Sangria at La Cabana

Saturday of the long weekend—Monday is a Civic holiday in Ontario—we went to Greektown for a stroll and something to eat. Not quite in mood for the grilled meat Greek-style, we opted for Mexican instead. That was a big mistake; we had mediocre enchiladas with watered-down sangria. Lesson learned: when in Little Greece, do what the little Greeks do—eat souvlaki.

Little moments: a smile

A curious thing happened this evening. I went for my usual 10k run. It rained when I started, but stopped soon after, yet it was wet enough to chase people indoors. Can't complain--I prefer deserted streets and sidewalks, rather than jumping over the dog leashes and around people unwilling to give me some space.

I realize I'm turning into a grouch, always expecting--and finding!-- the worst in everyone. I lost faith in people quite a while ago, exposed to the daily dose of egocentric behavior in all spheres of life: traffic, work, shopping, even on the nights out. The common courtesy is all but extinct, and people constantly invade my personal space, whether it's pushing in front of me in a lineup, trying to get over me at work, or cutting me off in traffic. It all puts me in a miserable mood by the end of the day.

Tonight, however, I felt hope. I was running on the sidewalk when I saw in front of me an old lady bent over her walker. I moved on the road to pass. As I came next to her, she stopped, straightened and her wrinkled face lit up with the broadest smile it was capable of. She waved at me and I couldn't help but smile and wave back. Little moments like this could make the world a better place. I'm smiling even now, when I think of that silver-haired grandma with the warmest smile.

Girls' Soccer

Meg and I went for a walk tonight. We do that often. More and more we are like an old couple, enjoying our evenings in leisurely walks around the neighborhood. We nod to the neighbors and strangers, we "goodevening" everyone we meet on the sidewalk and smile and wave to the kids. All in all, we resemble good-natured grandparents on a stroll through the hood.

It's amazing how many little things we come across on our walks: gardens--some amazing and some quite the opposite; houses--some neatly cared for and some in different degrees of neglect; birds, cats, squirrels and other animals, etc.

Tonight, though, was the night for soccer. We passed by several soccer pitches and all had games going. And I mean OFFICIAL games--in uniforms and with refs and spectators. We couldn't resist to check a teenage-girls game. Now, I'm not a great soccer player, not even close, but I love the game. And I can recognize when someone plays well. Those girls didn't.

It was a haphazard effort in which, no matter where the ball bounced, it always seemed to have surprised the players. The limbs were flailing around the ball, mostly not connecting. Occasionally someone would manage to hit the ball and the swarm of bodies would move to whichever direction the round object rolled.

At one instance two girls came running after the ball near the side where we stood. While the ball bounced away, the slower girl tripped on the legs of the girl in front and fell. The girl in front let the ball roll out of the pitch, and stopped to help the other girl up saying "Oh my God, are you alright?"
"Yes, I'm fine."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah."
And the girl who didn't fall ran to get the ball and handed it to the other girl with a friendly smile.

It was pathetic to watch. Where is the killer-instinct to make use of the situation and, perhaps, score? But, I guess, it's sports-made-in-Canada for you: the important thing is to be polite and nice to each other, not to win the game. Could that be the reason why all sports in Canada, except hockey to some extent, are declining? Maybe they should teach those kids to compete rather than just having fun.

The Lost Symbol

The Lost Symbol by Dan Brown

My rating: 2 of 5 stars


I knew when I started this book that I'm not in for a literary experience, but for an action-packed thriller. Even so, it was disappointing. Very predictable, slow to move and difficult to swallow. Too much lecturing on religion, mythology and symbolism, not nearly enough suspense to make it as unforgettable as The Da Vinci Code or Angels and Demons.

View all my reviews >>

Horse-country

It was a beautiful day, made for a drive--sunny, but not too hot. Humidity, which made us sweat extensively for the past month or so, was finally chased away by a persistent breeze. So, Meg and I decided to go to Barrie, about an hour drive north.

Barrie lays on lake Simcoe. Its waterfront is charming, but just like Toronto's, there are no attractions to make even those who are not into suntanning and seadooing, come out and play. We walked around Heritage Park, watched a huge, racially-mixed flock of geese and ducks claim the little pond behind a gazebo adorned with flower baskets. We continued on, treading carefully to avoid geese-poop which littered the whole waterfront, grass and the boardwalk. If you ask me, the Americans are doing us a favor by killing those birds when they fly down south. What use is poultry if you're not allowed to eat it?

Farther down the shore is a big splash-pool area crowded with shivering kids with purple lips, braving the chilly breeze soaked wet. The parents are dispersed everywhere on the grass surrounding the splash-pool, snapping cellphone pictures and generally not concerned with the prospect of the kids contracting pneumonia.

The street and stores in the area were mostly deserted. The only place that showed signs of activity and had a terrace overlooking the lake was Hooters, and I'm ashamed to admit I took my wife there for a drink. We sat under a fake orange palm tree, on terribly uncomfortable plastic Adirondack chairs (which are in Canada called Muskoka chairs, by the region in Ontario) and looked at the lake and the geese.

Returning home was a beautiful drive--we went all around the lake Simcoe and through the horse-country. I don't think I've ever seen so many ranches with horses. They were small and big, sliced with many corrals or open fields, with ponds and creeks and barns. And all of them had a few or many horses grazing and walking about. It felt like being far in the prairies, though we were not an hour drive from home.

No matter how well we think we know the area around home, there's always something new and wonderful to discover.

Time and Books

I never thought I'd quote Dan Brown, but here it is, a sentence from "The Lost Symbol":
"Time is a river, books are the boats"

A Candlelit Dinner

A wonderful candlelit dinner last night: prosciutto, baguette, pate, olives, cheese and a glass of Malbec. We'll have to repeat that soon.

Mid-life crisis?

According to this article in British Daily Mail (quoting a recent study), I suffer from a serious case of mid-life crisis. How do I know that? Because I run marathons, and I like it! Funny me, I thought I started running to keep in shape and re-gain strength after a bad case of herniated disk. I also thought I am doing races because I like the atmosphere and the challenge. But no--the Daily Mail set me straight. Apparently, I can't afford to buy a convertible sport car, or some other visible sign of mid-life crisis, so I opted for marathon exhaustion and bruised toenails instead. Who knew?

By the way, here's the definition quoted from Wikipedia:
"Midlife crisis is a term coined in 1965 by Elliott Jaques and used in Western societies to describe a period of dramatic self-doubt that is felt by some individuals in the "middle years" or middle age of life, as a result of sensing the passing of their own youth and the imminence of their old age. Sometimes, a crisis can be triggered by transitions experienced in these years, such as extramarital affairs, andropause or menopause, the death of parents or other causes of grief, unemployment or underemployment, realizing that a job or career is hated but not knowing how else to earn an equivalent living, or children leaving home. The result may be a desire to make significant changes in core aspects of day-to-day life or situation, such as in career, work-life balance, marriage, romantic relationships, big-ticket expenditures, or physical appearance."

Hmmmm, is that something telling me it's time to make some changes on the career path?

Double uncle

Meg's sister gave birth to a baby-girl today, making us aunt and uncle for the second time. Eagerly awaiting to see pictures of the baby.

It's Spain!

The World Cup is over. It's been a long month with a lot of soccer. The final game was painful to watch: slow, nervous, frustrating, with lots of fouls and bad refereeing. Of the two lousy teams, the better one won. What surprised me was how dirty the Dutch played. For example, take this karate kick of De Jong on Alonso, it was a classic red-card foul, but he got away with "only" a yellow, and lived to foul other players. At the end, the Dutch got what they deserved--they lost! Viva Espana!

P.S.
Just to prove I'm not the only one calling the Dutch team dirty, here's what one of their own--Holland legend Johan Cruyff--said about their finals game:
Cruyff disgusted by Dutch display

Also, Paul Parker's football blog:
Dirty Dutch a disgrace to football

Spain

If it wasn't obvious from my previous posts, I just want to officially say that I am cheering for Spain against the Dutch in the World Cup final on Sunday! Go Spain! I mean--OLE!

Signs

When we came back home from work on Wednesday, there were SIGNS on our lawn. No, not really the kind of signs Mel Gibson found in his corn field in the movie, but still disconcerting kind of red and orange markings on the lawn. I don't think it has anything to do with the colors of the football World Cup finalists Netherlands (orange) and Spain (red) who will play for the world champion title on Sunday. The ominous signs bring the feeling that something will change in our lives, at least temporarily. Someone will dig something (most likely cables or pipes) and ruin our backyard! Maybe we should call good ol' Mel (Gibson) for help to fight the aliens?

Hey, while you're looking at the inauspicious signs on our lawn, check the garage-door frame. Nice color, eh? Yeah, we did it

Garage Door

Since the weekend we have a real heat wave melting this part of Canada, with temperatures in low to mid 30s C and humidity factor in 40s. Of course, we pretend it's just life as usual, but somehow the energy levels are low, and the heat makes thinking straight a bit difficult. That could be why we spent two days, Saturday and Sunday, sanding and caulking the garage door, when only a few hours should have been enough. The old paint, done by the builder only a couple of summers ago, was peeling already. Besides, we didn't like the beige color they picked. On Saturday we took turns with the drill-turned-sander--that's Meg taking the aim in the photo--then bought a real sander on Sunday and finished the job. The sanding part of it.

The Ugly Game

Okay, I'm a sore loser, so what? I still think it'd be better for everyone--with the exception of the Dutch fans--if Brazil won the World Cup quarterfinal. It would be better for the sport and for the millions of fans who appreciate the beautiful game. The Dutch are the antithesis of beautiful-- they didn't only play ugly, they even looked ugly. Yet, they won over playful, wonderful-to-watch Brazil. Time to consider changing the slogan for soccer into "the ugly game".

As for Brazil--thanks for the memories, guys, it was fun while it lasted. We'll miss your game and everything that comes with it!