Birds of a feather

I am like my grandfather's pocket watch that tells exactly the right time never less (or more) than twice a day. Well, not quite that bad, but I am running about a week slow. These events happened seven days ago. What can I say? Settling in after a major move is a little more than a full-time job, and keeping up with the dizzying world of the blogosphere takes a back seat.

I could have sworn last Monday's meeting was called for seven. My iPhone and the MeetUp app said six.  So I aimed for six.

Settling in

There is actually some room to spare in the kitchen thanks to some creative use of space under the stairs.

We built one of those custom shelf things on casters that lives under the stairs and holds kitchen stuff that is rarely used but can't be disposed of, like cookie sheets, the pizza pan, the mammoth turkey-sized roasting pan, and some other stuff.

A magnus fumus usque ad udo litore

The title for this instalment of Life on Two Wheels could be our moto. In some ways it represents our immediate family: four kids in Toronto, two in Vancouver.

Cardboard hell, or "where's the kettle?"

Moving day was last Tuesday. It was a day I hope to forget.

"Where does this go?"

"Ah... den."

"Should all these boxes go in the locker? Oh, and where's the locker?"

"Right..."

The beauty of a three story town house, with the den, office, and spare bedroom on the third floor, is that it's a really nice retreat. Or will be, once the furniture is in the right places, the TV is up and running, the home network is firing on all cylinders... To be honest, as much progress as we have made, on M+6 the house is not nearly a home.

Too much cardboard. Too much wrapping paper. Too much, and I thought I'd never say this because normally it's endless fun, bubble wrap.

At least the internet as I knew it and the Apple wireless network is functional. The TV is only partially operational though. I think the Bell guy might have to make a return engagement.

The point of all of this is that there is hope. There is definitely hope.

I just thought I'd check in, in case you all thought I had plowed the Vespa into a culvert somewhere down the 401 in Ontari-ari-ari-oh.

Smoke Meat Pete

How important is Montreal smoked meat?

I explored this with you recently.

I forgive you without hesitation for thinking I was indulging in a just a tiny little bit of exageration. Mark Twain had a nice way of putting it. He called them stretchers, truth embellished with a gloss that invites a reasonable person's closer scrutiny.

Au revoir mes amis! Helllloooo!

Je vous quitte.

Il s'agit du dénouement d'une histoire déjà bien longue. La fin d'un projet né lorsque nos trois enfants approchaient la fin de leurs études.

(patience... please read on)

I am a wrencher!

My Dad (thanks Dad) encouraged me to tear our lawn mower apart over a fall and winter season. I must have been thirteen.