, it turns out, is a hip hop lyricist named Jacob Molotov when he's not carrying out trays of tantalizing food. We looked him up later, but since he raps in French it was tough to get a sense of his style. M.C. Molotov recommended that we try The Lab for after-dinner drinks. This fantastic spot, just a short walk from the restaurant, boasted juggling bartenders and one who spat fire. The drink menu was extensive and exotic. The table next to us ordered some sort of flaming apple shots which their waitress lit with a small blow torch. She then handed out miniature marshmallows on skewers to be roasted over the flames. When the fire went out, the marshmallows were eaten, then the shots thrown back, much to our delight. We staggered home at 2:00 A.M., exhausted, stuffed to the gills, and very happy.

Sunday had come more quickly than I'd have thought possible, but it was tough to feel glum at the cheerful, sunny spot Jenny had picked for breakfast. We'd mad a quick stop along the way to sample what were supposedly Montreal's finest croissants. Having eaten only that one croissant in Montreal I can't verify that this is true, but I can tell you that it was damn good. Breakfast #2 was also delicious, and stuffed again we went to another small market we'd heard about. This one was supposedly more like a flea market, and we all burst out laughing when we arrived. We'd perused the merchandise in every stall within five minutes were were thinking about leaving the tiny venue when a shady picnic table caught someone's eye. Moments later, a guitarist began to tune up in front of a microphone. So instead of leaving we spent an indescribably pleasant afternoon sitting in the shade, listening to live blues and learning Euchre from Jenny who'd found some cards on a table full of games that were free to borrow and use. 

I hope that I have cause to revisit Montreal some day. It seems to me to be an very under-rated city. I hear pleasant things about it, of course, but people don't often rave. Then again, Montreal's charms are the kind that leave one quietly satisfied, not full of electric enthusiasm like New York. New York is certainly still my favorite city. But if I were going to live here another five years it would be awfully nice to know that Montreal was just a short hop to the north whenever I felt like a much-needed respite. 

The Proposal (!!!)

As all of you certainly know by now, Ed and I are getting married! You may not have heard the back story, however, so I thought I'd share the details:

Two childhood friends of mine were getting married in California one weekend apart in June, so I took the interim week off work and Ed and I flew west. The first friend got married in Napa Valley, and since we had a few days to kill before heading to central California for wedding #2 we'd decided to spend a few days wine tasting. Ed is a big fan of wine and had never been to Napa, so it seemed like the perfect opportunity to see the sights. Little did I know he had bigger plans for our trip.

On Monday, June 23rd, a driver Ed had hired picked us up from our hotel and took us to Duckhorn, our first stop of the day. Ed loves their wine and had made a reservation for 11:00. (This may sound early but we're told that many people start wine tasting at 9:00 A.M. in Napa!) Duckhorn is beautiful and the day couldn't have been more perfect--sunny but not too warm. Our driver snapped a picture of us in front before we went in; I never imagined it would by my last picture as a single lady! (Well, not single exactly. You know what I mean.)

We were given glasses of a very nice Sauvingnon Blanc when we checked in and taken to a table on the back porch that looked over the garden, with the vineyards and hills forming an idyllic backdrop for the whole scene. I said I wanted to walk around the grounds a little bit before we left and Ed readily agreed. (I didn't know that I'd just saved him the work of trying to get me into the garden without arousing my suspicions.) A waitress poured us samples of few other wines and told us about what we were drinking, then left us to sip on our own. I felt relaxed and blissful and babbled something about how I wanted to spend more time in Napa, but that I felt that way about just about all of the places we traveled to, and so it seemed we'd have to just spend our lives in transit from cool place to cool place.

Pre-proposal

About halfway through our tastes, Ed suggested we take a spin through the garden. I agreed, grabbing a glass for the trip, in case, you know, I got thirsty on the way. It was sunny, as I said before. Up close, the garden was, indeed, very pretty, and we walked right up to the first line of grape vines where a thick stand of shrubbery stood between us and the house. Ed wanted to walk through the vineyards themselves, but after both of my sandals filled with a layer of dust after only a few steps we abandoned that idea and headed back to the gravel path. 

I took this picture a few minutes after we sat down on the porch. 

Ed told me he liked my idea of being on vacation for the rest of our lives, and I felt a sudden rush of heat wash over me that I'm sure was only partly due to the wine. Then he asked me to marry him. The ring was a big surprise. Ed once told me offhandedly that he couldn't understand how a man could buy a ring without getting input from its recipient first (when I asked later he said he doesn't remember saying this), so I figured that the question would be the big event of the day. But then Ed kindly asked me to detach myself for a moment and pulled a small leather envelope out of his pocket. Inside was a stunningly beautiful ring. "Can I put it on your finger?" he asked. Duh.

The ring, by the way, had come in a cool leather box but it was fairly large and Ed worried that it would be too obvious if he'd had it in his pocket. So the jeweler supplied him with the more subtle envelope. I learned later that my great grandmother's engagement ring had been given to her in just such an envelope, so it turns out Ed was accidentally following a family tradition. I tend to riffle through most of the cabinets and drawers in our apartment in my endless quest to attempt to organize our lives, but I never touch anything in Ed's office area for fear of moving something he needs. Wisely, he'd kept the ring hidden in in his file cabinet, a place I never look, while awaiting our trip. For interested parties, it's an emerald cut diamond flanked by two baguettes in a platinum setting. 

We returned to our seats on the porch and if Ed hadn't been holding my hand I really think I might have floated away. We decided to finish up at Duckhorn before making any calls. I kept staring at my left hand and my face ached from beaming. The other people on the porch went about their business as if nothing momentous had just happened; it's funny how one of the most memorable days of my life was nothing more than a pleasant afternoon to countless other people around us that day. I learned that both my parents would be expecting a call as Ed had told them of his intentions at my friend's wedding a few days before. Ed said that my mother had immediately burst into tears and my dad had apparently launched into a theatrical speculation on Ed's odds of success. But it was still fun to call and tell them and even more fun to call both of my brothers, who had no idea that this was in the works.

Outside Duckhorn

Our next stop was Bell, a tiny, great winery our driver recommended. We were the only guests there and so we learned a lot about the grapes and the owner, a South African guy who makes wine with scientific precision. I took notes and nodded and exclaimed in appropriate places as our tour guide showed us around, but it was tough to stay focused for more than a few seconds before I'd get swept up in the events of the morning all over again. I think the wine at Bell really is that good, though, and that it wasn't just my mood that made it seem so delicious. Since we're moving in a few months, we opted not to join the wine club that day--not the best timing for stocking up on bottles of fine wine--but I think once we're settled in Colorado we might sign up. 

We had lunch at a nice little place called Brix where we sat on a pretty patio with a view of the restaurant's thriving garden. I ordered mussels and Ed started a little when I placed my ring on the table next to me. "I don't want to get mussel juice on it," I explained. "Well don't forget it," Ed said. I realized I had failed to convey to him just how smitten I was with my ring. 

In spite of my slightly purple teeth, I love this picture.

Our last stop of the day was Silver Oak, a winery known for its Cabernet. Ed had booked a private tour. Apparently this is where he'd been planning to pop The Question, but he'd made a last-minute decision to shift his plans so we'd have the whole day to celebrate--an excellent decision as far as I was concerned. Our guide was a bit disappointed that Ed had jumped the gun, as he'd arranged for us to have a romantic little space to ourselves at the end of our tour, but we assured him we'd enjoy it anyway. And we did. He'd set out some strawberries (grown on the grounds of the vineyard) and chocolates alongside two glasses of top-notch Cabernet, and had even picked a few flowers to set the whole thing off. It was a wonderful way to end an eventful day.

After resting and freshening up in our hotel for a while, we headed to dinner at Auberge Soleil, a restaurant up in the hills with a great view of the valley. It had come highly recommended and Ed had arranged for us to have a table on the deck so we could admire the view as the sun set. The setting was lovely, and the food was just as good as we'd heard it would be.

An absolutely terrible picture that fails to capture either us or the backdrop, but you get the idea.

One of the best parts about Ed's timing was that I got to celebrate with many family members and old friends so soon after we got engaged. (I'm not sure this was part of his plan, but I'll happily credit him for it anyway.) After Napa, we headed south to spend a night with my grandparents in the Bay Area, then continued on to Visalia for our second wedding of the weekend. It was wonderful to be able to surprise my grandparents with our news in person, and to be able to toast with my parents and hug my friends. It seems that everyone I know is very taken with Ed; many of my friends have gone out of their way to convey their approval (and urge me not to screw this up). It's a great feeling to know that the people that matter most share my excitement about our plans.

It's hard to believe it's already been three weeks since that day. Just as it always does when great things are happening, the time has absolutely rocketed by. I don't know how I got to be so lucky.

Weekend with Courtney

Still behind. Oh well.

A few weeks ago my best friend Courtney decided to come to New York to keep me company during a weekend when Ed was out of town. The last time she visited we were kept busy combing the Garment District for lace and bridal accessories for her upcoming wedding, so I was looking forward to having a less constrained weekend with her.

Courtney's trip from Boston was rough, and she texted me updates from the road. Her bus had some sort of mechanical problem that kicked in about halfway through the trip; the upshot was that it and couldn't go any faster than about 60 M.P.H. (Sounds suspiciously like a movie plot.) So she arrived late and we immediately sought dinner at a place that served some kind of booze along with the food. Tapas at Boqueria fit the bill nicely. Afterward, we went to sit in Madison Square Park. Drinking wine outdoors on a warm summer night is one of my favorite past-times, but drinking on the streets is illegal. So I hit upon the idea of picking up a few paper coffee cups with plastic lids from a nearby bodega. Courtney and I slyly filled them with wine from a bottle in my purse, then sipped and chatted in the big-city version of the great outdoors.

We slept in on Saturday, then headed to Central Park for a bike ride. The distance around the park is six miles, so the only to see the whole thing in a reasonable amount of time is to either jog or bike it. We rented bikes from a nearby shop like tourists and pedaled our way around the park. It was certainly warm, but not too terrible, and we stopped plenty of times to admire the view from different vantage points. The park was crowded and the people-watching was almost as good as the scenery.

All that cycling gave us an appetite, so we had lunch at a French restaurant near my apartment that has lovely garden, then freshened up a bit in anticipation of a wine tasting course I'd signed us up for that evening. Ed and I had taken a course with this company once before and it was a lot of fun, so I was excited to give it another try. It did not disappoint. We sampled lots of wines, each served side by side for the sake of comparison, and took notes about the different flavors and how climate and region causes them. And the cheese pairings were divine.

Cheers!

On Sunday morning, our first stop was Murray's Bagels. We took our breakfasts to the Highline Park to eat on benches, then walked along slowly through the park. Again, it was crowded, but we were early enough to avoid too much gridlock, and the Highline is so lovely it's just about impossible not to enjoy it no matter how many people show up. A the southern end of the park, we discovered some interesting artists' kiosks at street level. I checked out some photographs, then we wandered over to a table where a man sat next to a plastic tub filled with cheap metal forks. He was bending one of them into curves with some pliers and in front of him was an array of jewelry and figurines, all made from forks! Courtney and I were quite charmed and perused his merchandise for a while before deciding that we just had to have matching bracelets. The one Courtney liked had an interesting bronze sheen. I commented that I liked the color of hers better than the plain silver one I'd picked, and the man said he could fix that for me. He trotted over to his nearby car and came back with a torch, which he used to blast my bracelet all over for a minute or two until it turned a lovely shade of dark gold with tinges of purple. I was so impressed with his work that I picked up one of his business cards. For interested parties, his website is worth a visit. He's tremendously creative.

After a visit to my favorite china store Fish's Eddy (where I picked up a pretty plate for my mom and a cool sugar bowl and creamer both decorated with the New York skyline for myself), it was time to cool off with a quick frozen yogurt stop and then get Courtney on the bus. Apparently her trip home went much more smoothly, thank goodness. As usual, I was sorry our time together had come to an end and missed her almost as soon as she was out the door. But there will be other visits. And in the meantime I have my new bracelet to remind me of the good time we had.

Adios to MASA

I'm behind, but I figure better late than never.

Although the trip up to the Bronx to volunteer at MASA (Mexican American Student Association) was time-consuming, I was sorry to see it come to an end with the end of the school year. Every Wednesday during the academic year, I'd spent two hours helping Henry and Yancy, both fourth graders, with their homework. Both are great kids, but Henry and I really bonded. He and I were paired up from the beginning, and I ended up with Yancy more or less by default a few months into the program. 

The program directors matched me with Henry because he was having trouble with reading, and I was so dismayed by his poor skills that I presented his case to my boss, knowing that he is a softy. Sure enough, after a ten-minute conversation he was insisting that we assess Henry free of charge. We ended up diagnosing dyslexia and MASA is working to use our report to demonstrate that the services the school is providing to Henry are inadequate (which they are) and to demand better reading instruction for him.

Yancy is a disciplined student. She isn't as quick a thinker as Henry, but she was very motivated throughout the year to get her work done thoroughly. She was often annoyed when I wouldn't explain everything to her, however, and seemed resentful when I presented only part of the solution (I could retire tomorrow if I had a dollar for every time she helplessly sighed, "I don't get it."), only to beam a mega-watt smile when she suddenly figured something out on her own. Henry, on the other hand, needed very little help with the concepts he was supposed to master. His challenge lay in getting the words off the pages, something he lacked the reading skills and patience to do without help. I often read material to him (after which he had no trouble answering even the trickiest comprehension questions), and we started off every writing assignment by brainstorming words he might want to use so I could write a list he could use to help with spelling. 

While each kid caused me to grind my teeth at different times for different reasons during the year, I was sorry that I wasn't going to be able to work with them during their fifth grade year. I sat them down in May and told them I was moving to Colorado, and while Yancy showed nothing more than polite interest, Henry scowled at the floor. "That's sad," he finally mumbled. I hastily explained that we needed to figure out how to stay in touch with each other. I suggested email, but both kids seemed unmoved by this (likely because I don't think either one has a computer at home). They lit up when I suggested postcards.

Meanwhile, the end of the year was fast approaching. Tutors are not supposed to buy gifts for students, but I figured that since my time with the program was over I might as well break some rules. I went to an art store and bought sketch pads and colored pastel pencils, since they both love drawing. Before they went home that day, I gave them their presents, as well as cards I'd written and a few stamped envelopes with my address on them. I have already received a letter (with such poor spelling that I can hardly read some parts of it) and a drawing from Henry.

Henry's mother, who is a lovely, sweet lady, brought me flowers, which Henry as very excited to give to me. He was sad at the end of the day and must have hugged me about 20 times. "I'm very sensitive," he told me a bit brusquely, trying to smile but not really pulling it off. 

I had decided sometime in early spring that I liked Henry too much not to see him again, though, so with his older sister as a translator I exchanged phone numbers with his mom and got her permission to take Henry and his sister or a friend on an outing or two during the summer. I proposed kayaking, rock climbing at my gym, a movie, a museum, or the zoo. Henry listened to all of the choices and announced that he wanted to do everything. Next weekend will be my first free one in a while, so I'm going to get in touch to see if I can take him somewhere on Saturday.