painting teeth and writing songs

A hymn to brave and noble Torontonians, who bore such a look of suffering yesterday! It was viciously cold here - minus 12 with a wind chill of minus 20, the wind so sharp as I walked to work that it brought tears to my eyes, though I was muffled in long puffy coat and hood, face hidden behind a scarf and hands in two layers of mitts. 

The rub is that it's March now, spring in Vancouver and in other temperate climes. But I'm grateful, too, when it's like this; this hideous weather is why Canada is liveable. With our stable political and, now, economic climate, if we had glorious weather to boot, the country would be crawling with Canadians instead of a paltry few million. You have to be tough to survive here - freezing winds or blackflies and humidity. Tough and crazy and, just occasionally, you may have to cry.

Exactly four weeks till I depart for Paris. You will all be sick of this countdown before I actually take off - but then, I hope these posts will enthrall you as I rediscover croissants and a million other delectables. You can follow me step by step as I eat and drink my way through France. But first I have to cross one hundred and fifty-six things off my list and get there.

Yesterday I went to a dental technician. A tooth broke off a few months ago and I have to have a crown installed, but it was too hard for my dentist to figure out what colour to make it as the tooth next to it has been stained grey by the filling inside. So I sat in a chair while a lovely young woman compared different colours of grey teeth with my own. Once she had one of the right translucency, she got out a delicate paintbox and a tiny brush, and painted the crown exactly the right shade. I was impressed with her artistry and asked if she painted on canvas in her spare time, but "I'm too tired when I get home from work," she replied.  There are artists everywhere, my friends. 

Speaking of artists, friend Nick (aka Nickynick) is still recovering well from his prostate operation - he said he's in no physical pain but has had some dark times of the soul. And still, he is able to create his sunny songs. Here is one he wrote for me. How lucky can a girl be, to have a song written just for her.

Though with various matters I'm grapplin',

I don't need a rabbi or chaplain,

'cause I've got a good friend

and the joy she can send,

and that's you, dearest Bethy-Beth Kaplan!