A Moment in Villeray

A Moment in Villeray

The beginning of December is a busy time, and one of the hardest things is to muster enough energy on these short days to get everything done. December is also the month when I, like everyone else, take stock of the year passing. My family and I went through a lot this year, but the tragic events were offset by many positive moments.

I fell and injured my knee last year, and it stopped me from doing a lot of blogging this year. I just can't sit for extended periods of time anymore without some degree of pain, and because I work seated for 7.5 hours a day, something had to give.

But as luck would have it, the injury pushed me to spend a lot more time walking year-round in Jarry Park. There is nothing more beautiful than the intense blue of a winter sky, something I can't remember enjoying since I was a kid. And I know that this will annoy the s**t out of some people, but winter can be enjoyed with the right clothing.

Because of my injury I also carved out some time to go to yoga and pilates, which have been beneficial in more ways than one. Not only am I doing something I enjoy, but it also gives me a chance to socialize with people in my neighbourhood. Social opportunities are sorrily missed for people who work from home. But while regular exercise has helped, it has not cured my knee problems or the pain from sitting for long periods of time.

On Friday, I started physiotherapy. I checked on the Internet to find a physiotherapist within walking distance. The address was curiously on Rue Gary Carter, formerly known as Faillon Ouest. Everyone who is at least 40 will remember Gary Carter, the Expos golden-boy catcher, back when we had three TV stations, and if the Expos were playing that's what you were watching, whether you liked it or not. When I saw the sign, it was a happy nostalgic moment.

The physiotherapy session was less cheery. Plenty of prodding later, I discovered that I will need more than a few sessions of physio to correct the muscle imbalance caused by my fall. The problem with uncorrected damage is that our bodies compensate in different ways, which can cause subsequent injuries, namely in the back, neck or ankle.

With my list of exercises in hand, I walked home through the park by the pond. I thought about all the writing I had wanted to do this year but wasn't able to. Nevertheless, the quality of my life definitely improved with regular exercise and fresh air. Below is part of the beautiful silver lining of my injury.

The Pond at Jarry Park in Early December

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The Rodeo...?

The Rodeo...?

Uncle Gerry, no imitation snakeskin cowboy hat for him!

As some of you may have noticed, I choose to blog about the things I like, particularly the books I like and great family experiences. After all, if I wanted to blog about things that make me feel crappy and jaded, this would be a blog about politics or global warming. But maybe, I should make room for the big, the bad and the hideous, three apt descriptors for last Sunday's rodeo at Jarry Park. In fact, before we actually stepped onto the fairgrounds, I noticed a pair of underwear in the middle of the road, which had been run over a half dozen times. I pointed this out to my daughter, who exclaimed, "That's embarrassing!" And strangely enough that's how I felt after spending 20 minutes at the "rodeo."

If I had to say one nice thing about this Sunday afternoon outing, I could say that the flowers smelled beautiful as we approached the ticket sales and shelled out $9.00 for admission.

The first exhibit was for some rather large motor homes and trailers, which were next to a wide selection of hideous cowboy hats that were all made in China. I couldn't help but notice the pastel pink and powder blue camouflage variety. Then we came to a motionless Shetland pony, one of only two horses we would see. The pony was penned in with a lama and a bunch of sleeping rabbits, which left me scratching my head. The John Deere representative was on hand to sell riding lawn mowers, which my 3-year-old son found fascinating. The pièce de resistance was a bull stationed at the centre of the exhibition. Children were permitted to sit on top for a mere $5. We walked around a little more to some rip-off carnival games with uber cheap stuffed animals to the headache-inducing twang of country music that echoed off the Jarry Park tennis courts. The cowgirls' attire involved tight pastel t-shirts and sequins, while cowboy hats and a beer buzz were the only unifying characteristics among the men.

This was one of the strangest events I have ever been to. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why we had to pay an admission fee to see a man selling hardware supplies or to view the Dukes of Hazard's AMC Charger. What did either one of them have to do with a rodeo? This two-bit dog-and-pony show could not decide what it was. Was it a swap meet, a motor home salon, a country fair or a carny convention?

Disappointment is the result of unfulfilled expectations. "So what was I expecting?" asked my husband. Well, I thought I'd see a few nice horses, maybe a makeshift coral, cows and other barnyard animals and some cowboys and girls with "high-quality" hats and boots, possibly sporting gingham shirts with hicky smiles slapped on their faces. I was not expecting to see "a herd of bison stampeding across the prairie," as my husband sarcastically suggested.

Was there more to this show? I'm not sure. The damn music got on my nerves and I insisted we leave before bitchiness set in.

Montreal, you do so many urban things so well, but when it comes to rodeos, you suck!

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