Remembrance Day

This evening I spoke to two Winnipeg friends via telephone. Both found it strange that James and I had to work today. One went so far to say that it seemed "disrespectful." I myself have been quite puzzled that, of all places, Ottawa, with all its pomp and circumstance, would be the city where working/studying on Remembrance Day is the norm. Perhaps it's because otherwise the ceremonies would be flooded with locals, and then how would they accommodate us all? I guess not all offices were open, because OC Transpo service was reduced to "holiday schedule."

Sometimes I feel like a lone pacifist, surrounded by a sea of DND buildings. My longstanding inside joke with James has been "all roads lead to DND." That's because in our first two weeks here in 2000, as I was getting acquainted with downtown, it seemed that on every corner was a Dept. of National Defence office. Across from every other corner on which stood a Tim Horton's. I was probably just running around in circles.

Nevertheless, I did donate to the Legion and wear a poppy. The man volunteering at the table in the entrance of Loeb pinned it to my jacket, and did he ever do a great job, 'cause it's still there! Also, I did watch part of a documentary yesterday evening on the Vampire Dugout from World War I.

Aside from that, my thoughts turned briefly to literature I've read that addresses war. Three books that stick out in my mind:

• L.M. Montgomery, Rilla of Ingleside - depicts life during WWI primarily from the perspectives of females--mothers, sisters, and daughters--who are "keeping the faith" at home while their men go off to war (summary). One of my favorite characters died in this novel.
  
• Charles Yale Harrison, Generals Die in Bed - stark, simple sentences, naturalistic symbolism (if I correctly remember my litcrit terms; summary).
• Dalton Trumbo, Johnny Got His Gun - I read this novel for a first-year Psychology class (Prof. Marcuse believed in interdisciplinarity, I guess), and it haunts me still. The story of a soldier who is nothing but a shell, no arms, no legs, hardly a face, but his mind still works. He communicates in Morse code, but when hospital staff finally understand what he wants, they can't comply, and they resort to sedating him (plot summary).
  

beachcomber

I was rather hoping that L and Celina would chime in for my Winnipeg sightseeing list--both of them have perfected the art of being tourists in their own town. Maybe next time. As it turned out, Nicole and her co-worker were limited in what they could do after work. For example, shops at The Forks are only open until 6pm, although from what I gather, the visitors did get to the Christmas Traditions store a few minutes before closing. They also went out to dinner there at The Beachcomber. Apparently someone's resurrected this restaurant/lounge and relocated it to the former Branigan's, because I remember it from waaaayyyy back. Not that I've ever actually dined there: it was just that the #62 bus drove right by it on Carlton, and the Beachcomber sign was distinctive (as was the dim lighting visible). I think a former colleague, Kathy P. from KPMG, told me she'd waitressed there after high school and met her husband in the process. I always secretly wondered if perhaps the name was a tribute to the Beachcombers TV show. Yay, Bruno Gerussi! Anyway, from the sounds of this Winnipeg Sun review, the restaurant's not worth the trip. Neither was Branigan's. Maybe putting in a Salisbury House on the Esplanade Riel wasn't such a bad idea after all. Yay, Burton Cummings! By the by, for anyone interested in comparing the performers' mustaches, click on these links to images of Bruno and Burton.