Storm Day

There's a snow storm forecast for tomorrow and it's always interesting to watch how different people, businesses and organizations handle such events.

I'm not going to harp on the pathetic street and sidewalk maintenance efforts by the city of Saint John, now it's just a fact, like stating the sky is blue, everyone knows and seems to accept it (it must be like this everywhere, right?) and doesn't see a point in trying to change it.  I must be starting to fit into this city well because I'm now able to take my backhanded slap and carry on with the relationship I've settled into.

Tomorrow happens to be a Sunday.  The second last shopping Sunday before Christmas.  When you're living in a locale desperate for every dollar, you need to do things that may not be terribly safe or responsible - like not clearing the sidewalks and streets as well as they should be for the sake of the safety of your residents or keeping malls open without regard for putting the often-minimum-wage-earning employees in jeopardy - for the sake of economic survival.

I know of at least one mall that has told its retail establishments to track the buses before coming to work.  If Saint John Transit - an interesting entity in itself, taking the Canada Post theory of doing business, increasing rates while decreasing service - pulls its buses off the roads, the mall will close.  There are so many reasons this strategy is so golden, particularly for the employees that took the buses to get to work.

Anyway, I had a friend who was dating a girl who used to use this exact technique for making decisions herself.  Whenever we would pair up with this couple to go out for dinner, she would leave the decision of where to eat to anyone else.  That way she remained free to criticize without having to take any of the responsibility.

The problem in this case is that you're playing a game of craps where someone's safety is valued at the same level as an business's financial bottom line.

And that's wrong.

Serena Ryder

Serena Ryder is a fireplug ready to go off.  At her recent concert at the Imperial Theatre in Saint John, NB she delivered life like a gospel preacher before the rapture - no small feat in that venerable space - even getting some dancing in the aisles.

I first saw Serena in concert in Halifax at St. Matthew's Church in November of 2009 and have been extolling her abilities ever since.

Amid the apprehension of an impending storm, Holly and I sat down in the new Ta-Ke Sushi on King Street needing some respite from an unforgiving winter.

"Is she like Sarah Harmer or will she move on the stage?" dance-girl Holly inquired.

"It'll be fun," I smirked back.

Satiated with yam and avocado makimono, miso soup, and green tea, we started, after a quick stop at the studio, on the slippery incline toward the Imperial, found some over-priced chocolate for dessert and were ushered to our eighth row middle seats.

Montreal born Danielle Duval showed her fearlessness taking the stage with only a guitar and her camera as she opened the concert with some songs from her album Of the Valley and tossed in a brilliantly brave cover of Grease's "You're the One that I Want" that was featured on the soundtrack for Californication.

Ryder chose the certain-hit "What I Wouldn't Do" to open the show and showed off the stuff her newest album, Harmony, is made of.  With polished repartee and a few on-stage local guests, she charmed the audience from start to finish, disporting her abilities with various guitars and a small fortress of drums.

And then there's her most-treasured instrument - her voice.  Her self-proclaimed idols - Etta James (At Last) and Nina Simone (anything she wanted) - had nothing on Serena's modulations, despite her recent troubles with "losing" this gift.

Her performances sound so much like her recordings I found myself looking for cues that would signal to me that she wasn't pulling a Beyonce, it's that good and no, she definitely wasn't.

Serena delivers a real show - the band, lighting, technical effects all combine with her vocalizations, intrumentations and dramatic costumes to showcase the smart, tribal, sorceress she has become.

Holly and I left the sermon with renewed spirits and looked out upon King Square to find the ground we expected to be white and nasty was still mostly bare.  It was a March miracle.

A Saint John Adventure

Saint John has been presented as a city of adventure and while this self-proclamation  may make it seem as though there hasn't been a whole lot of adventure since the 1800s, officials seem intent upon living up to this title.

As the snow falls outside the studio, anxiety builds as I recall the last snowfall accumulating something in the vicinity of 10 centimetres.  Lack of preparation combined with a seemingly slow response make travel by car, bus or foot an enterprise not for the faint of heart.

Over 39% of city sidewalks are not maintained during the winter months.  I am not certain why any of this is acceptable in an already pedestrian-challenged city.

The city has a discernibly infinite number of positives and the potential for the future is enormous, but pretending everything is wonderful maintaining the status quo does not help bring that potential future to fruition.

I want more for Saint John.  Do not mistake mentioning areas where improvement is possible as a lack of respect for doing so is a catapult for change - and change is good.  We need more catapults.

Stay safe, Saint John, and if you slip on the ice, get back up and keep to your path.

One Degree, Not Six

"Don't they do this test in New Brunswick?"

Holly confirmed to the hospital receptionist in Halifax that they do definitely do have the ability to administer this medical test in Saint John.

"Couldn't your doctor ask for the test to be done there?"

She couldn't because Holly's doctor isn't registered in the New Brunswick computer database.

"Couldn't your doctor there have ordered it?"

The receptionist, only asking these questions out of personal curiosity and registering Holly for her test while conversing, appeared both surprised and sorrowful to hear that there are no available doctors in Saint John.

A quick online search and a phone call was all it took to land a family doctor in Halifax and this test was why we made the four hour trip exactly a week before Christmas.  We made the most of the hours in Halifax by having brunch with two of my sisters and exchanging hugs and gifts over the excellent food at Heartwood Restaurant on Quinpool Road.  Having to close our new studio for a day so close to Christmas was not something we took lightly, but health trumps money - or so should be the case.

Late December road trips (the first day of winter, my birthday, and seemingly, the end of the world are only three days away) are always a concern in Canada too.  On our return trip, just past Sussex, the temperature gauge on the car's control panel indicated that the air had chilled to freezing and the light drizzle we had picked up just after Moncton had changed to big, fat snowflakes and the painted white segmented lines on the highway began to fade.  The road had quickly become a treacherous mess with the centimetre or two that had fallen and we were creeping along near 30kms per hour.

"The sign says there's an exit to Norton in six kilometres," Holly informed me.

Is there anything in Norton?  The two cars behind indicated their intention to take the off ramp, so we followed suit.  Lo and behold, at the bottom of the ramp, an Irving sign glowed through the snow.  This would be so pretty if we were safe at home, I commented.

A handful of cars and a couple tractor trailers sat watching the highway in the service station's (and liquor store) lot and nearly two hours past.  This precipitation was no surprise, nor was the temperature or the wind chill that accompanied the gusting winds, there was no indication any salt had been laid on the highway.  During our time watching from the Irving, we saw two plows going our way, the off ramp was plowed once, but not the on ramp.  Then another plow passed and everyone seemed to decide that it was time to venture out.

The tractor trailers took a number of attempts to get up the covered ramp and the cars crawled their way to the highway.  We prepared the car and went into the service station for any last necessities, still unsure of setting out for the last 55kms to Saint John.

"Are there any motels in the area?" Holly asked one of the seasoned clerks.

It turned out the closest would mean back-tracking 18kms to Sussex.  This was what the clerk recommended, adding "They say a plow just went by, so going from experience there isn't likely to be another 'til morning."

I found that statement to be so incredulous that I struggled to believe it, but was most disturbed with her delivery of it, as she was neither upset by this neglect nor seemingly aware that situations like this were certainly not normal in other parts of the country.

Put off with the prospect of traveling a significant distance in the wrong direction, Holly and I agreed to attempt the journey home, noting that we had water and food should we have to camp out on the side of the road.  We crawled most of the way, but made it safely, albeit completely unnerved, to the untouched slushy streets of home.