I am fortunate to have such a dynamic, intelligent, capable mum, who at the age of 89 thinks nothing of climbing on a train in Toronto and traveling five hours to visit me in Montreal. 

She complains that she can’t do as much as she used to (which really translates to ‘as much as she wants to’) but if I look back on how I was thirty years ago, I could say the same about myself. But I CAN ride a bike with no hands. Something I couldn’t do when I was younger!

We’ve had 15 cms of snow recently (see previous post) and so it was a little treacherous underfoot during her visit, but that didn’t stop us from a short walk on the mountain or strolling to pick up wine and a baguette. We went most places by metro or bus, and I even put her to work in the kitchen at Santropol Roulant, the meals-on-wheels organisation where I regularly volunteer. For almost three hours we sliced fennel, portioned out pear tart, carried things up and down stairs to the walk-in fridge and at the end wiped, scrubbed and disinfected all the countertops. It was great fun if somewhat exhausting and we were happy to collapse at my flat with a roast chicken from one of the myriad of Portuguese restaurants in my neighbourhood. 

One afternoon, we visited the McCord Stewart Museum to see an exhibition entitled “Disraeli”. No, not that one. I was puzzled as to why a Canadian history museum would focus on a British Prime Minister but it turned out to be photographs taken fifty years ago in a rural town in deepest Québec called Disraeli. Formica tables and vinyl chairs! Bikes with banana seats and handlebar streamers! Pullover sweater vests! My childhood revisited. The photos were great, so we were surprised to learn at the end that there had been a real backlash in Montreal, and then from the community, at the over depiction of poverty and grime. I feel that the well-meaning literati of Montreal slapped their urban judgement on what were quite lovely and bucolic photos.

From there Mum and I took the bus, two buses actually, along Sherbrooke and then up Boulevard St. Laurent (“The Main”, which used to be the dividing line between English and French Montreal). It was Saturday so the streets were bustling. Our walking was restricted due to energy levels and ice, so we went into Darling, a fabulous bar on The Main. It’s large and bustling yet somehow warm and cosy. We sat at the round bar right at the middle, where two or three bartenders were doing their thing, surrounded by tables and an oyster counter all filled with people enjoying their coffees, drinks and late afternoon nibbles. Outside, the daylight slowly faded. Inside, we were hanging with the young and hip. It was perfect!

I am the daughter of a wonderful mother, and the mother of three amazing daughters. I am blessed to have these connections in my life, even as the relationships change over the years. Or perhaps the evolution is part of the charm.