I can’t believe that I was in Canada for five days and I didn’t get to Tim Hortons once. Not once. I was so looking forward to it. Our last chance was at the airport yesterday morning, but we cleared customs thinking that there would be an outlet airside, but we were mistaken. Bummer.
We were in Halifax for the Dalhousie convocation ceremonies. Our daughter graduated with first class honours, a combined honours degree in English and Creative Writing. Her boyfriend graduated in the morning session and, in an odd bit of synchronicity, my former PhD advisor’s wife graduated at the same convocation as our daughter, getting her B.A. with a major in music. The ceremonies were held at the Rebecca Cohn and were both pleasantly brief (90 minutes or less) and just the right mix of pomp and casualness. Family and friends were encouraged to cheer for their graduates. I learned a new word, too: graduand. Someone who has completed their studies but has not yet graduated. They entered the theatre as graduands and left as graduates. A good time was had by all.
The car we rented was a newfangled jobbie with keyless ignition. I’m not sure I get the point. You have to carry this key-sized object and it has to be in the car with you when you push the button to start the ignition. At least with a real key, you always know where it is when you’re in the car–it’s in the ignition. With this radio-controlled gadget, you can toss it anywhere and then you have to go looking for it when you want to leave the vehicle. I’d just as soon have it dangling from the steering column, especially after browsing through five or six pages in the user manual (I was waiting for someone and bored) about all the things you’re not to do with the key. Heaven forbid that you should have a pacemaker, for example.
The gadget, though, was an apt metaphor. About a week before our departure date, I discovered that I had allowed my passport to expire. First time in 20 years I didn’t have a valid passport, and there wasn’t enough time to get it renewed before our trip. The Canadian consulate in Dallas was a terrific help, though, telling me all the things I needed to know and providing supporting documentation so I could leave the US without a passport and enter Canada, and then how to go about getting a passport during the few days we were there. It didn’t help my stress level any that Monday was Victoria Day, and thus the passport office was closed. With a return flight on Thursday morning, it seemed like I was cutting it close, but the passport office employees were great. I turned in the application on Tuesday at 8:30 a.m. and had my replacement by 2 p.m. the following day. They called the people I listed on the application who would confirm my identity within 30 minutes of receiving my application, and the woman at the desk where I went to pick up the passport apologized several times for not being at her desk the minute I arrived. (I waited no more than 60 seconds, and the woman at the adjacent wicket gave me my new passport to verify the information while I waited.) You’ll hear no complaints from me about Passport Canada. They saved my (Canadian) bacon.
I read the new Michael Connelly novel, The Scarecrow, on the outbound flight. It’s set in the world of The Poet and The Narrows and is as much about the dire state of affairs of print media as it is about a serial killer. Review to come in the next week or so.
For five days we had no access to TV, newspapers or the internet. We could probably have sought any of these out if we wanted, but we didn’t. The world could have collapsed and we wouldn’t have known. It was great! I even managed to avoid hearing who won Survivor, so I was able to watch it on the CBS web site last night as if it were live. I was very pleased with the outcome. I have mild doubts that JT was actually acting bummed out during the jury session as he later claimed, but he was, all the more kudos to him. I always enjoy the reunion show and wish it were longer. Coach whipping out the lie detector test results–tell me that wasn’t staged. All in all a decent season that turned some rules upside down. We now know it is possible to enter the merger with a severe deficit and still prevail.
The NCIS finale had an odd tone to it. It was like new writers were creating the roles of Tony and Ziva. I loved Tony’s interrogation scene in Israel, but the scenes where he and Ziva interacted just seemed totally off key. And the Mentalist finale wasn’t particularly strong, either. They were obligated to go back to Red John, but equally obligated not to wrap it up, as that’s what makes Patrick who he is. It was ok, but just that. As if a dying men wants to use his dying breath to taunt someone.
