A Memorial Weekend Spent in Montreal

Chris and Anne

So Chris has been happily married to the girl of his dreams since one-thirty in the afternoon on the twenty-eighth of May, two thousand five. Theirs was a lovely wedding held inside Birks Chapel at the majestic McGill University, where they met. Cameras rolled and tears flowed as the vows were exchanged. Chris' unique creativity was invested in the ceremony, instantly recognizable in the music of the processional but moreso it was felt during the reception that followed. Joy and fellowship filled the air as the festivities... Wait a minute, WHAT HAPPENED?? I am a whole stinking day older than the guy!! My parents were already pregnant with me at my age! Some of my peers are already siring their own offspring! Where does that leave me? Sheesh, well, be that as it may, I am very happy for Chris and Anne and I know God has blessed their union. In turn, may they together be a blessing to everyone in their lives as well.
I enjoyed much more over the weekend than just the few hours we celebrated Chris and Anne, however, because Michal, Christopher and I not only represented the contingent of old buddies from Arizona at the wedding, we were released upon Montreal to wreak havoc as we saw fit. Boy did we do our job well! I believe much credit is due to the excellent breakfasts we ate every morning at Chez Cora Dejeuners which held us through to dinner every evening. We spent much of our time at the Old Pier juggling fire batons with the street performers; sneaking into the Cirque du Soleil; shooting tourists in the clock tower; ramming paddleboats and leaving them to sink in two feet of water; kicking down signboards; knocking over pedestrians in our rented skates and bike; charming the waitresses into serving us food not on the menu; and, most importantly, giving the local drivers a few really good scares. Well, you tell me how we were supposed to know the red octagonal signs that said 'ARREZ' meant 'STOP'!
We also spent a few hours in Montreal's very own Notre Dame first scandalizing fellow patrons by pointing out the horns protruding from Moses' head and then going to confession for the aforementioned crimes. Once our consciences were cleared by reciting Hail Maries and attending French mass, we moved on to Saint Joseph's Oratory, which is perched on a hillside and overlooks the city. We tried to be good but it wasn't long before we raided a Father's chapel-turned-museum to read a few of the prayers people left for him. Most of them were in French so I won't repeat them here. We thought our rampage was to meet an early demise at dusk when what appeared to be a crowd of zombies filed toward us from across the plaza, but it turned out they were just the local parishioners holding a candle vigil for the Father whose chapel we had just, uh, inspected. In order not to arouse any suspicions, I covered up the skull and crossbones shirt I was wearing, Christopher hid his camera and Michal tried to look nonchalant as we chanted along with the crowd all the way down to their underground sanctuary where we accidentally signed to have someone canonized thinking it was a guest book.
Ah but it wasn't all fun and games as I have since paid dearly for that weekend in Montreal. My car died from the journey. She blew out her engine on the freeway but held together long enough for me to make it home before giving up the ghost in the school parking lot. I had to have her towed to the mechanic who took a look under her hood and concluded she needs an engine transplant. As she is getting on in years and we have only been together for ten months and my insurance does not cover the procedure, I think I may let her rest in peace while I find a new vehicle to take her place.
I hope you have enjoyed reading about my weekend as much as I enjoyed retelling it. As a disclaimer, however, this is my blog and my story so the facts may have been embellished just a tad and the truth may have been twisted just a teensy bit. It's more exciting that way.