Who was Cassandra?
In the Iliad, she is described as the loveliest of the daughters
of Priam (King of Troy), and gifted with prophecy. The god Apollo
loved her, but she spurned him. As a punishment, he decreed
that no one would ever believe her. So when she told her fellow
Trojans that the Greeks were hiding inside the wooden horse...well,
you know what happened.
the cassandra pages
words, pictures, and a life
Friday, March 04, 2005
DE-NEIGEMENT: a postscript
A fellow Montreal blogger told me this bit of additional information about snow removal in Montreal:
A bit of trivia: The little signs that are put up prior to snow removal (thin wooden sticks with a paper sign) are made this way because they are biodegradable and they can be pulverized by the huge snow blowers, along with the snow that is gathered.
Imagine that!
YULBLOG TURNS 5
Montreal has one of the oldest, if not THE oldest, loosely organized blogger communities in the world. I've been lucky enough to meet some of these great people. This week marked the 5th aniversary of their monthly 1st Wednesday meetings for drinks and lively conversation; I missed it but hope to celebrate with them later this month. What's especially great is that they got some publicity for blogging and a chance to talk it up in front of the media. Way to go, Blork and Co.!
9:27 PM
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Thursday, March 03, 2005
ICE-O-WAY
In Vermont they use road salt. The large crystals of salt are piled into town storage sheds, and loaded into huge sanding/salting trucks which spread the salt on the interstates and secondary roads through a spinner mounted below a big hopper - much like a giant version of a lawn seeder. This tidy yellow Ice-O-Way is a smaller version of the same thing, mounted on the back of a Vermont pickup truck.
In Montreal they do spread salt on the roads and sidewalks, but a bigger problem is clearing snow from the streets where residents have parked their cars. We've tried to fgure out the system, and it seems that special signs get put up prior to snow removal warning people they'd better move their cars.
This morning, still in bed, we heard an approaching sound that was completely unfamiliar - it sounded like a cross between a car alarm and a siren, but it moved down the street toward us very slowly, and, though penetrating and distinctive, never got very loud. Finally curiosity got the better of us, and J. jumped out of bed - but too late. What was it? He put on his clothes, boots and coat, and went out. In a little while he came back, Cheshire cat grin on his face, and quizzed me - "OK, what was it? Have you figured it out?"
The sound came from a tow truck. What they do, apparently, is to drive slowly around a neighborhood blowing this special siren to give people a half-hour or so warning before they start towing cars prior to clearing the snow from the streets. It seemed so...polite. So...Canadian.We tried to imagine a system like this in New York City: umm, I don't think so. But I'm curious - is this as benign as it seems? Where do the cars go when they do get towed? How do you get yours back and how much does it cost? It seems to us like snow removal here is pretty good - but in the paper we've seen continual complaints about lescols bleus and how crummy a job the current city management is doing. So...enlighten me, s.v.p., I'm new here!
5:10 PM
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Tuesday, March 01, 2005
We spent today at a seminar given by the government for people who are considering starting businesses in the Quebec. It was one of the more fascinating days of my life.
It was snowing when we walked to the metro station this morning; we emerged at Square Victoria and searched for the right building among the tall offices of that complex. The woman who greeted us at the reception desk on the third floor looked at me and said "Elisabeth?" I was startled, smiled back at her and said, "How do you know?" "Oh, I just thought so," she said. When we entered the room of other attendees and looked around I immediately figured it out: there were only two other women, and, more than that, I was the only blonde, blue-eyed person in the room, and thus a good bet for being named "Elisabeth" (I'm always amused how the French automatically spell my name the way my French teacher did, with an "s" instead of a "z"; it was that way on my nametag today.)
The programme was very interesting - full of information about how to do business here - the legal system, the banking system, how to get financing, the necessity for a detailed business plan, where to get help, the services offered by the government and the strange (to Americans) entities known as para-givernmental (?) organizations - funded by the government to do work that the government considers important, but operating somewhat independently - a sort of middle ground between private enterprise and government which attempts to limit political/corporate influence and corruption.
In the middle of the day, we were all given a three-course lunch, with wine, by the Montreal Chamber of Commerce, along with members fo the business community, from many different sectors, who came to talk with us, offer some networking and friendship, and answer questions. One person from each table of eight was able to get up and give a short presentation on our work and what we hoped to do; J. spoke and was very amusing and well-received.
We were the only Americans there. Among the other seminar attendees we met a man from Iran who hoped to import construction materials that he already sells in Europe; an Argentinian who will be representing food exporters; an Indian man in the jewelry business; a Pakistani real estate entrepreneur; a Belgian who seemed to be considering buying a franchise business but was happy to talk about Flemish art; a Lebanese woman who lives in Nigeria and has an import/export gift business and another Lebanese woman who will be opening a restaurant when her husband joins her later this year; a Korean computer programmer who is looking for investors for his software company; a Frenchman in the film industry. It was completely fascinating to talk to these intelligent, ambitious, curious people and discover why they had chosen this city, what their families were like, what their dreams were for the future...and how they felt about the snow.
At the end of the day, we got off the metro one stop early and walked home through the slippery, white streets, talking about what we had heard and experienced. The night fell, and the lights came on above the new snow. In the park, a few families were sledding on the hill beneath the trees, and a lone figure walked across the frozen lake. The featherweight, pristine snow sparkled, and in spite of the traffic, the city took on the same magical hush that is found in the country after a snowfall: a wide enveloping quiet, grand enough to be enhanced by the cry of a happy child rushing down the hill on a sled, the hushed voices of lovers under a streetlight, the delighted short bark of a dog cavorting in the powdery snow. I felt the delicious coldness of my cheeks, and pressed my elbow against J.'s side as we walked silently, arm in arm, amazed at the twists and turns of my life that had contributed to putting me in this particular place, and then..stopped thinking very much at all.
7:17 PM
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Monday, February 28, 2005
If you didn't know it already, Cassandra is a WILD THINKER...thanks to Hank Green at Wild Thoughts for publishing one of my essays today. I'm honored to be in such fine company.
Kurt has written a fine post on sex and American society, and it looks like there will be a very good discussion (especially if you all go over there and comment!)
My most beautiful experience today was visiting the vernacular body and listening to elck reading an essay by dale. (Scroll down to the end of the entry for the audio link.) Nothing I could offer here this evening would come close; please go there and enjoy.
8:39 PM
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Sunday, February 27, 2005
Back in Montreal. It was a beautiful clear day, and we ran up quickly on the interstate, with the sun setting over our left shoulders, turning the Adirondacks blue and the long sliver of lake Champlain into silver, while the pink light shone through J.s white beard. The fields below St. Albans were a perfection of untracked snow, bearing long dark blue shadows from the hedgerows, and after we crossed the border, onto the flat flat plains, the sun set for real in a blaze of gold and rose behind the rows of poplars and silhouetted silos full of their winter hoard of dried corn.
From the Pont Jacques-Cartier, the city was like a starfield. Onto Lorimer, past the hydroponic gardening store, the little depanneurs, the still-bustling traffic: the relentless and incredible reality of the city, going on and on in spite of our absence. Into our cold apartment; a drink of water for the plants, spaghetti sauce into the microwave; a little pot of Arabic coffee, two clementines. A sigh.
9:14 PM
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