29 April 2012 | mark

It was terribly difficult to get up out of bed this morning, possibly because we were in agonizing pain from being crammed into a clown car for five hours and then moving approximately half a ton of records, tapes, and books until late in the evening the day before.

We ate breakfast across the street at this little diner that has been in operation for a thousand years or so. For six bucks, I got two fried eggs, three and a half strips of bacon, hash browns, two pieces of buttered toast, and a small coffee that could have melted a hole on the floor. It was glorious, and just what I needed to refuel and restore for the second day of loading.

Barb came back out to help us, along with husband Steve, and we knocked everything out in a little over two hours. Forty years of collecting, literally a person’s life’s work, and it all fit into the back of a U haul truck. It was a little humbling, but also a little exciting, in that we’d get to present this person’s work to a much larger audience. And I’m finally making good on the promise I made Joe, on his deathbed, about bringing the collection home to Vernon.

Once everything was loaded, I called the importers, who have been helping us this past week with the mountain of paperwork necessary to move the collection over the border. Bad news: the paperwork isn’t done. The earliest we’re going to get it now is Monday. This was unexpected, but not necessarily unplanned for. Mike and I got on the phone and started playing defense back in Vernon. After packing Pat and Diane off to the airport, we were left with most of a day and nothing to do. The solution: park the truck and take in the town.

Parking at Barb’s house was surprisingly simple, because Mike is a truck driving demigod. While he and Steve discussed a possible remodeling project involving their back porch and deck, I got some quality time with the Lewis’ pugs, Maybelle and Ripley.

Of course, this made me miss my dog, so I called Cathy and asked to speak to Sonya. Because I’m that guy.

Barb drove us around on a brief tour of some of the more picturesque parts of Toronto, including the site of her brother Joe’s former apartment. We also found a few junk shops, and thus deepening my attraction to this marvelous city. Barb finally dropped us off at a place called Smoke’s Poutinerie. Look it up. It’s apparently a Canadian classic, and this place did not disappoint.

Poutine (pronounced “Poo-Teen”) is a Canadian delicacy by way of Quebec, no fooling. Basically, it breaks down thusly: a layer of fresh fried potatoes (fries), covered with cheese curds, and then smothered with rich brown gravy. Did your heart just give an irregular beat? I’ll bet it did. The large portion comes with a defibrillator. They’ve got a “Buy Five, get a free Bypass!” program that’s really working for them. But my god, is the food delicious.

I could hear my wife’s disapproval all the way back in Texas. I felt it, like Spidey Sense. I tried to explain to her over the phone that, like the paper trail delay, it’s not my fault, but she wasn’t buying it.

We spent the rest of the day exploring Chinatown and the surrounding neighborhoods. The goal now is to rest up and get to feeling better so that when we can leave, we can do so quickly and speedily.