Road to Nowhere, Iqaluit

People are divided into those who love the name of my new street -- Road to Nowhere -- and those who hate it. I love it. I love people who love it. Those who cringe, those who tell me I should petition to rename it --you are whiny. And I never liked you anyway. This is not addressed to anyone in particular, in case you Google me in your spare time.

I'll be off line for the month of July. Let the adventure begin.

Eating mangos. Filling myself up. No mangos on Baffin Island. Surely not for $10 per box. Mango is such a beautiful fruit. I’ll miss it.

A woman on the bus. Honey brown hair. Smelled like baby powder. Age 40 or so. Held a map in her hand, and kept checking the route. I knew she was going to the zoo. There was no other place to go with a map in one’s hand. I wanted to tell her that the zoo was the last stop. That she didn’t have to worry. I said nothing. It looked like she was oddly satisfied with being in control of something.

I mailed a small plastic toy elephant from Toronto to Alabama 5 weeks ago, stuffed in a small plastic envelope. It hasn’t arrived yet. Never mind the $6.23 that I paid for its journey. What I am wondering about is where is he? Is he scared? Is someone feeding him? Loving him?

it is too hot to think. we leave for Iqaluit in 11 day. i think it is 11. or 10. we have it marked. we are going to live on a street called 'Road To Nowhere'. i am not kidding.

We walked into a restaurant with a large, obviously heavy suitcase.

“We are moving in,” my husband said. “We love the food so much.”

Everybody who stood at the reception laughed except a small, wrinkled man. I thought he didn’t understand, or didn’t hear my husband. As we were led to our table he quietly said into my back: “There is a room upstairs.”

I almost got into a fight.

On our way to IKEA, on a bus. We realised that we forgot to take transfers. My husband, the most polite man I know, approached the driver. The driver refused. “One is supposed to get transfers at the beginning of one’s trip,” he said.

I fumed. They just raised ticket prices, and I was not about to pay another $5 for the family. At our stop my husband and daughter got out through the back doors, but I approached the driver. I figured I could plead my case. I had a sleeping baby in a sling. I was polite. I looked harmless and innocent. “Please,” I said. “We simply forgot.” He was adamant. “What about ‘Toronto the kind?” I reminded him of the popular PR campaign.

“Toronto IS kind,” he said.

“You must be out of town, then. Please, I need the transfers.” He refused. I reached for his hand, as he was holding a bunch of transfers in it. He grabbed my hand. “I will call the police!” he yelled. “Get off the bus!”

“I am not getting off. I need the transfers.” I reached for his hand again. He shoved them into my hand. “Here!”

I laughed and jumped off. When he drove off, he gave me a finger. I stuck my tongue out.

End.

two pidgeons walked back and forth on the roof. another pidgeon landed between them. they all flapped their wings and flew away. empty rooftop.

just happened.

time travel.

i used baking soda and steel wool to shine a little metal salt-cup that my aunt had owned for years before giving it to me.

this is how it looked when she bought it 60 years ago. shiny, almost white.

i think i will be blogging.