Maple Leaf Gardens

Yesterday I was on my way home from Canadian Tire, listening to the Canadian Broadcasting Company - Radio Canada. I like to listen to Canadian news so I can get some sense of the culture outside of Western and London in general (harder to do than you might think). They were doing a story about Maple Leaf Gardens.

Maple Leaf Gardens is the name of the arena where the Toronto Maple Leafs used to play, until about 10 years ago when they moved into their new venue, the Air Canada Centre (named for the Canadian airline). The Gardens had a kind of historical presence, deemed by the CBC as the "most recognizable building in Canada." Apparently thousands of Canadians grew up watching games there on TV. But after the Leafs left, the building sat empty for 10 years. Now it's owned by Loblaws, a grocery company that owns a bunch of big chains around Canada. From what I understand, it's weird for Canadians that the building was such an icon for hockey and then it was kind of abandoned.

The radio story went on to describe the new plan, a joint suggestion from the city government and the Friends of Maple Leaf Gardens. They want it to become a combination grocery store (part of Loblaws' agreement) and public skating rink. The representative on the show said it would attract a lot of people to come skate because of the history there. "Who wouldn't want to hold a hockey stick on that ice?"

Things like this always make me want to find an American comparison. Of course, some Americans might not need one because they feel the same way about hockey, but for people like me - a midwesterner who only sort of knew anything about hockey - an analogy would be helpful. For example, what if the Cubs or the Yankees traded up for a nicer, multipurpose venue and left their historic stadiums empty for 10 years? That would probably make a lot of people uncomfortable. But what if, then, they turned the sad, unused Wrigley Field into a public park, and left the original diamond intact? Who wouldn't want to go play catch in the same dirt and grass that the Cubs play used to play in?

Blogger, I barely know 'er!

This is my friend, Kira.




















She has a food blog and it's what I used to plan a lot of my meals over the last year.













Last summer she visited me in Bloomington and I made her make food with me, like this homemade pasta.


Two summers ago she got married and I got to be in her wedding.
















Anyway. Why am I sharing this with you? Because Kira's blog (foodallaputtanesca.blogspot.com) was a big part of the reason why I wanted to start this blog about living in Canada. I've provided links to hers above, and in another location. Please direct your attention the right side of the screen (if you're looking at this in a feed reader, you're missing out). You'll see the newest addition to Sounds Like Canada - a blog roll! I've been reading most of these blogs for over a year and I'm very proud to show off my reading list to you.

If you're like me, a graduate student, you might be saying to yourself, "Goodness, 130 pages for one class simply weren't enough this week. I need something else to read, to help me plan my recipes, to laugh at other people's children, or figure out how to structure my work out." Just check out that blog roll and you'll know all you wanted to (and maybe more) about my friends' lives and my own, and those of the complete strangers whose blogs I like. Enjoy!

I'm Blind as a Bat

At John's prompting, I decided to write something else that I've experienced at Western's pool. First, let me say, I have pretty poor eyesight. Watching TV in the dark is hard for me, not just because I know it's unhealthy, but because I have trouble seeing details in the screen. When I go to the pool, I try to study the room a little before I set my glasses on the bench, near the pool, so I know which lanes are mostly free and which to avoid. I try to station myself near the giant clock - the one with four giant second hands, each a different color. It's probably 2 or 3 times as big as a stop sign, just for your reference.

On Monday I went to the pool around 6:30 pm and it was much busier than I'm used to. My favorite lane, near the clocks, was full of people who seemed to barely make it from one wall to the other, and I wanted to avoid passing people multiple times per lap. I opted for a lane marked "medium," instead of the slow lane I'm used to, because there were fewer people and they seemed to be a little more proficient. Still, though, I'm not fast and I constantly considered switching back to a slower lane.

The problem was that I couldn't see the other end of the 50 meter pool clearly, and I couldn't tell the difference between the darker tile on the wall and a swimmer in a navy colored swim suit. To correct my vision a little bit, I'm in the habit of squinting hard and pulling my eyes to a narrow slit, the way kids do when they impersonate Chinese people. Just as I was doing this, I looked around and noticed that the pool was literally filled with Asian people. I mean in every single lane there were at least 3 Asians. Canada has a huge Asian population - Toronto is more than 50% Asian. There are a lot of Asian students at Western, and it seemed like I was the only non-Asian swimmer that evening. Trying not to seem like an ass, I used my palms to discreetly pull my eyes to slits, hoping it seemed like I was just having a reaction to the chlorine.

Eventually I decided to stay where I was put, and wondered if the other (Asian) swimmers thought that I was trying to insult them with my slit eyes.

Back when I swam regularly, growing up, I had much better eyesight and this kind of thing would never have happened! Now I know why they make prescription goggles.

On the Street where I Live

Last July I sprained my ankle. As of a few weeks ago, it was supposed to have been healed, but it still swells and gets sore when I try to run for very long. My ankle will give me my first opportunity to try out my new Canadian health insurance, but in the mean time, I've been swimming at Western's gym. It really takes me back to my childhood.













Then I take the bus and walk down a few pretty streets on my way home.













This beauty is on the corner of Wellington and Victoria. You see, Li'l London really wants to be like the Big London. Here's the front of the same house.



















While strolling by this house, it occurred to me that there are two types of squirrels in London. In Indiana, we have grey or brown squirrels (or little tree squirrels, just ask my mom - one time, a little one got into our living room and crawled around on her head before they noticed). In Michigan, around Interlochen, they have black squirrels. But in London, we have both.

Today the brown squirrels didn't want to sit still and have their picture taken, but I snapped photos a couple of the black ones.












From a short distance, this little guy looks sort of like a small black cat. But after he noticed me, he shot a few feet away. Same one:














I made one other observation today on my walk. You may already know that in the U.S., mosquitoes don't bite me. They don't like the taste, or maybe I give off bad vibes...I don't know for sure. Either way, I've never worn bug spray because I've never needed to. But as I was taking this picture, I got my second Canadian mosquito bite. Maybe they like the mild taste, not laced with Tim Horton's and maple flavoring like everyone's here.

Movin' On Up

With everything that's happened since we moved here, I've neglected to tell you about the move itself.




















Let's go back - waaaaaay back - to 3 and a half weeks ago, when John and my parents and I drove the 22' truck from Fort Wayne to London.

Immigration
Thankfully, this process took just about an hour and we made it out with what we needed. A couple of things made me nervous about being there, like when my mom came into the room and whispered harshly, "Don't go into the third stall in the women's bathroom, there's a bag of marijuana in it." If I had a list of things you don't want to say while trying to get into a country, this would be on it.

Apparently when she and my dad went through the toll-booth-like line in the car, the conversation went something like this:

Agent: What's in the car?
Parents: We don't know...
Agent: But who packed the car?
Parents: Uh, our daughter, we think...
Agent: Well whose car is it?
Parents: Our daughter's boyfriend...

I guess they seemed so innocent that no one wanted to bother inspecting their car.


Unloading
Getting all of our stuff off that giant truck and into the small apartment was no easy task.




















You could barely walk through it. John put some shelves together for our pantry.




















And voila!





















Here are some before and after shots.
Living room before:



















No furniture yet.
















And after:



















Yes, we have clutter, but that just gives it a "lived in" feeling.

Guest bedroom before:
















And after:












Our bedroom, before:





























And after!












Now our guest bedroom isn't the only put together room in the house.

Progress

For my birthday, John gave me the Martha Stewart Cake Decorating Kit. One of the best things in it was the small, flat, metal spatula that makes it easy to smooth out icing.

Here's a red velvet cake that I made just before he gave me the kit.
















The recipe was also from Martha Stewart, but it's from the cupcake book. I was out of cupcake wrappers.
















Notice, by this point I could make a decent looking cake, but the icing still has a kind of rougher surface.













Here's a funfetti cake I made a few days ago. It's not as smooth as fondant, but I was pretty pleased with how symmetrical and smooth I could make it with the little metal spatula.













I'm sure there will be more cake photos to come. After I'm happy with a cake I've made, I always feel compelled to take a picture.

Mail Call!

Last night our landlord, James, came into the apartment and said, "Mail call!"

He presented us with this box, from my Uncle Kim, in Illinois:













John opened it,













and we found this!













A package of cookies with Canadian money taped to it.























Inside the box were peanut butter blossoms, made with peanut butter-filled chocolate kisses. What a fabulous idea, I can't believe it's never occurred to my peanut butter loving brain before.













Thanks, Uncle Kim! The cookies are still good, despite the length of time it takes for mail to get here on the Pony Express.