Disjointed Rambling

Every time I venture forth into the city I am both amazed and jaded.  I'm less afraid of it, after running and walking miles through it over the past few days, dodging its inhabitants and massive crowds of long-weekend day-trippers.  It doesn't look so ugly anymore.  It's definitely more interesting; on one walk, I will inevitably hear between three and six languages spoken.

I swept our little flower-bordered walkway this morning and was bonjour'ed several times.  There are a lot more Muslim women and men in Montreal than I've ever seen in any American city.  Some women just wear scarves over their hair, and dress in stylish blouses and jeans.  Others are completely swathed in long robes or overcoats that reach to their ankles, but these coats may be very fitted at the shoulder and waist, and made of fine fabrics.  The more liberally-dressed Muslim women may hold hands with their husbands (I assume the men accompanying them are their husbands), who may be wearing Sperrys and summer linen slacks.  The conservative ones do not.  I am accustomed to meeting the eyes of the people I pass, and depending upon what I see there, to smile or nod or even say hello.  I want to say hi to these women, but they never meet my eyes.  I wonder what they think of me.

There are also a lot of Asians in Montreal.  Yesterday, as Caspian and I were walking to a sushi place where we spent altogether too much money, I heard Japanese, Chinese and Korean.

Speaking of Japanese...  I had my phone interview this evening with a man in Tokyo...  And it did not go smoothly.  My accent is good, my grammar is good, my vocab...  Eh, not so much.  I've forgotten a lot in the past four years, even after spending many, many hours this weekend at the kitchen table, studying.

The bread machine is kneading away on the table here, rocking it back and forth and making a tremendous racket.  There's a lump in the dough, or maybe it's too sticky, because it's flopping around in the pan like a watermelon in a dryer.  In other news, I finished A Shadow in the Glass and am over halfway through with The Tower on the Rift, which is the 2nd book in Irvine's View from the Mirror quartet.  It has taken me this long to finally start caring about the characters and their fates!  I'm so tired of reading about their suffering, though, it seems like suffer is all they do.

The next three days are going to be rainy and cool.  It's been chilly at night, sometimes reaching the low 50s, and I've been sleeping so well because of it.  Nothing like a cool, moisture-laden breeze in a dark room, and you're snuggled under a thick down comforter.

My in-person interview is tomorrow at 10 AM, and it looks like I'm going to be walking there in the rain.  All this trouble for a part-time job!