Soup Soothes Lost Morning

On my way to an important appointment I was sure to leave early for the bus. By early I mean enough time to walk, not run, to the stop. I had to go back to my apartment for water, a flat pair of shoes to walk home in, again for a bus ticket, a magazine to read and once more for my very important papers protected in a shiny blue folder. Important in as much they stated –Bring these papers with you to your appointment.

Perhaps I did not have enough coffee on this morning or the cobwebs were thicker than typical, I was unusually out of sync with my environment. I am a bit excited this morning I am about to change the course of my life.

Off the bus, run to the train transfer in hand (walk quickly downhill), stride 5 minutes to the appointment. Outside the door I checked for my important papers- gone.

Am I losing it, I asked into the phone. Mid-life had presented me with some forgetful moments; this one seemed as close to a night at the bar as any to date. My BF assures me no. I did not leave them in the apartment and I am not losing it.

I attend my very important appointment with no important papers. I am sent to stand in a line. First I’m told I should go home and look around or maybe I left it in the car. NO car, maybe I left them on the bus I offer the stern but vacant eyed government worker...we all know that the chances of retrieving anything left on a bus are similar to getting a refund on chewed gum. It is a city’s black hole. She agreed, I was directed to wait for a short bit.

I sat. I cleaned out my purse. Found a snack. I read my Vegetarian times. I call 1800 O Canada to see if they could help. Mohamed answered and says he can’t help me. I secretly hope the call center is in Canada and then wonder if that was a mean spirited thought of if I am thinking as a patriot.

My bus transfer is going to expire; I did not bring cash...I’ll have to take the train home illegally. I mentally prepare what I will tell the transit officer to get out of the ticket. I’m called 90 minutes later. Yes they can reorder the papers for me. The clerk offers to lie and say I never got them...thanks, no thanks.

Back home I look longingly at the bus bench across the street and see my folder on the sidewalk and papers dancing across the field. While retrieving all but one page I think of the morning lived.

I had left them on the bench beside me. I guess I was used to using my car as a big purse.

My BF went out to get the wine. We needed some comfort food...Soup

• 1/2 pound extra-lean ground beef/turkey
• 1 egg, lightly beaten
• 2 tablespoons dry bread crumbs rye work well
• 1 tablespoon grated Parmesan cheese
• 1/2 teaspoon dried basil or rosemary
• 1/2 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
• 7 cups chicken broth
• 2 cups thinly sliced spinach
• 1/2 cup uncooked orzo pasta or rice
• 1/3 cup finely chopped carrot or celery

DIRECTIONS

1. In medium bowl, combine meat, egg, bread crumbs, cheese, basil and Worcestershire sauce; shape into 3/4 inch balls. Cook in the oven at 325 for 20 minutes
2. In large saucepan, heat broth to boiling; add orzo pasta, chopped carrot. Return to boil, then reduce heat to medium. Cook at slow boil for 10 minutes, or until pasta is al dente. Add spinach cook for 2 minutes add cooked meat balls.
3. Serve with additional grated Parmesan cheese ....mmm
   

Grocery Shopping without a Car...more Sustainable Fun

I headed out to the local green grocer, bus ticket in hand. I traveled light, no purse just my wheelie cart and bank card tucked into the front of my jeans. With the lively heart of a careless traveler I skipped to the bus stop. My timing was great I stepped on to the 414 handed over my ticket received a transfer and was on my way.

Grocery Shopping can be a burden, a chore, downright unpleasant in fact. However, on this day, at this moment it was more like a break, some entertainment and the highly regarded ‘me’ time.

One block away I realized I had taken my BF’s bank card instead of mine. It’s not that I didn’t know his pin, there was just no money in his account since he had to drain it to get me out of the bad bet I made at the neighbourhood dog fight the night before. I had to get off the bus, shopping with no money was just loitering.

Off the bus and walking back to the apartment I was still happy knowing there was a number 10 bus by in just 12 minutes. I entered the apartment and the BF wanted to come with. Grabbing my bank card I said no, that’s ok stay here and rest. He was moving a bit slow due in part to the ‘mix up’ at last night’s event but the swelling had stopped. He insisted, I relented we dashed out. And by dashed I mean walked while chewing gum. To the stop I directed him, there we waited. We had missed the 10.

After 20 minutes and some huffing on my part the wise BF suggested we returned to the apartment to have something to eat. There would be another 414 in 20 minutes. Soon we were both stepping on the bus sure grateful that fiasco was over.

Off the bus it was only a 2 minute walk to the store which was good because neither the BF nor I should have been walking on our own power, both being in physical recovery of sorts. I had some day surgery earlier in the week and he the night before, as I mentioned, had to carry me out of a warehouse basement, on his shoulders while fighting off some f*cked up dudes.

Walking to the store I reached for my bank card. Checked all pockets, the wheelie cart, my bra, pockets again. He looked at me dreadfully “what are you looking for?” I didn’t have the bank card, but I did have 8 dollars in coin.

I certainly was not going to have the shopping experience I had hoped for; he was starting to limp again. There were ‘discussions’ what to do next and where did I leave the card. For a moment I thought maybe the dangerous youth on the bus took my card...out of my pocket but on reflection the thought was reaching.

We started back from the store with eight dollars of oats in the cart. We walked to catch the number 10 home. Once at the bus stop I called the ‘next bus phone line’ and was told no bus stops here. We started walking, half way between bus stops we heard the 10 roaring in the back ground. We assessed: Too far to run back, too far to make it to the next stop, plus we should not be running.

Missed the 10 walking home slowly.

He went to rest, I unpacked the oats.

Pffft.

Reduced Privacy

This week I had a private medical appointment. Taking public transit to the hospital made this, not so private.

I took the bus there escorted by my very good friend and fellow car-less cohort.
After my appointment the nurses seemed dismayed at my plan to take a bus home. They insisted a taxi was better. In fact when my escort returned to take me home the nurses did their best to influence him.

We took a taxi.

It did not feel anymore private to me but was marginally faster. I would have preferred to take the bus and with the difference in cash get sushi for lunch.

Cha

Big Deal

The death of a loyal servant always comes as a shock...days later the real costs come into focus.

The family car expired...died... It was our choice. We could have gone for broke to drive another day. But the line was clear to me.

The cost of the open road was too close to a Roma vacation. Is it just the women I know or any warm blooded Canadian gal...we'd would rather have the Tuscan sun beating down on our bare shoulders compared to the responsibility for a broken two door 92 vintage.

...does anyone know when the next 414 is coming?

Blah