Canada report # 34

We were driving out to Carter’s parents campground another day. As we were driving I started to think about something seemingly insignificant yet somehow profound: Texas Gates.
I think that whoever invented those was a very brilliant man (or a woman, but I doubt that). It is a simple yet very clever invention. Cows can’t cross it, yet cars can. Can you imagine that there are people who can find solutions to simple things like that? He is probably dead, but his invention is used all over the north America. I wonder was his name Texas or was he from Texas.
P.S. The reason I said that I doubt that woman invented it is not because I think that they are incapable, they most defiantly are. It was more because of the specifics of the invention I tend to see that was more men project. But I might be wrong.

Canada report # 33

Today I saw something that I had seen before but not to this extent. There is something about Canadian efficiency that just somehow does not work when it comes to road constriction.
I was driving today down the Deerfoot and all of a sudden all lines are being pushed into one. It took forever to get anywhere. And then I saw it. Giant machine was doing something to the road (probably paving it). I was captivated by this beast; however, I was not the only one who was captivated by this machine. At least 8 men in orange vests were standing there, chatting and looking how this machine is doing something.
Then I remembered the joke that went something like that: How many Canadians does it take to fix the road?

Canada report #32 (Haven’t done these for a while, have I)

One thing that drives me insane in Canada is the way they communicate through silence. Where my people would talk loudly, slam the door, give a hug and do some more yelling latter, Canadians talk a lot through absence of words.
What is truly amazing though: I seem to be finally getting it. Another day my buddy and I were talking about something work related. I asked him a question, but he was quiet. A moth ago I would freak out and think that he is so disrespectful and mean, but that day I knew that he needs time to think about it and he will get back to me about it later.
I see it in the movies, at work, at school, and in the buss. Where my people would talk things through Canadians are talking through silence.

About building a grill, moving a bed and planning my own deportation

Today Carter and Julie were moving into their new apartment. Boxes, chairs, couch and even a grill experienced the trill of their lives as they traveled across the city. We were joking, eating pica, working between brakes and in every way having a great time. Guys were putting together furniture; girls were unpacking cloth and dishes. At first Carter and I put together a dresser – piece of cake if you do it with “mister fix it” (and I don’t mean myself). Then Jeff and I tackled the grill – fun, fun, fun – however there was no gas so we don’t really know if we did it or not. But then all of us took on the computer desk. It was like putting together a jigsaw puzzle without knowing what it is suppose to look like at the end. Needles to say, at the end there were extra pieces left and bolts that never found their way into this colossal construction. At one point I was sitting on the floor by the window, drinking milk with coffee and thinking how badly I do not want to be deported. I want to see if Julie and Carter will have a happy home and if they will have decency to name their firstborn after me or not (I will even settle for a middle name). I want to be there when this dresser gets old and when grill runs out of gas again. Somehow this fear of me being kicked out of Canada became so real that I started to plan goodbye party in my head. (It will be a great party but some other time about that)
And then I wondered if Brendon will bring a box of my favourite root bear to my goodbye party. I hope he will.

I called it Cerinsh

Clark was working in the garage and talking to me while I was sitting on the grass and resting from my morning run in the Fish Creak. It is hard to imagine Saturday morning that would be more perfect than that one. Sun was bright but not hot, wind was refreshing but not cold and everything else about that morning and that conversation was peaceful and serene.

Then Clark pointed to the lilac that was growing by our fence. We talked a little bit about its smell and whatever else there is to talk about lilacs. However, that made me think that most of my life I used to call this beautiful plant in other name. That other name somehow seemed more beautiful and precious. It is just a different combination of letters and sounds, yet somehow even though describing the same object it is different for me.

Latvian word for lilac made me think of the bushes growing in my mother’s garden, it made me think of my nieces that are digging through these bushes looking for 5 leaf blossom, believing that it is the lucky one. It made me think of my sister putting them in the vase and how smell of lilac is filling her apartment and mixing with the smell of her baking.

I miss calling things in other words. I miss home. Yet at the same time, as I was sitting on the grass by the garage and talking to Clark I felt more at home than ever before. Now English word for lilac will have a meaning for me. This meaning will be about the perfect Saturday morning. Morning when I was resting from my morning run and Clark was working in the garage.