Trans - Planting

I performed delicate surgery on an aloe plant that I have had for 5 years in my Montreal condo. His name is Bob (Robert if he has done something wrong) and he is a great companion. When I bought my condo 5 years ago, he was the only thing that came with it. Either a forgotten asset or a nice house warming thought from the previous owner.

Bob was small, about 4 inches across and in desperate need for water and attention.

I nursed him back to health and fed him plant nutrient sticks and lots of water for many months until he regained his shine and vitality.

Now he seems to feel like he has the run of the place. Outgrowing two pots so far, this past weekend I put him in a very large 16 inch ceramic home with three bedrooms. Very nice!

To date, Bob has grown to inhabit the counter and kitchen window area where his advanced scouts control the sunlight into the apartment from the west side.

My only concern with these constant transplants is whether I am being kind in allowing him to expand, or whether I am aiding and abetting his ultimate takeover plans of the planet. Bob is quite formidable now although not reaching Little Shop of Horrors proportions yet.

So I am home in Toronto this weekend and I wonder how he is doing. It was a difficult transplant operation, requiring me to take a hammer to his previous home in order to extradite him safely. My hands shook and my brow was sweating during the 4 minute procedure. I slumped in the corner and stared at the dirt on my hands for several minutes after the arduous task.

His new home is spacious and refilled with quality dirt containing vitamins and lots of shit plants need to grow, but I am worried if he will adjust. Moving to a new neighborhood is difficult at the best of times, but this is like moving from a studio apartment to the Queens summer home (sans the servants).

God speed Bob and see you Wednesday. Hang in there and I will be bringing treats and several toys to amuse you.

Pets are such a responsibility!

M

Wine and Cheese

This week I experienced a moment of true happiness when, in the middle of a crazy work week of mind numbing strategic meetings, I escaped for a few hours of wine and cheese tasting at Bistro Champlain in the Quebec countryside.

My view stretched across a lake dotted with a few boaters while the dock was near empty but for a few dogs walking their humans and enjoying the pre "schools out" madness of cottage country.

In the Bistro I am surrounded by amazing works of art by Carson, and below me is a cellar of 18,000 bottles of wine. Far to many for me to drink in one sitting, but I was eager to try.

The wine steward and host was a wonderful man of great humor and hidden knowledge tucked away in folds of his wrinkled eyes. He delivered a centrepiece of cheeses and apples that looked too fine to eat. Cheeses my anglophone mouth could not pronounce but had no issue devouring,

the highlight being a 5 year old Gouda that activated taste buds that I thought long dead.

Champagne arrived, followed quickly by a 9 year old Chardonnay. Brilliant tastes of oak and apply danced across my pallet and flowed into my stomach, replacing the tension and stress that had sat there for days.

Then the reds arrived. Pinot Noir first - an aroma to lift your head off. Can we stop the world at this point because it just cant get better? But it did! 5 more wines followed, each one distinctly different and interacting with the cheeses in a most unexpected and creative manner. Dusty and mildewed labels revealed no hint of the pleasures they were protecting.

After a quick visit to the wine cellar, I settled back in my chair to finish off my new found liquid obsessions along with two wonderful colleagues who shared this surreal experience.

All talk of work was gone. Only mutual confusion as to why our lives are so regimented and stressed when paradise is all around us.

I didn't want to leave. It was upsetting, like being yanked back into existence after a near death experience, inches from Nirvana.

The drive back was filled with laughter and good natured opinions surrounding the wines and cheeses we experienced. But sadly, I surmise we all felt like something was left behind.

Maybe I will go back one day and look for it. Or maybe it was a moment never to be repeated beyond the retelling in stories and a knowledge that there is a different world of sights, sounds and tastes out there if we have the desire to seek it out.

M