Cats and Dogs

In Saint John, as well as all of New Brunswick, we are reaching the eve of the municipal elections and, as dull as that may sound, it is the talk of the city.  The council presently in court is attempting to offer for re-election with upstanding decisions such as removing cats from the city by-laws and animal control services, as announced by the Animal Rescue League, and, well, let's just say 'pension fiasco' and leave it at that.  (I bring up that last item because nobody can fathom the idiocy and because I'm hoping I'm not going to be sued for stating my opinion.)

One thing is painfully clear, the reign of Ivan (The Terrible) Court has to come to an end, but I'm not going to harp on this subject because telling people not to vote for the fat man would be like telling them the sky beyond the Saint John fog is blue.

Returning to the animal control problem, it concerns me that the current council has missed the painfully obvious solution and hope the newly elected (come Monday) will implement the path to economic independence for this city.  I can see collective heads nodding in approval as everyone reads this.  There is a bountiful free range, pesticide and drug free (they drink from puddles, not Saint John water - damn, is that another law suit?!) food source just ripe for the plucking in our literal back yard: those stray cats and dogs.

Every problem is an opportunity, so instead of looking upon the situation as a financial burden, these frisky critters can be collected, processed and sold locally, heck, globally.  I am a vegetarian, but if I chose to eat meat, I see no rational reason why these felines and fidos can't be the perfect source of protein and cholesterol for city dwellers.

Think of the publicity.  Saint John, stop trying to tout your dulse (who the hell actually eats that?) and peddle poodles.  Kitty can keep your family plump and happy.  Animal groups in Toronto estimate anywhere from 100,000 to 250,000 stray cats in their city, so a little entrepreneurial ingenuity could see huge profits as four legged friends are trucked into Saint John like wood chips heading to the mill.  I wouldn't recommend using this seemingly unending supply of meat for pet food though, that would just be wrong.

So, if the candidates for Monday's election don't have their heads in the game, feel free to pass the word on to Matthew Thompson; notify Joseph Allan Callahan; and, for goodness' sake, tell Mel!

Sunday Outing

Holly and I needed to visit the local emergency room for a follow up doctor's appointment.  In New Brunswick, where you will need more than a four leaf clover and a lucky horse shoe to find a family physician, this is typical, but the norm seems to be to hope your medical problems go away or metastasize into something extremely nasty that will get you seen by a doctor, albeit too late.  At least I believe that is the province's plan for reducing the ballooning cost of health care.

During our three hour spring Sunday afternoon wait at St. Joe's - that is the affectionate moniker St. Joseph's Hospital is known by in Saint John - we were privileged to observe some of the local characters sharing this same adventure.

Laura is a nine year old who came in with her mother and two older sisters for, what seemed to be, a typical outing.  Nobody seemed particularly perturbed about having to visit a hospital as the mother acknowledged the security guard by name and guided her family to the number dispenser like some African plains' creature, where she made certain each had their own.  Mom, as Laura liked to yell in repeated staccato bursts until being told to pipe down, had achieved her three hundred pounds for the prized flowered moo moo that adorned her pale white figure years ago and was using this formidable presence combined with her stiff, angry voice to assert her dominance just as she had undoubtedly had to do through her childhood to obtain the necessary food and attention while learning to use the power of an unattractive body over potential predators.

Little Laura, with her thin frame to match her thin, somewhat greasy straight dark brown hair, would light up when receiving the attention she sought from her mother in the form of a verbal assault and make her way toward her sisters with pride on her face and her fingers and thumb forming the shape of the letter L, adding "Loser," under her breath as she neared earshot of the one entity that represented both older siblings.  Laura could easily be mistaken for a boy were it not for the puffy sleeves adorning her blouse.

Her sisters had gravitated toward a pair of girls they knew from school that were looking very important with the texts that were constantly leaving and entering their cell phones.  These two, who could have been anywhere from 13 to 16 years old, were both thin and sporting clothing designed to highlight this and complement the over-applied makeup.

To our right had sat an older overweight (though not quite obese) man breathing and, sometimes, coughing loudly through a tracheal stoma and his lady, who resembled an older and even more weathered version of Laura's mom.  They had entered the triage room just before Laura's group had entered.  Upon returning to the emergency waiting room, they were greeted by Mom yelling with her normal voice as she ambled toward the couple, "Dad!  What the hell are you doin' here?"

"He took a walk in the woods and fell."

Mom maneuvered her ample frame into the couple's personal space, never lowering the volume of her voice.  "Alone?" she blurted, turning her head accusingly to the woman, then looked over her shoulder, "Look Laura, it's Grandpa."

This went on for some time while the nurse behind the glass completed Grandpa's registration and the herd moved the show to the seats in the centre of the room, providing a much more entertaining and apt spectacle than the Nascar that someone - someone who had undoubtedly left the ER long ago - had tuned the television channel to.  Laura's mother's cell phone then announced an incoming call with loud country music and she held the phone to her face to read the ID before flipping it open and answering it, "Whaddya want, Mom?"

Grandpa's seats were taken by a young man and two young women, all looking far more tattered than their years should suggest, who had just said nonchalant hellos upon recognizing each other.

"What are you here for?" he asked the one with longish dark hair and dark featured face.

She had an abscessed tooth, it turns out, but returned the inquiry and was told that he needed some money Saturday night, so signed himself up for the local mixed martial arts fights, even though he wasn't expecting a victory.  Now, it was time to get the souvenirs from his match looked after and the conversation flowed like Crosby's molasses until we heard them mention another girl they knew.

"She would lick a guy's feet for a thousand bucks," said the dark featured woman.  Noticing the negative reaction this drew on the faces of her listeners, she added, "What?!  Money's money.  I'd do more than that for a thousand."

It was somewhere around this point, well over two hours in, that Holly and I moved to the second, smaller empty waiting room where we put the television on HGTV and hoped we wouldn't miss our names for our chance to see the doctor this go 'round.

Think Outside the Box Store

The sun is shining, a pigeon couple is eating the expired cereal I scattered in the backyard, freshly clean laundry is actively drying on the line, Robin Gibb is starting a joke with his brothers on my iTunes, our grey girl cat, Lily, is sleeping peacefully next to me, and the stiff breeze is keeping the pulp steam below the tree line.  This is the sensory present from my office window.

I've long pleaded and tweeted for things "good" about this city.  I'm like a spelunker looking for the light in the darkness... or fog.  Lo and behold, I've stumbled upon something that fits that category - the Uptown small business merchants of Saint John.

Ever since joining Holly to found a local cash mob I've been witness to a lot of positive energy.  The retail business owners seem to bind together like miners searching for release after a collapse.  Shop life is perilous in such a tiny, volatile market and they seem very aware that positivity is what is needed to survive and, hopefully, thrive.

A cash mob is a group of people who come together voluntarily at a predetermined location to find out where they will venture out and "mob" one lucky store with twenty dollars of their very own hard-earned money to spend.  It is hoped this influx of cash one retail owner receives will lead to an awareness of the importance of local business and local stores, leading to long-term customers who are willing to think twice before heading to box stores for every item on their shopping list.

I don't know if this cash mob thing will accomplish these ideals or not, but while the twenty plus people headed toward Robin's BeadWorks I was very aware that I enjoyed being a part of the seemingly minority that are actually doing something about making their city a better place instead of just complaining or sticking their heads in the sand and pretending that Saint John is Utopian.  Both of these strategies accomplish the same end result.

The next cash mob for Saint John is scheduled for Saturday, April 21st at 2:30 pm and the mob will meet outside Barbour's General Store Museum.  I hope even more people show up to show their support for those willing to put their livelihood on the line to stay in this city.

What Would Jesus Do?

My pants seem to all be wearing in the same spot; just above the rear pocket on the right side.  Maybe it's from reaching for my wallet too much, maybe I hike up my jeans too much.  It doesn't matter, I just knew I needed some new comfortable, every day jeans and this was my thought as I was in the neighbourhood of a Saint John thrift store, so I took a chance they would have something that fit the bill.

The non-clothing items in second hand stores are always far more interesting than the clothes (maybe that's just a guy thing?), so I perused the books, CDs, games, household items and office supplies and spotted a hard cover journal with a cross and some initials on the front.  It was empty and the writer in me can't resist clean new paper for only $1.49, so I tucked it under my arm and headed toward the men's section.

There was actually a large selection of jeans in my side - Gap, Old Navy, American Eagle - I hit the jackpot.  I took three pairs and went to the changing room to see if any of these fit and qualified as "comfy."  I hate changing rooms and I hate trying on clothes, but it's definitely a necessary evil at a second hand store.  My hands were somewhat full and the book was awkward with the pants, so I tucked it under one pair to carry them easier.  Inside the fitting room, I set the clothing down and the book slid out.

For some reason my mind pondered the idea of how easy it would be to stealthily sneak that item out of the store without anyone being any wiser.  No, I'm not a thief by any means, so my next thought turned to the embarrassment of sitting in court while the crime of stealing a buck-and-a-half item from a thrift store would be read out loud to the judge and anyone else in attendance.  It was then that I looked at the book and noticed for the first time the words on the cover, "What would Jesus do?"

I'm not even joking.  I tried on the jeans, selected the two that fit best and took them and the book to the cashier and, yes, paid for them.  The universe has answers, if you just open yourself to them.

At Your Service

Valentine’s Day is fabulous; unless you’re single or married to Chris or Bobby Brown.  Being poor can take a little off the shine too.  But I’m not single and I really can’t consider myself poor, so I ventured out toward one of the local flower shops to pick up a little bit of admiration and awe for Holly.

This holiday outpouring of love and loose purse strings would have to be one of the best days of the year for those peddling fanciful weeds.  At least that’s what I thought.  While waiting on my flower choice to be packaged, a cashier commented to another customer, “Next year I’ll have to remember to stay retired.”  It was only eleven in the morning.

This is something I’ve encountered, and often noticed, around Saint John.  People are not happy.  Yes, it’s winter – everything’s practically dead and even the emissions from the Irving pulp mill bellow thick and heavy, taking longer to rise into our atmosphere – and twenty below, but it’s a day of love and hearts bursting with happiness.  And flowers are flying out of the shop doors while the coffers rise.

Still, I have rarely come across anyone happy to be working in this city.  I know it’s not my view because people are noticeably less unhappy in places such as Halifax and St. Andrews.  Especially St. Andrews – people almost appear to be drugged with some joy elixir visiting that town, but that’s another article.  One of the least ways to promote your business and lay the seeds for a repeat customer is to share your bleak outlook to someone happily handing over their hard-earned money – especially when their heart is so full of light and love, at least before you squashed it.

For background noise last night we put the television on House Hunters International and were introduced to a couple that sold their Hawaii condo to buy a large house in Fiji.  Holly and I looked at each other, knowingly thinking the same thing (which we do often), and commented a little incredulously that they felt the need to leave the horrible confines of the Aloha state for another tropical paradise while we focused on the mind-numbing freezer of our surroundings.

Is this what makes inhabitants here angry?  Halifax and St. Andrews are slightly warmer than Saint John.  I’m not sure if that’s the reason or not, but we’ve started pricing homes in the tropics, if only to give warmth to the imagination.

Left Turns, Crosswalks and Traffic Lights

Driving a motor vehicle can be daunting for some - I've seen (okay, seen commercial advertising for) Canada's Worst Driver.  I've always realized that, but I never knew following basic rules - the same rules that one is required to know in order to obtain that coveted driver's license - was such a difficult task.

Saint John has the worst drivers, hands down, I've ever witnessed.  I've almost been killed, many times over, using a crosswalk.  When a driver spies someone entering such clearly marked entities or even sees a pedestrian on a sidewalk, they are visibly confused.  I've seen a little girl waiting at a crosswalk with nobody stopping to let her cross.  On my street alone there is a blind, elderly neighbour that can only get across by having her friend/guide hurry her when there is a lull in the traffic.  The pedestrian situation in this city is abysmal and because of that, a future entry will address this, complete with advise for those in cars and on foot.

When speaking to Saint Johners about this, I usually get a chuckle and a comment something akin to, "Yeah, the drivers here are definitely a different breed."  No kidding, a deadly and ignorant monster putting lives in danger unnecessarily.  A breed that needs to be extinct.

On Hilyard Street there are three intersections for left turns after entering from Chesley.  These lanes are clearly marked with a left arrow, but drivers motor through that turning lane each and every day.  At St. Patrick and Union heading north drivers frequently make left hand turns despite clear signage.  Stop signs and red lights seem to be only suggestions.

There may be an obvious answer as to why these blatant infractions continue:  I have never seen anyone pulled over by a member of the police department.  I have never witnessed a police presence watching for violations anywhere in the city.  I have never seen a speed trap.  Does the city take in any money from traffic violations?

I have come across a new phenomenon, one I have never witnessed anywhere or have heard of as a problem anywhere:  making traffic lights viewable from the windshield of the lead car at a stop light.  There are numerous locations in Saint John where you cannot see the traffic signals if you stop at the designated spot on a red light.  I just cannot fathom why this would be a problem.

With the helter skelter street layout, the poor condition of the roads with constant construction, the city's apparent inability to clear snow in winter, and many other factors, I understand that this is not an easy city in which to drive, but at least make an effort to recognize problems and attempt to solve them.  Put in a phone call to the police and/or another city official when something inexcusable occurs.

Neither a Borrower Nor a Lender Be

Not everyone takes advantage of their public library, especially in this electronic age of abundant reference, but I have always tried to make use of the free services offered by this institution.  Did I say "free?"  I did, and I like "free" very much.  Now, how does the library system in New Brunswick stack up with those I have used elsewhere?

The only real reference point I have to compare the New Brunswick Public Library Service to are the Halifax Public Libraries.  The first thing to note is that in New Brunswick the libraries are provincial (then broken into regions) while Halifax services only the municipality.  There are fourteen branches for Halifax compared to 70 branches in New Brunswick and ten in the Fundy region, where I reside.

The Saint John main branch is particularly gorgeous, at least from the outside beyond the semi-stocked shelves.  It is located inside Market Square, an upscale uptown mall that also houses the New Brunswick Museum.  There is an unusual penchant to place the libraries in shopping malls here.

Everyone knows about books at the library, right?  Anyway, today's libraries also sport music CDs, movies, computer/Internet time, and much more.  If a movie has been released to DVD, I was able to get it in Halifax.  If the library didn't have the latest CD by Tori Amos, I could request that they purchase it and I would be first on the list to enjoy it.  I often wondered how Blockbuster was able to stay in business when the Halifax library had 66 copies of The King's Speech in its system.  Oh, wait, they filed for bankruptcy protection.  Did I mention "free?"

The available material, or lack thereof, in my new home has been a big adjustment.  I think they may be adjusting to me too.  The librarian at my branch already seems to know my name, as all I have to do is appear at the counter and she goes to the shelf to see what's there for me.  That's not a bad thing, but I have to admit I preferred going to my spot under the T's amidst the many shelving units of requested material on hold in Halifax.

Then I was able to check myself out.  This option exists at the Saint John main branch, but not at mine.  Come to think of it, I've never actually seen anyone use the self-serve machine at the main branch.  Does anyone borrow things here?  It's "free."

Having a smaller, less developed entity doesn't go without some advantages.  I was deer-in-the-headlights surprised to learn that the due date for borrowed material - remember that grade school librarian that made school life miserable and wreaked havoc on your pristine relationship with your teacher if you forgot to get a book back on time? - is really just a suggestion.  You don't get fined when you're a little late.  I'm not lying.  I haven't had to nerve to test just how far this envelope can be pushed.

Today I returned three items.  Upon arriving home and sitting down to work I received a phone call - private caller.  It was my librarian informing me that the Lady Gaga "Born This Way" CD (oh, the shame) wasn't in its case and I should check my CD player, which was exactly where it was hiding.  This definitely beats being informed that you owe $40.25 in fines on top of the purchase price when this little stunt plays out in Halifax.

My next test of the system will be to make a suggestion for purchase.  They foolishly gave me the email address where this could be done.  Stay tuned.