X wanted to know what I was doing in Canada. Fair enough.
It was for a medical conference, trauma medicine. They wanted me to come and talk about my experience in MERT (medical emergency response team; I looked for a wikipedia article, but there doesn't seem to be one), which I did. I suspect they picked me because I'd gone to school with one of the people organising it. I think she lives in Toronto now, but she was in Montreal then, and took me round to see the sights and insisted I try the bagels. And attempted to insist I try poutine. I...preferred the bagels.
I was only there for three days and was mainly dying of jet lag the entire time, but it was a beautiful city. I'd like to go back some day.
Someone asked if Sherlock managed to keep quiet for the two minutes of silence today. Mrs T says they all did, mostly. She explained it to them half an hour before hand and then again just before. Two minutes is a long time when you're that age.
Sherlock asked me about it after school, what the point of it was and how silence helped anyone. How remembering helped anyone if they were dead. Why there was a silence for people who died in war and not for people who died any other way. Didn't have an answer to that, really. Not one that both felt true to me and would withstand his cross-examination.
I looked up the proclamation by George V so he could read it and found this as well:
The first stroke of eleven produced a magical effect. The tram cars glided into stillness, motors ceased to cough and fume, and stopped dead, and the mighty-limbed dray horses hunched back upon their loads and stopped also, seeming to do it of their own volition. Someone took off his hat, and with a nervous hesitancy the rest of the men bowed their heads also. Here and there an old soldier could be detected slipping unconsciously into the posture of 'attention'. An elderly woman, not far away, wiped her eyes, and the man beside her looked white and stern. Everyone stood very still ... The hush deepened. It had spread over the whole city and become so pronounced as to impress one with a sense of audibility. It was a silence which was almost pain ... And the spirit of memory brooded over it all. (Manchester Guardian, 12 November 1919)
It was for a medical conference, trauma medicine. They wanted me to come and talk about my experience in MERT (medical emergency response team; I looked for a wikipedia article, but there doesn't seem to be one), which I did. I suspect they picked me because I'd gone to school with one of the people organising it. I think she lives in Toronto now, but she was in Montreal then, and took me round to see the sights and insisted I try the bagels. And attempted to insist I try poutine. I...preferred the bagels.
I was only there for three days and was mainly dying of jet lag the entire time, but it was a beautiful city. I'd like to go back some day.
Someone asked if Sherlock managed to keep quiet for the two minutes of silence today. Mrs T says they all did, mostly. She explained it to them half an hour before hand and then again just before. Two minutes is a long time when you're that age.
Sherlock asked me about it after school, what the point of it was and how silence helped anyone. How remembering helped anyone if they were dead. Why there was a silence for people who died in war and not for people who died any other way. Didn't have an answer to that, really. Not one that both felt true to me and would withstand his cross-examination.
I looked up the proclamation by George V so he could read it and found this as well:
The first stroke of eleven produced a magical effect. The tram cars glided into stillness, motors ceased to cough and fume, and stopped dead, and the mighty-limbed dray horses hunched back upon their loads and stopped also, seeming to do it of their own volition. Someone took off his hat, and with a nervous hesitancy the rest of the men bowed their heads also. Here and there an old soldier could be detected slipping unconsciously into the posture of 'attention'. An elderly woman, not far away, wiped her eyes, and the man beside her looked white and stern. Everyone stood very still ... The hush deepened. It had spread over the whole city and become so pronounced as to impress one with a sense of audibility. It was a silence which was almost pain ... And the spirit of memory brooded over it all. (Manchester Guardian, 12 November 1919)
16 comments:
Sounds like we have a lot of holidays to plan...
love you.
You too can eat poutaine.
I love you too.
I'll try anything once.
As you know.
Poutaine is lovely. Though in Glasgow we just call it 'chips, cheese `n' gravey'. Perfect coming back from a night out food!
Sounds good, Anon.
I've been thinking about this all day:
For nearly a century, everyday ordinary people have taken two minutes once a year out of their everday ordinary lives to stop and reflect on the cost of war. Imagine if we spent two minutes once a month. Once a week. Once a day...
Re: poutaine - I can understand the attraction of cheesy chips, and sort of understand chip with gravy. It the combination of the cheese and the gravy with the chips I don't get. Is it normal cheese? Or something a bit different?
I'm glad that Sherlock had Mrs T and you explaining the silence and the point of remembering on Armistice Day for him. I think it's important for kids to learn and understand early on, so that they can come to informed decisions for themselves how (or if) they want to mark the occasion.
I feel I need to come to the defense of poutine (no A) which is the food of the gods. Nameless, it should be made with cheese curds if you get proper poutine, so they're lighter and don't collapse into a concealed mess against the fries and gravy.
Great pub night food, hockey game food, oh god it's cold and I'm hungover food.... Basic Canada fare. ;)
Thanks for answering my question, John, though I'm sorry you didn't get to see as much of Montreal as you might have liked. Nicer than Toronto, imho, though I prefer Quebec. And prefer Halifax to both. :)
Flew back east for the weekend to visit my family. John, yet again I have to say how amazing you are for keeping up with Sherlock all the time. My four year old niece (beside herself with excitement since she hasn't seen me since April) used me as a jungle gym all day -- I was exhausted after only a few hours and now am barely awake to type!
That sounds like a great quotation to try to answer some of Sherlock's questions. Did it satisfy him at all?
Danger - Sacrilege! Poutine is made of awesomeness and deliciousness! They make fantastic hangover meals, I'll have you know!
At least your friend didn't take you to one of those cabane à sucre...those are deadly yet so, so delicious. A meal from there pretty much guarantees instant diabetes and high cholesterol though. Talk about fun for the whole family. :Db
Also, re: Anon's poutine comment - we use cheese curds (which is made from sour cream, so they're not your standard cheddar or mozzarella. The cheese actually squeaks when you press on them).
LOL! I just realized - you can clearly identify the Canadians from the pro-poutine responses. Wow.
Hungry -- squeaky cheese curds = bestthingever. Now I'm hungry, too.
I'm not a fan of poutaine personally, though I do love me some cheese curds. I tend to scramble them in eggs with sriracha sauce and garlic. Or mix them with pineapple and eat them with a spoon. Mmmmmm. Nummy.
Toodles,
Bronwyn
X - AGREED! All this talk about food has made me hungry too. Man, I can go for some poutine right now. Preferably if it's topped with bacon bits...and if the gravy is bacon flavoured as well. HA! How's that for excessive?
Poutine sounds like perfect comfort food. I'll have to try it one day if I get the chance!
I remember once upon a time my Mum made bagels from scratch, boiling them and then baking them, and they were amazing. I should look up a recipe and have a go...
So... cheese curds? I know that cheese is typically made by adding rennent to acidified milk to curdle it, producing curds and whey, after which the curds are processed more (cut, milled, stretched, whatever) to make the final cheese product. Does the process stop at the curdling point for cheese curds? How does the flavour compare to "normal" cheese? (I know that there really isn't such a thing as "normal" cheese, and my very British point of reference - cheddar - isn't universal).
I must admit, I am intrigued. And hungry. Very hungry now.
It the combination of the cheese and the gravy with the chips I don't get.
This is my issue exactly.
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