Operation Samosa via Air Inuit

Samosas, courtesy of Google

Samosas, courtesy of Google

There are certain things we miss. Most things are readily available, at a price, but not everything.

We definitely miss our Friday night samosas. I often picked them up from a bakery that had freshly-baked samosas – beef or chicken filled, vegetarian, spicy …  Or we would pick up a bag of samosas or order a tray for parties from Alain’s Depanneur near our former home in Pointe Claire Village.

We formulated a plan.

First, we called Alain and asked him to prepare an order of samosas ready for pickup. Then we enlisted my West Island cousin to pick them up and bring them to the IGA from where we had our food shipped.

This involved another flurry of emails and phone calls. The wonderful woman at the IGA who handles shipments to Inuit communities, placed our samosas (along with a few cheese knishes) into a cooling compartment to be loaded onto Air Inuit along with our other food items.

Now, 24 hours later, after our initial phone call to Alain, we are enjoying a beer (also shipped from the IGA) and fresh samosas with chutney.

Can life get any better?


Musings from Jail

After the last day of school, I left my name at one of the community’s police stations. We will be here until the end of July and I have time to put in a few shifts as a guard.

On the first night, I was surrounded by five detainees in various states of inebriation.

I can answer questions, pass out blankets and pillows (through a slot), turn lights on and off, and provide coffee in the morning.

Other than that, my hands are cuffed.

“Hey, lady, can you call my girlfriend for me and tell her where I am.”  – No (no phone calls as the detainee might ask to have evidence hidden, or threaten someone to drop charges).

“I want to call my lawyer. I have rights!” – No (must have permission from a constable before handing over the phone).

“Can you get me my wallet?”  – No (there could be drugs or such in it).

After many questions and requests, I developed, what I considered, an authoritative, strong voice. I only faltered once when I passed a phone to a detainee. I rattled off the procedure and instructions as per the constable on duty. Only the detainee kept staring at the phone.

“Aren’t you going use it?” I asked.

“It’s not a phone,” he said. “It’s a remote.”

I had been flipping channels a few moments ago. I quickly made a switch.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Guard, just call me guard.”

A Prayer for Pizza and Amen

For a special treat, we took the grade three and four students to the airport restaurant on the 2nd to last day of school. The teacher had preordered six extra large pizzas.

After the pizza was served, the kids sat in silence.

“We have to pray,” one of them said. The teacher was busy at the counter making payment.

“Andi will say the prayer!”  It was decided.

A lapsed protestant, the first thing that came to mind was:

“God is great, God is good. Let us thank him for our food.”


“But you didn’t say ‘Amen,’” a small voice piped up.

“A-MEN!” I resounded.

“Amen,” the kids repeated and happily dove into their pizza slices.

I am glad my parents sent me to Sunday school.

Surf n’ Turf

Spic and Span

Spic and Span

On Saturday night we attended a lobster and steak fundraiser for kindergarten graduation. For $40.00 each we had a 6 oz. rib eye, a fresh lobster, flown in live along with 98 others, potato and green salads, homemade strawberry shortcake made with real strawberries. We couldn’t finish both the steaks and lobster so we brought Spic and Span home. They are now in deep freeze. Lobster bisque will be on the menu soon.

Girls Just Want to have Fun

Today was a pedagogical day. The teacher didn’t need me, so I took Friday off.

We have small living quarters and must coordinate our activities. We try not to clash pots and pans when the other is watching TV. Every sound is heard in every room. Today I had the place to myself.

Andy went to work in the morning, so it was a perfect day for girl time.

I slept late, read (currently: Pencils of Promise), made some scrambled eggs (loudly) and painted my toenails. Then I made a large pot of tea and settled down for a few episodes of “Call the Midwife”. It is a period BBC drama of a group of midwives in the East End of London in the 1950’s as recounted in a memoir with the same title.

I love the 50s clothing, the propriety, dresses that were pretty, carefully laid tables, tidy little hats and lacquered hairstyles.

So nice to have some girl time!

Take a Deep Breath

In the last three days I’ve witnessed three major fights at school between my students.

First there is a precursory look, a glance, a comment. Feelings are hurt, souls are injured. Next comes a roaring rage. One moment two boys are humouring each other, and in the next moment in a splash of red anger, fury erupts. Then there is the release in a show of strength, followed by crying by the time mediators arrive.

This week, I’ve had a desk and baseball glove (thank goodness it wasn’t the bat) flung in my direction. I caught the backend of the third fight.

Afterwards, the students involved are habitually sent on garbage duty, to pick up garbage together with the behaviour technician. By the time they are back in class, all is forgotten.

But not by me.