Daily Archives: February 18, 2002

Spring

Okay. It’s getting to be Spring. (Not that we’ve actually had a Winter here in Montreal, but still.) The new cars are coming out, and I’m becoming itchy.

Spring’s a car kind of season, the way Fall’s the time of year when we look at babies and dogs. We were watching TV the other day and a wonderful ad for the PT Cruiser came on — the one that talks nostalgically about Hot Wheels and how cool they were, and how nifty the loop-de-loop flexible track was. My husband said, “I had that exact set,” then sighed, shook his head, and said, “They’re aiming this commercial right at me, and every guy my age.” For the past year or so I’ve been drooling over the Chrysler PT Cruisers myself; they’re just so classy. My eye was also caught by the new Chrysler Crossfire they unveiled at the recent Auto Show. (Since they merged with Daimler, Chrysler’s vehicle designs have really improved!). Now, however — ah, now. My fealty belongs to another. I passed a billboard the other day — a quiet, elegant, silver-grey tone billboard with a vaguely familiar silhouette on it.

They’re making Minis again.

I adore Minis. It has something to do with the ridiculous smallness of them. I’m fond of small things — I’m a small thing myself. My family had an ancient dull red Mini as a second car when I was a kid, and it was terrific: it had a woodgrain dashboard with all of three dials on it. You could reach into the trunk from the front, through the back seat. And it was missing part of the floor; my father had to put a board over it. It was a clunker, and I loved it. It was enough to get us around when the other car was unavailable. Okay, so the brakes failed a few times; so there was more rust than body. It was cool!

It dropped in the traces one day, a front wheel coming off as my dad drove down the highway. That was the beginning of the end. I think my parents sold it to a scrap dealer for a whole fifty dollars.

Now — now… I, too, could have a Mini.

Highly Amusing Fact #1: My husband is built like a rugby player.

Highly Amusing Fact #2: I play the cello.

Highly Amusing Fact #3: They’re quoting top speed of the regular Mini Cooper at 200 KPH. With an acceleration from 0-100 KPH of 9.2 seconds on four cylinders.

So, if you’re looking for the perfect birthday present for me — and you’ve got a handful of months to save up for it! — you can buy me a Mini Cooper in British Racing Green.

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Well, it had to happen eventually – the Canadian women’s curling team finally lost a game in the Olympic round-robin. Their final draw was won by Switzerland 7-6, and it was an essential win for them, saving them from being knocked out of the semi-finals. Canada retains possession of first place after the round-robin play, however.

Can’t wait for the semi-finals!

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Sad day� Bailey, our loony ring-necked dove, has flown on to brighter skies.

Bailey was a fifteen-year-old dove whom we inherited from a co-worker of mine a few years ago when her mother moved into a smaller home and couldn�t keep all her birds. His two handles were his missing right eye, and his trademark drunken �woo-hoo-hoo-hoo!� call that sounded more like a sports cheer than the typical cooing dove noise. When we got him he didn�t really have a name, so we spent a few days staring at this one-eyed dove darting his head around, looking at his new surroundings with his good eye. We came close to calling him Odin, but finally settled on Bailey, as he was the precise brownish-cream colour of a nice glass of Irish Cream. Besides, however he lost that eye, it certainly wasn�t as a sacrifice for knowledge; he was pretty, but was rather lacking in the intelligence department.

We couldn�t let him out of his cage to fly, which was a real pity as he was used to having a whole room with branches in it to knock about in. Every time we let him out, he�d take off and fly� leaning ever to the left because that was where he could see. So his straight lines would deteriorate into lazy circles that took him into lamps, mirrors, shelves, and piles of paper. Eventually we clipped his wings and would take him out to sit on our shoulders, which he liked just fine, because he could play in our long hair. He loved to groom my husband�s beard, too. Due to the fact that he was missing an eye, his sense of depth perception was skewed, so he�d sit on his branch and eye the floor of his cage where he�d scattered all his food, screw up his courage, then leap from the perch with that �woo-hoo-hoo-hoo!� as he hurtled to what could be three feet or three inches below him. When he�d hit the cage floor sooner than he expected, the whole contraption would shake, and he�d make a chuckling sound in appreciation for his apparent luck in surviving the treacherous drop.

Lately, however, his drunken cheers had become quieter and less frequent. His enthusiastic daily exercises (consisting of gripping his branch tightly with both feet and flapping his wings as hard as he could, raising clouds of seed dust, fallen feather, and dander) had also grown few and far between. We checked on him daily, and took him out of his cage last week for a long cuddle and a cage-cleaning, and there was nothing wrong with him; it was just finally his time to go. After fifteen years, hey, he was long overdue.

He had a good life, a terrific sense of humour, and brought a smile to many faces. Cheers to Bailey!