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Pedestrians are pedestrians.
Walkers have this thing here—it’s called the right of way. Cars stop, not only at red lights but also at cross walks.
Even so, my son thinks I’m gonna get run over. He’s noticed when I’m at a cross walk, I just go, without looking.
—Duh! This ain’t Ontario! Cars stop for pedestrians in Halifax.
Anyway, he’s lectured me a few times about making eye contact with drivers before crossing the street.
Look, I’ve yet to have a problem, except for this one time.
See, I sort of figured out you don’t really need a cross walk or light to make cars stop. If you make like you want to get to the other side of the street, drivers here bend to your will—anywhere. So I’ve taken to crossing wherever I wanna cross.
Anyway, this one time, the car slowed down and the driver hung out the window, leaned over to me and politely said, “Excuse me. The cross walk is just back there ma’am.”
I was fine with being told, just not the ma’am part…
I’m passing for a native Haligonian.
- On Sunday, I got asked for directions by some cruise ship tourists, and I provided directions the Haligonian way, by walking them where they needed to go, Argyle Street. Thank Goddess, I knew where that was because one of my fav eating joints is right next to Argyle Street, Willie’s Poutine… I recommend the medium-sized pulled pork if you’re ever there. Yum.
- A Harbour Hopper was driving down Spring Garden as I was walking on the sidewalk. The tour guide was babbling away, and she swept her arm over my way and said “And Spring Garden is home to all kinds of characters.” I’m now a Halifax character.
- I am a card-carrying member of round the corner food co-op, The Carrot. I told them I wanted to do all my shopping there, and they told me to write down on the chalkboard anything they didn’t have in the store that I wanted . I admit, I went a bit ham filling up the board. Fingers crossed.
I’ve figured out the seasons.
Apparently, there are two. Wet and cold.
I’ve made it through the wet season which arrived in various water iterations: torrential downpours, rolling fog banks, and sauna’esque humidity presented in sweltering temperatures. All human activity during this season involved 24/7 sweating, similar to hot flashes except worse—no breaks.
And FYI… no air conditioning in my little basement flat meaning laundry wouldn’t dry, towels fermented, and fruit flies went forth and multiplied. I waged a nightly battle to see if I could finish my wine without a dozen or so of them taking a bath in it.
Favourite coping strategies: Ice Cream and the beach.
Cold is coming. I hope to figure out how to turn on the thermostat and kickstart the underfoot concrete floor heating before it gets here.
It’s October, and my dogs are shaking.
PS Next week, you’ll find out about my crazy Thanksgiving weekend, currently in progress.
PPS If you like what you read, please follow me. There are two boxes… Click the “follow” box at the bottom of the screen, and NOT the one that has a little ‘w.’ Pop in your email, and you will be sent a confirmation email. Open it, okay it and bish, bam boom… you will get an email with telling you I’ve posted… which is once a week, whether you need to hear from me or not. Hmmm… kinda the same schedule as my showers…