Hot Dry Summer

Drought-hammered containerized vegetable garden in a vacant (but soon to be developed) lot at the southeast corner of Sherbourne and Gerrard.

  

*****************

The Ruler of a small but pleasant realm hurried down a short hallway that connected her chambers with those of the Wizard, her most skilled improvisor. 

When she got to his cramped quarters, she found him sprawled on a settee, smelling strongly of some foul elixir and snoring loudly.

"Wizard," she said, shaking his shoulder. "Wake up. I need you."

The Wizard slowly opened one eye. "Umfmm?" he asked.

"C'mon," said the Ruler, pulling on his arm, trying to get him to sit upright. "Wake up and get up and clean yourself up. I've got company in my chambers. The senior Emissary from the Power. Bawling like a baby and refusing to leave. Chappie's on holiday and the Emissary's alone in my chambers right now. Get up! Get up!"

The Wizard sat up, groggy but apparently responding. The Ruler stepped back to give him room to stand. 

"Get yourself washed and come to my chambers, fast as you can," she said, and turned to leave.

Back in her chambers, she could see that the Emissary from the Power had composed himself. In fact, he seemed quite at home as he poked around the documents on her desk.

"I'm sure that if there are any that pertain to you," said the Ruler, "I'll arrange for their delivery to your realm."

The Emissary started, stepped back from the Ruler's desk and said, airily, "oh great Ruler, I was just checking for those last templates you still owe me."

The Ruler forcibly tamped down her temper.

"All in good time," said the Ruler. "We'll deliver, as we have always delivered, your templates. 

"Right now," she stalled, as she could hear the Wizard's footfalls in the hallway behind her, "why don't we attend to the wisdom of my Wizard, who has a Bag of Tricks that will truly impress you."

"Good morning ma'am," said the Wizard, bowing his way into the room, "and greetings Emissary." 

In the three minutes or less since the Ruler had last seen him, the Wizard had transformed from his groggy, smelly, rumpled mess. His eyes were bright and clear, his robes smooth and clean.

The Ruler did not know and never asked the Wizard what was the source of his magic. She had brought him into her service years before when he had been working as a dealer in the casino at the Troll Bridge. For her, he had always been loyal and reliable. What he did on his own time was his own business.

"I hear you are interested in some magic," said the Wizard to the Emissary.

"Everyone likes magic," said the Emissary.

"Check this out," said the Wizard, fishing into his Bag of Tricks. "I call this the Multiplier."

He pulled out a many-faceted clear stone.

"You put it like this" he said, holding the stone in front of his right eye. "And when you look at a cherished object, you see that its numbers have increased a thousand times."

The Ruler, catching the Wizard's drift, put a completed template in front of the Emissary. 

"Here," she said, as the Wizard handed the Emissary the Multiplier Stone, "look at this."

The Emissary held the Multiplier Stone up to his eye. Overcome with wonder, he saw thousands of templates where only the moment before there had been but one. This was truly potent magic. He needed to know how to harness this for his own career advancement. He took the Multiplier Stone away from his eye.

Too late, the Emissary realized he had been fooled. 

Working together the Wizard and Ruler lifted the Bag of Tricks over the distracted Emissary's head. 

The Ruler was surprised to find that the Bag of Tricks fit entirely over the struggling Emissary. 

She was truly alarmed when the struggling ceased and the Bag of Tricks collapsed, empty.

"What have you done to him?" asked the Ruler, trying not to feel delighted.

"Sent him home," said the Wizard. "He's used this magic himself. Long, long ago when I was still freelancing, I rigged a similar gadget for the Power. I used some flashlights and a turnstile I'd found at the side of the Yessir Yessir Highway."

"I saw that!" said the Ruler, "I should have known that was your work!" 

An unpleasant thought occurred to her.

"Does this mean he'll be back?"

To be continued ... 

Thanks for reading!

Have a great week!

Karen

Unfinished Business

Unfinished Butterfly July 2016

All I have been up to this week is preparing for, reading about and contemplating the implications of my upcoming and long-awaited surgery.

Our friend the Ruler has been engaged in weightier matters.

******************

The Ruler of a small but pleasant realm was resting in her chambers when an unexpected knock came at the door. 

Chappie, the Ruler's most trusted advisor, was on holiday and not around to shoo visitors away.

Opening the door herself  the Ruler was saddened to see that it was the Emissary of the Power, the same one who had taken away wheelbarrows full of templates the day before.

Reluctantly, the Ruler let the Emissary in.

"Hello," said the Ruler, initiating the 'Let's Make this Quick' protocol, "the day's light is passing swiftly and we all have many tasks ahead of us. What is it that I can do for you immediately?"

The Emissary from the Power laughed. "Oh, great Ruler," he said, clearly not meaning it, "We will be spending a lot of time together, you and I, so please don't try to rush things." He took a seat. 

"We must address the contents of the templates, said the Emissary. "This is of the utmost importance to my boss of the sixth power. And therefore of utmost importance to you."

"Not really," said the Ruler, correcting her guest. "There's an old saying. It goes like this: You're not the boss of me.

"What I don't get," continued the Ruler, "is why you think you are. Just about every day you or someone fronting for you bangs on my door demanding templates. 

"And I have given you templates. Lots and lots of templates. And yet you want more. 

"I'm trying to figure out what it is you really want, since it cannot be templates. They seem to pass through you like a troll through a turnstile." 

The Ruler was unprepared for the Emissary's answer.

He started to cry.

Blubbering, the once dignified Emissary put his shaved head in his hands, his shoulders heaving with the force of his sobs. 

The Ruler went to fetch a tissue and give the Emissary an opportunity to pull himself together.

He'd straightened up and stopped sobbing by the time she returned, but tears still ran down his cheeks. The Ruler handed the Emissary of the Power a fine silk handkerchief. She was all out of tissue.

"You don't understand," said the Emissary, struggling not to sob and wiping his face, "we've been alone for so long, hiding behind that wall, waiting to see you all again. We were so lonely.

"When the wall came down, our hearts were so full of joy, we brought you our finest templates as an expression of our admiration. We wanted you to like us..." The Emissary started to cry again, real hard this time.

The Ruler figured that was the last time she would see that handkerchief.

"Look," she finally said to the Emissary from the Power, "I'm sorry that it is so hard for you to make friends. But sometimes people don't want to fill in templates. Sometimes they want to do the things they like to do." 

"Their own templates, you mean?" asked the Emissary, brightening just a bit.

"Sure," said the Ruler, recognizing a lost cause. Then she wondered how she was going to get the crybaby Emissary out of her chambers.

An idea came to her. 

*********

To be continued ....

Thanks for reading!

Have a great week!

Karen

Hip Hip Hooray

My immediate apologies for the title of today's post, but I couldn't resist.

After eighteen months of pain and disability; after a year of anguished uncertainty over whether the pain and disability would ever end; after FOUR tries to engage with a medical professional who would both agree that I had a problem and help me solve that problem in a knowable amount of time; after seriously considering spending $20,000 plus the cost of an eight day stay in Quebec in order to end my suffering, I now have a surgery date, for a procedure in Toronto, at no additional personal expense over the cost of the transit token to get me to Toronto Western Hospital. Plus thirty bucks for iron pills to fortify my red blood cell count.

My surgeon is Dr. Nizar Mahomed. Right now, he is one of the top ten favourite people in my life.  On August 17, 2016, for about an hour and a half, he will be number one.

But enough about me. 

It's been a couple of weeks since we last checked in on our friend the Ruler and her Advisors. Let's see what's shaking in the land of the Yessir Yessir Highway.

*******

The Ruler of a small but pleasant realm was seated at her meeting table with her advisors gathered all around. In the middle of the table towered a massive stack of paper. 

"Is this all of it?" asked the Ruler.

"It's all there is for now," answered one of the Advisors, "but work is ongoing; there may be more."

"More," said the Ruler, "that's really all we need is more." She turned to Chappie, her most trusted advisor.

"Is the Emissary from the Power in attendance?"

"Yes'm," answered Chappie, "He waits in the vestibule."

"Bring him in. Let's get this over with." The Ruler rose to her feet, straightened her robes and planted a big, fat, fake smile on her lips.

The Emissary from the Power cut an impressive figure. Tall, head shaved smooth as an egg, his uniform emblazoned with the insignia of a senior ranking officer of the Power but not garishly so. His presence was imposing, but tasteful.

"Welcome to my Realm," said the Ruler, following the spoken protocol but forgetting to curtsey, "I hope your journey was pleasant."

"Without trouble," answered the Emissary, keeping up with the protocol, but forgetting to bow, "I am honoured to be here as your guest."

Pleasantries dispensed with as cursorily as possible, the Ruler and the Emissary got down to brass tacks. They took their seats at the meeting table.

"Here are all the templates that you have requested," the Ruler said to the Emissary, reading from the notes prepared for her by the Wizard, her most skilled improvisor.  

"Each template is filled out to the last detail. As agreed between my boss to the fourth power and your boss to the sixth power, each of these templates has cost my advisors at least one career month - so that the time spent on this noble effort constitutes a Significant Sacrifice. 

"According to the terms of the Great Treaty of Why Can't We All Just Get Along, each Significant Sacrifice is equal to one twelfth of a calendar year of peace between our realms. 

"By my reckoning," summed up the Ruler, "This stack of templates means I won't see you again for another thousand years." The Ruler, her speaking notes ending at this point, assumed the meeting was over and started to gather her things to go.

"That may be so," said the Emissary from the Power, for whom the meeting did not seem to be entirely done, "but first we have to read them all and make sure they are correct."

The Ruler turned to the Wizard who had been quietly standing by. 

She asked, "does the Great Treaty of Why Can't We All Just Get Along provide for proofreading?"

"No ma'am it does not," said the Wizard.

"Then I'm afraid I can't help you," said the Ruler to the Emissary from the Power. "Please take your templates and go."

Stung, but still poised, the Emissary from the Power rose with dignity from the table.  He asked his advisors to lift the towering pile of templates into the wheelbarrows he had brought along. 

"I'd hoped that this might have ended better," said the Emissary, turning to leave the Ruler's presence, just the slightest hint of a threat in his tone.

"Be grateful for today's outcome," said the Ruler, working hard to keep any tone of threat from her voice. "You have the equivalent of a thousand years of peace in those wheelbarrows. Most people would think that was a pretty good day at the office."

"We'll see," said the Emissary, his tone definitely darkening.

"Don't let the door hit you on the way out," replied the Ruler.

To be continued ...

Thanks for reading!

Have a great week!

Karen

Anticipation

Readers recall that, since April 2015, I have needed a hip replacement. It's been a pastime of mine ever since to find someone in the health system who will help me get that hip. 

Results so far have been poor. Sunnybrook Hospital, through the Holland Centre, gave me a brochure and told me to go away. When I told this to my family doctor, she just gave me a longer prescription for pain killers. She had no other ideas about what to do.

A kind physiotherapist offered to put me in touch with a surgeon at another hospital. That endeavour took from August 2015 to February 2016, when I finally found myself in the presence of Paul Kuyzk at Mount Sinai Hospital. He agreed that I needed a new hip. I filled out some paperwork, left behind the usual sacrificial vials of blood, and have heard nothing since about when, exactly, they could offer up that new hip.

In the meantime, my condition deteriorates. I'm always in pain and am evermore disabled. My recent calls to Mount Sinai have netted me nothing more than patient assurances that they have no idea when I might get my surgery, but I should expect to wait another six months to a year. 

So, Bruce and I decided, when Aunt Arlie's remembrance of Bruce in her will gave us a bit of extra liquidity, to see what other options were available. 

A quick search on line brought my attention to the Duval Clinic in Laval, Quebec, where you pay cash money for your new hip - $20,000 - and you get it in two months or less.

It took me two weeks to gather and send the information they needed (more sacrificial vials of blood, an ECG, another x-ray) and another week and a half before I heard from them. 

I'm scheduled for surgery August 15, 2016.

So that's the end of the story, or so you'd think. But, there's a new development. A friend of a friend heard of my plight and contacted a pal of his - who is an orthopaedic surgeon - who may be able to get me into surgery, in Toronto, without having to pay $20K and without waiting another year. I have an appointment with the surgeon at Toronto Western Hospital on Tuesday morning. 

There are enough other things we could do with Arlie's gift that I would consider waiting a little bit longer for that surgery. If this fourth attempt to get that hip results in a date before the end of September, then that will be the date I wait for.

Otherwise, on August 16, 2016, I'll be the happy owner of a brand new hip and will thank Auntie Arlie every step I take thereafter.    

Thanks for reading!

Have a great week!

Karen

Canada Day Photo Essay

Lawren Harris - in my opinion the greatest of the great Group of Seven painters - when he lived in Toronto, created colourful, appreciative renditions of life in "the Ward", the ramshackle, crowded, slummy enclave between College and Queen Streets, University and Bay Streets, that was eventually demolished, flattened and rebuilt into Viejo Revel's vision of a city hall. 

Harris achieved his greatest fame with his abstracted and idealized versions of the north. According to the notes on the wall next to the pictures in the Art Gallery of Ontario on July 1, 2016, Harris' paintings helped to build the Canadian identity, articulating in images our experience of the north - meaning the fact that half the year is cold and covered in snow (or at least it used to be).

People who may not be entirely sure who Lawren Harris is were aware of the fact that an American performer - Steve Martin - curated the show. I heard a couple of people in the large, happy, noisy Canada Day crowd in the gallery talking about it.

The show took care to note that, while Harris painted pictures, as a visitor, of the north and the Ward, there were people who lived there. Some pains were taken to point out the experience of the north of Inuit peoples and the experiences of black residents of the Ward who were bereft of their churches and cemeteries when their neighbourhoods were demolished. This care contributed to the numbers, the noisiness and the happiness of the people in the gallery.

It's a good show. If you can, you should go.

As satisfying as was the trip to the AGO on Canada Day, we still needed to experience a few other aspects of the Canadian identity.

Such as a refreshing beverage on a sunny patio: 
 

 And whatever this is:

Thanks for reading!

Happy Canada Day!

Karen