Remain Calm

So we were sitting around (on the cold hard floor because I guess “expedited moving service” means “within a month” and not, say, within the dates specified on the quote) discussing where to go for breakfast when suddenly the speaker on the ceiling started shrieking -

Assuming it was a fire drill, we dithered around getting on shoes and coats and then started down the stairs. Paul was extremely cooperative, and the long trek was actually sort of fun. I learned that lots of people hoard real grocery store shopping carts in their stairwells, and spray paint oddly shaped pieces of furniture in their stairwells, and on one memorable floor, allow their cats to eat birds on their stairwells. I hope that’s what that was, anyway.

No one else was going down the stairs (though there was one father and son who were trudging up them) and when we arrived at the lobby, we were the only residents there, aside from a crackpot fiftysomething woman with giant teeth who is always in the lobby and the firefighters, who were bustling around importantly.

The fire chief was wearing the Navy Blue V-Neck Sweater Of Authority, that I’ve never seen outside of a British cop show, but instantly responded to nonetheless (and that’s why you’re seeing a photo of the firetruck instead of the firefighters themselves, because I didn’t want V-Neck Sweater to see me and the one photo I got was too blurry to put up).

After we’d been sitting there about five minutes, the

stopped and was replaced with, “The firefighters have contained the problem, and it is safe to return to your apartment.” So we took the elevator back up to our floor and I dug out all of the cat carriers that I’d taken apart to put back together again, and we ended up at a very nice vegetarian restaurant, where I ate scrambled tofu, Todd ate a rice bowl, and Paul ate a spinach/tofu salad.

Later, we went to the museum, where Paul and I have grown addicted to carrot muffins. I grew up in the ’80s, when muffins were presented as a healthy, low sugar alternative to donuts, and have always thought of them as such. I’m beginning to suspect, however, that the word “muffin” in Canada may in fact mean, “small delicious cake” - supported by what I finally realized the carrot muffins reminded me of.

Anyway, at the museum I went off to have some lunch by myself and got a carrot muffin for dessert but I only ate half of it. When I caught up to Todd and Paul again, we wandered around for a couple of hours and as we were heading for the bus stop, Paul said, “Mama, I’m thirsty. And I wish I had a carrot muffin.” I reached into my backpack and said, “It just so happens I can meet both of those needs,” and took out a water bottle and the rest of the muffin.

Todd and Paul were both wide-eyed.

“Okay,” said Todd, “I wish I had channa masala, some basmati rice and a salt lassi.”

Hee.