OTTAWA BEAUTIFUL MORNING

Well, Ottawa started off wonderfully well - the first day there I had dulce de leche ice cream; the second day, dulce de leche banana cream pie, the third day, a repeat piece of pie for breakfast, no less, and so it goes. Lots more dulce de leche everythings in the fridge, enough to last until I leave. Oh yeah, I did a reading here too.

Quite frankly, when the reading was booked, I had completely neglected to consider that it was the Sunday of the Canadian Thanksgiving long week-end. Once I realized that, I thought no one would show up at all. However, the Ottawa Citizen, the local newspaper, did a very good article about me and at least three folks showed up because of that, plus a male student came to fulfill some type of assignment, I wasn't quite clear exactly what, but he did ask if he could tape me for his project. My good friend Charlotte was there, and my sister Judi. So it wasn't a complete wipeout for my last reading. If you would like to see the Ottawa Citizen article go to: http://www.ottawacitizen.com/health/1963+Ruth+Simkin+epilepsy/3650751/story.html

When I was in Toronto, Shelley and I had remembered a game we used play when driving to University of Manitoba every day. We had to take a geographical location and place it into a common song, for example: "Ottawa, beautiful morning", "Toronto my house, my house", In Your Lac du Bonnet, with all the ribbons on it," etc. We had dozens of them but could not remember very many. Can any one out there think of some more?

The biggest and one of the most thrilling surprises of the tour has been the bestseller lists. The Jagged Years of Ruthie J was three weeks on the Winnipeg best seller list, and then I heard I was #3 in Calgary. To my absolute delight, I subsequently learned I am still on the Calgary bestseller list and rising, at #2. How cool is that? What a wonderful bit of information to receive at the end of this tour.

Well, my book tour is over as I sit in Gatineau in La Belle Province watching the leaves turn colours and giving thanks for all my blessings. I am not quite home yet - will spend a few days with family before heading home, but this is likely the last blog for a bit. Or not. Thanks for reading, all of you out there in blog-land, and stay tuned....

ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER READING

My second reading in Toronto took place at The Toronto Women's Bookstore. My friend Lillian Allen, who teaches creative writing at the Ontario College of Art and Design University brought out a whole slew of students, which I loved. After a wonderful and incredibly flattering introduction by Lillian, I did my reading to a relatively packed house. I loved reading there; I remember going to the Toronto Women's Bookstore in the 1980's and am thrilled that it looks so good now some thirty years later. The folks working there were terrific and helpful, and after the question period, we all mingled with complementary glasses of wine and talked and visited, and I spoke informally with many of the students. Overall, I think it was a very successful evening, and am grateful to everyone who helped make it possible and who came out to hear me read.

Toronto is definitely the big city: we had to run next door from the hotel to buy some more tylenol. Cold season is descending, and I was running a slight fever and ran out of my favourite cold medication. There was a 24 hours convenience store next door, so Judi and I looked about at the wares for sale there. My eyes just happened, totally by chance you understand, to land in the ice cream department where I spied Haagen Dazs Dulce de Leche ice cream. Of course I bought that along with the tylenol and of course I devoured the entire pint before going to sleep that night. It was soooooo good.

And that was the last Toronto night. Our last Toronto morning, Judi and I went, for the second time in three days, to the most wonderful Chinese restaurant, called the Crown Princess, for dim sum. This place was gorgeous: marble on the wall, crystal chandeliers, marble pillars, beautiful linen and china, exceptionally delicious food. They served there as they had done in Hong Kong, each server person having a job and not doing the job of others. So one woman would come from the kitchen with a tray of food and stand there until a server person came and could take the food off the tray to put it on the table. One person took our bill, but we couldn't be presented with the final tally until the gentleman whose job it was to deliver the cheques to the tables, showed up with ours. We enjoyed our second dim sum as much as our first and I would go there in a flash again. It's just a shame they didn't have dulce de leche anything for dessert.

And now - on to Ottawa.

DULCE DE LECHE

I love dulce le leche. Two months ago, I didn't even know of its existance, but then I went to Argentina and fell in love with the milk caramel sauce. I have always preferred caramel to chocolate anyway, but with dulce de leche, well, it is sublime.

Dulce de leche is a very Argentinian sweet and to my knowledge, I had never seen it nor heard of it in Canada or the US before I travelled south. In Argentina, I would order dulce de leche lattes at Starbucks, and have dulce de leche crepes for dessert.

Imagine my surprise when several weeks ago I was at my cousin Roz' house in Winnipeg. Roz and husband Mickey had a wonderful dinner party and for dessert Roz had baked a pie. For topping on that pie she had bought some Breyer's ice cream. But it wasn't any old Breyer's ice cream - to my amazement it was dulce de leche ice cream - the best ice cream I have ever tasted. Two helpings later, I was still marvelling at my luck at finding dulce de leche ice cream in Manitoba.

Two weeks later I was in Toronto, shopping at Loblaws with my friend Shelley for dessert for Shabbat dinner. Shelley picked up a key lime pie from the freezer when she heard me yelp. There, next to the key lime pie was dulce de leche banana cream pie; of course we bought it. Not only that, we all devoured it. Now banana cream pie is one of my favourite pies ever but dulce de leche banana cream pie boggles the mind. It tends to cause in one (at least this one) gustatory orgasms.

Several days ago I met my friend Gwen for lunch in downtown Toronto. We ate our soup and sandwich and decided to share a dessert. We looked over the menu and there, for all to see, and to order, was dulce de leche cheesecake. It was incredibly, decadently delicious. So delicious in fact that two nights later, my sister Judi and I went to that restaurant for a late night dessert of......you guessed it. Dulce de leche cheesecake did not disappoint.

I don't know if it is because I am eating everything again after years of watching my food intake or because dulce de leche is so unbelievably delicious - I suspect a combination of both. But I truly love love love dulce de leche pretty much anything, and am very lucky to be finding it everywhere. For those of you following the HCG saga, yes, I am eating it, no, I am not regaining my weight, and yes, HCG still does seem like the real thing.

TRAVAILS OF AN UNKNOWN AUTHOR

Lillian picked me up along with my sister Judi, who has now joined us in Toronto, and off we headed to do a reading at the Toronto Public Library. I had been contacted many months ago by Pam, who asked if I would read there. She seemed very excited to have me come to Toronto and when I first got to the city, I had called her to let her know I was here and to ask if she needed anything. I was looking forward to meeting her in person, as she seemed so pleased I was reading at her library.

"Hello, is Pam here?" I asked the woman behind the counter.

"Pam is at a Branch Heads Meeting. She is not here."

"When will she be back?"

"I don't know. Ann will know."

Ann looked over at me. "She's not coming back. She's ill. Come back tomorrow. She may be here by then."

"No, you don't understand. I am supposed to be doing a reading here tonight."

"Oh, you are?" Shades of Edmonton.

"Yes, see this poster. That's me." I pointed to one of the posters displayed on the counter announcing my reading.

"Oh," answered Library Lady, "then you are reading downstairs. Do you need any help setting up?"

"Well, can you please show me where downstairs is?"

And so it goes. We set up the chairs and organized the room, and away we went.

We had about five times as many people as we had at Edmonton for a rousing crowd of just under ten. But it was a good group, one that was interested and afterwards asked many great questions. So overall, it was a good reading, even though the attendance was somewhat sparse. Library Lady gave me a wonderful, heartfelt introduction, telling everyone how sex-i-ful I was (she had a European accent and she really meant successful, but I like sexiful).

Sometimes there are big crowds, sometimes very small crowds - well, crowd would hardly be the correct word, really - but they are always very good crowds. Even if just one person comes, it is worth doing something. Last night there were several young women whom I did not know, and I believe they were pleased that they came; I spoke with each of them individually. It is a privilege to be able to do this, really. That interaction with people is one of the reasons I love being a physician, and that's why I love being an author, albeit an unknown author, who has the opportunity to connect with readers.

Last night I got a chance to embrace both roles. After the reading, Lillian, Judi, Anita, a friend from Winnipeg in the 60's, and I went out for dinner. We were just finishing up a delicious repast when we heard a noise.

"He's seizing," Anita said and pointed to a man from the next table who had narrowly missed her chair while falling to the ground. I immediately went into doctor mode. The man was completely unconscious, but after a few minutes, he came to, however slightly. I did what was appropriate first aid as we waited for the paramedics. Once they came, I gave them my report and we left the restaurant. I came in an author, left a doctor, and now am both again. By the time I left, the gentleman was fully conscious and was going off in the ambulance to be checked out. I do appreciate one's multiple roles in life and was glad I was in a position to help. The tour continues.

Fun in Toronto

Photo: Lillian Allen in top square with student Reena in art installation

The book tour takes me to Toronto where I will be doing two readings this week. Of course I had to come a few days earlier to reconnect with friends and family here. For the first part of my time here I stayed with my friends Shelley and Peter. Shelley and I went to school together and we spent several days going through our old high school yearbooks. More memories and finding out what has happened to old friends, which seems to be the theme of this trip.

Lillian Allen is another long time friend in Toronto whose daughter Anta had just turned twenty-nine and invited me to her birthday lunch. I have known Anta since she has been a very little girl and it is with so much pleasure that I observe her becoming such a capable, lovely, intelligent woman.

I was lucky to be in Toronto for the 5th Annual Nuit Blanche, which starts at 6:57 pm (I didn't make this up) and goes until sunrise. The people take over the streets; Yonge Street and others were blocked off to cars, chock full of pedestrians ready to party. Nuit Blanche is described thusly: "For one sleepless night experience Toronto transformed by artists". There are art installations throughout the city and the streets are full of people walking about, laughing, enjoying themselves, eating food from the many stands in the street, crowding around different installations. It is really a big street party. Lillian and I wandered for hours. Almost every person was either talking on a cell phone or holding one, as in fact, the Nuit Blanche information booklet encouraged people to go online on their phones to stay connected. It's a different world out there.

We walked over to the Ontario College of Art and Design University, where Lily teaches. There was a large art installation on a wall of a building - one of Lillian's students, Reena, was filmed live from somewhere inside the building and her face was projected on the wall. "Volunteers" would then come into an outside booth and be projected in a little square on her main feed. Reena called it the empathic booth - she would read four protest chants and the volunteer would identify which one she or he most identified with and then would "perform" it. Reena was delighted when Lillian showed up in the booth and made sure the audience all knew that they were dealing with one of Canada's premier dub poets. Lillian did not disappoint - she was masterful with her protest chant.

We walked for hours until the crowd became more drunken young men than people out for a party and then we left. The feeling in the streets had changed and the beer bottles were much more visible now. It was time to go home.

Spent the next morning at a family brunch hosted by my cousin David where I saw relatives and friends I hadn't seen for twenty or thirty years. Then the rest of the day and evening was spent with Trish - a friend from Calgary whom I had "lost" in the very early '90's and hadn't seen since. I just found her again a few months ago and was delighted to talk with her, share oysters and a few drinks and a delicious French meal and catch up on the last few decades. I also bonded with her dog, Finn; I miss my Reenie so much I think I would bond with a stone if it reminded me of my dog. Finn really was a lovely little critter.

The next day I found out that not only had I been on the Winnipeg bestseller list for three weeks but I was now #3 on the Calgary non-fiction bestseller list. How cool is that! The tour continues.....

ON FRIENDSHIP

Photo: Renate and Joan

Love might mean never having to say you're sorry, but friendship means never having to say anything at all if you don't want to but being able to say anything at all at any time if you are so inclined. With true friendship, a person can come and go, be herself, just as she would be at home alone, but better, with more options. This is how I felt staying with Joan and Renate in their home - like being in my own home, but better. I felt able to come and go at will, hang out with them if time permitted, and not have to worry about 'being polite' or other social niceties. It was a very freeing experience. The two of them made their home completely available to me, replete with a room, that little blue car, and office supplies when I needed them. We were always happy to see each other.

At times, friendships are taken for granted. Especially when we know people well, we might not always acknowledge how lucky we are to have good friends in our lives. I know there have been times when I have not paid as much attention to my relationships with people as was needed in order to preserve the friendship. I try not to do that anymore. Friends and family (and my dog of course, but then she is my family) are the single most important thing in my life. Without them, my life would not be what it is. I feel loved and understood and am able to do things that otherwise might not be possible. For all of that, I am extremely blessed and never want to forget the important role that friendship plays in my life and the lives of others.

To that end, when I left Calgary, I flew back to Winnipeg for just a few days to celebrate fifty years of friendship with Charlotte and Helen. The three of us had all met at the University of Manitoba in 1960, and have remained friends over the years. Helen is a retired anaesthesiologist now living in Santa Monica and Charlotte is a retired microbiologist currently living in Ottawa. Although I see each friend individually throughout the year, the three of us have not been in the same place at the same time for well over six years, and even then it was in a crowd of people. My wonderful cousin Simon offered us his cabin at Falcon Lake where we could have some quiet time together and catch up on our lives and just be friends. And of course, we absolutely had to do a jigsaw puzzle - what would going to the lake be without a jigsaw puzzle on the table?

I used to spend my summers at Falcon Lake when I was a teenager and when Simon took us for a boat ride covering the six miles or so of lake, once again the memories came flooding back.

"Oh, this is where I used to water ski all the time."

"I remember we broke a shear pin in front of this island and I had to hop in the water and fix the motor."

"I used to dive off the big platform that was over there."

"I broke my ribs on that dock while slalom skiing ."

The leaves are just beginning to turn, and on the almost October Monday there was no one around. The sun was bright, the wind was down, the water fairly calm. Loons were diving, and a large beaver (or muskrat) home was being erected. It was a very renewing and beautiful day. And that jigsaw puzzle was the best way to spend an evening with my friends after a delicious BBQ meal with plenty of liquid lubrication.

Helen: "I need a mottled with one poker and two holes."

Charlotte: "Here's two pokers that might go over there."

Ruth: "I am looking for one poker, one hole and a straight edge."

Medicine? Microbiology? Nope - just three friends putting together a jigsaw puzzle. It was a great evening, even though we never did finish George, Paul, Ringo and John walking on Abbey Road.

It's one thing to talk about friendship and another thing entirely to nurture the relationships with the people in ones life that we love. I have decided to take my friends for granted no longer - if people are going to be in my life, I am going to act as though it means something.

LITTLE BLUE CAR

The day after the Calgary reading, the marathon of visiting went into high gear. Joan and Renate had loaned me the little blue car, which together with my trusty GPS, took me everywhere. This day started out with a drive to Cochrane to visit the studio of Maureen Enns. Maureen has always been one of my favourite artists ever and I am proud to have hanging in my home at least four of her paintings. Aside from loving the way the paintings look, I very much appreciate that her work is so politically conscious in terms of conservation. To check out her work and learn about her current project dealing with the wild horses of Ghost Forest, go to: www.maureenenns.com. We had a great visit, but it wasn't long enough - I left with still many questions and things I wanted to talk about. But it was a start.

The little blue car then carried me to Springbank where I met my friend Sandi, who was back visiting Calgary from her Kenyan home. I had planned my reading in Calgary to coincide with Sandi's visit from Africa and was very happy to have some extra time with her to catch up.

The car and I drove out to meet my medical partner of years ago, Dr. Jann, whom I absolutely adore. I could not possibly imagine having a better medical partner. We sat with a bottle of wine between us and could have talked for many days. Once more, as with all my visits in Calgary, I felt it was not long enough, that I could have gone on talking for much longer.

The last time I was in Calgary was eight years ago, for the funeral of Betty, a very dear friend and colleague. It was a tragic time for all of us. After my visit with Jann, I joined Betty's family for dinner, and we talked about past and present. They are forever part of my Calgary family.

That little blue car drove me everywhere for a week, out to Rocky View to visit Suzanne and the airedale puppies, nine days old and ten weeks old, and older. That was wonderful. Puppies always smell so....puppy-ish. I love cuddling with them. To check out Suzanne's site, go to: www.airedale-zsuzse.com. The car and I went to coffee with a medical resident, who in just months will be a physician. I delivered her years ago and the thrill of having coffee with her, a woman whom I know will be a superb physician, was really quite marvelous. That blue car took me everywhere, at night to Joan's and Renate's where Eric and James, formerly of Hong Kong, currently of Thailand, had stopped by to visit me, to Rodney's, one of my longest Calgary friends and her very sweet dog Luca, back to Joan's and Renate's again for a dinner party with wonderful guests and conversation. That car drove me past my old house, my hospital, my old office, the medical school, and all the while, the memories were pouring in through the windows and into my heart.

I will always have a fondness for that little blue car, for allowing me to visit with so many good friends and reminiscences. I really do feel that friends are one of the greatest blessings a person can have, and we need to nurture our relationships, not get lazy about our friendships. I have been somewhat remiss in the past, and I am trying to remedy that. Thank you, little blue car, for helping me renew some wonderful friendships.

BACK IN THE SADDLE AGAIN

After Edmonton I might have been a bit discouraged had it not been for the Calgary reading two days later. Calgary, one of my three homes, came through with flying colours. Seventy-one people showed up at the Crump Room at Christ Church; there could have been more - I know of at least three people who set out to the reading and drove around in circles looking for the venue. I saw each of them days after and everyone felt badly about not being able to find the Crump Room. However, those that did find it seemed happy to be there.

The Owl's Nest Book Store sponsored the reading and the people from the book store, Michael and Judith, couldn't have been nicer and more supportive. We had a small reception after the reading; many people hung around drinking a glass of wine, visiting friends and colleagues they hadn't seen in decades. This is the best part of the book tour; I know I keep repeating it, but seeing people from my past, people I love and miss in my life, and having them connect once again with each other is such a special benefit. It's one of the very best parts of having written the book. And again, it is such a treat to read to an audience of good friends. I could just feel the love coming at me from the room. It's a real high.

Shortly before the reading was about to begin, a rather tall woman lurched up to me. "Where's Ruth Simsons, who's Ruth Simmons?"

"I'm Ruth Simkin, " I answered with a smile, "how can I help you?"

She then went on to say that she wore hearing aids (for the record, so do I; they are tiny and most people never even know I have them) and she had a receiver of some sort and would I please wear this thing around my neck. She then proceeded to put this very large, very ugly black rectangle on a heavy cord over my head. I explained that I was not really comfortable wearing this black thing but I would be happy to attach it to the lectern where I kept my notes and would that be okay? She seemed happy enough with that solution and in fact, it worked really well and didn't really interfere with my style at all. But wearing that big black thing around my neck definitely would have. I don't enjoy having my personal space invaded, but I think we came across a mutual solution that didn't invade anything for anyone and all were pleased with the result.

For over twenty years I had the most wonderful housekeeper in Calgary, Mrs. Eva Samu. I can't imagine what would have happened to my life (and home) had Mrs. Samu not been there. I relied upon her for over two decades. Plus she makes the best fried chicken in the world. For all those years, I have called her Mrs. Samu and she has called me Dr. Simkin, even though all my friends and relatives have called her Eva and she has called them by their first names. But Mrs. Samu and I were always on a last name basis - out of a certain kind of respect. I know for myself, I just would have felt uncomfortable calling her by her first name. So when it came time to autograph her book, of course I wrote to Mrs. Samu and signed it Dr. Simkin. Shortly after I had done that, I was standing across the room chatting with some friends when Joan came up to me.

"Ruthie, Eva wants to see you."

I looked over to see Mrs. Samu sitting alone on the sofa under the window. I went over immediately and sat down beside her.

"Mrs. Samu, what's up? Anything wrong?"

"Dr. Simkin," she took a deep breath, "we have known each other for a very long time now. Do you think you could put in my book 'to Eva from Ruth'?"

"Of course, Mrs. Samu." I wrote in her book 'to Eva with love, Ruth'.

"Thank you, Dr. Simkin," she smiled.

"You're welcome, Mrs. Samu."

And so it goes.

SOME GOOD, SOME NOT SO GOOD

Photos: Ruth and Joan dine at Taste of Ukraine Restaurant in Edmonton

Last week I did a reading in Winnipeg at McNally Robinson bookstore. For days prior to the reading, they had displays out of my book, had the book on the recommended reading table, had posters all over the store advertising the reading. John, the events coordinator presented me with a masterful introduction, which he had prepared on his own without any input from me. It was just excellent and very flattering and it was clear he had read the entire book. There were about one hundred people at the reading, we sold a lot of books, and overall it was quite successful for everyone.

I am currently in Edmonton where I am supposed to do a reading at Chapters. I had been corresponding there with Sonya, who had approved the poster I had made regarding the reading, and asked me to send her half a dozen posters via snail mail, which I gladly did several months ago.

Joan and I drove into Edmonton, and went directly to the TV station, where Lynda did a very skillful and creative interview. She was quite wonderful and had actually read the entire book. We pitched the reading at Chapters and then went for lunch.

I thought I had best check in with the bookstore. I dialed the number.

Me: "Hello. May I please speak with Sonya?"

A Woman: "Oh, Sonya doesn't work at this store any more. Can I help you?"

Me: "Well, my name is Dr. Ruth Simkin and I am supposed to do a reading at your store this evening."

The woman: "Oh, you are? Well, I'll let you talk to Shannon then. She's busy right now. Can you call back later please?"

Joan and I ate our goma-ai (spinach salad) appetizer and then I redialed.

Me: "Hello, may I please speak with Shannon?"

A Woman: "Just one moment please."

I ate a piece of gari (pickled ginger).

Shannon: "Hello, this is Shannon."

Me: "Hello Shannon. My name is Dr. Ruth Simkin and I am supposed to do a reading at your store tonight."

Shannon: "You are?"

Me: "Yes, I had been dealing with Sonya."

Shannon: "Well, Sonya doesn't work at this store any more."

Me: Yes, I gathered that, but I drove into Edmonton especially for this reading, and have just finished a TV slot talking about it."

Shannon: "Oh. Did you write a book?"

Me: "Yes, I did. Are you not expecting me to do a reading there?"

Shannon: "Well, I see that your name is on the calendar with a question mark beside it but I didn't know what it was for. What is the name of your book?"

Me: "The Jagged Years of Ruthie J. So you are not expecting me?"

Shannon: "Well, we don't have a lot of people around. How many books do you normally sell?"

Me: "I had one hundred people at my reading last week in Winnipeg and sold a lot of books, but they were expecting me and did some advertising in the store."

Shannon: "Oh. Well, how many books are you bringing?"

Me: "Well, how many would you like me to bring?"

The rest of the conversation went downhill even more after that. I was concerned about how things would turn out.

I turned to Joan as we each speared a piece of sashimi.

"Well, if no one comes, we'll just go out for dinner, okay?" Joan smiled kindly.

The thing is that I, not the publishers, not the publicist, but I, the lowly author, pay for these book tours. Joan kindly drove me to Edmonton in her car, but we are staying in a hotel, and need to eat meals, for which I pay. And almost always I don't mind because it is part of marketing the book. I could have saved the cost of the Edmonton trip. I could have even done an extra reading in Calgary - I was asked to do so at the Epilepsy Foundation but had no free evenings. This could have been a successful evening in Calgary instead of a bust in Edmonton.

So it was with some trepidation that I showed up at Chapters. But I have to say that Shannon turned out to be terrific. She just could not do enough for us, and was encouraging and supportive. The trouble was that no one knew I was coming. One woman, Rose, a very young looking 84 year old, came down to the store after she had seen me on TV. She wanted to hear what I had to say in person. Because at the time no one else was around, Joan and I took Rose for coffee (there was an adjacent Starbucks in Chapters) and to Shannon's credit, Chapters bought our coffee. We chatted for about twenty minutes or so, and then Luke, a twelve year old boy showed up to buy a book for his mother. They also had seen the TV news this evening. The only two sales and the only two people who came were a result of the TV show. Much to Shannon's and Chapter's credit, they took twelve books to sell and Shannon was very encouraging and helpful. What could have turned out to be a bitter experience was saved by her professionalism and her enthusiasm and support.

After Rose and Luke left, it was time for Joan and I to go for dinner and a big drink. Since we were in Edmonton, of course we went to Taste of Ukraine Restaurant. We started the meal with caviar on blinis and shots of vodka, and things just got better after that. We had cabbage rolls and cherry ribs and cheese crepes and perogies, and more vodka drinks and prawns and a little more vodka and caramel baked apple in crepes with ice cream for desert and a little more vodka. We had a most wonderful waiter and it was a great meal!. In the morning, we return to Calgary. Life is still pretty darn good.

SO MANY HOMES

So many homes. Victoria is my home because I live there now. Winnipeg is my home because I was born and grew up there. Calgary is my home because I spent twenty-two years, almost a quarter of a century, working during my adult life here and participating in the Calgary community. Of all my three homes, I probably know the greatest number of people here in Calgary. It was in Calgary that I became a doctor, worked hard as a physician, played hard as a party animal, fell in love, had my heart broken, went to meetings, stuffed envelopes, organized conferences, helped build theatres, sat on arts boards, was honoured with a woman of the year award, another Speak Sebastian award for gay and lesbian political work, hiked in the mountains regularly, knocked on doors with politicians, argued with elected officials, opened a hologram gallery (Western Canada's first) opened Canada's first PMS clinic, was involved with sports, was physician to a Canadian championship softball team, had Stampede parties, well, had a lot of parties in general, built "The Fence" in protest of urban sprawl, had loads of dinner parties - in other words, I had a very full life here. So it was with much excitement and anticipation that I have now returned after far too long of being away to do a reading.

Where to stay? Well, the obvious choice was to stay with my friends Joan and Renate. Joan was one of the first people I ever met in Calgary. I had gone to a softball game with a friend, Joan was the coach, she looked up at me in disbelief from the field as I sat in the stands reading a book totally ignoring the action on the infield and a very long friendship was born. She is one of my oldest and dearest friends. For years we lived in the same house, shared the same friends, went through periods of joy and grief and more joy together, and we know and love each other well. Renate has been in Joan's life for seventeen years now and although I haven't known her quite as long as Joanie, seventeen years is certainly long enough to love her.

Another one of my oldest friends in Calgary is Carolyn who joined me for dinner the other night. Now I might have lied when I wrote the other day that Winnipeg was the only city with food memories. I hadn't really remembered Kam Han, where Carolyn and I, often joined with other friends, ate almost weekly for years. We recreated our usual menu from the past of hot and sour soup, salt and pepper seafood, ginger fried beef, and szechuan eggplant as we talked, reconnected and generally enjoyed each other. The food was as good as I remembered. And Carolyn was even better, which is going some.

And then there is Marlene. Calgary will always mean Marlene to me. I first met her when I was a medical student and she was a nurse working for the doctor who was to become my preceptor. We became fast friends and she worked with me as a nurse throughout my entire residency. As soon as I opened a practice, Marlene joined me and worked together with me for as long as I remained in Calgary. I could not imagine a better nurse and friend than Marlene. All those patients who thought I was a good doctor never realized that it was Marlene who made me look good, whispering relevant information in my ear just before I was to see a patient. She was great at holding patients' hands literally and figuratively, always doing exactly the most appropriate thing that was needed for them and for me. She could not have been any better in her job, and I benefited by that. I love Marlene more than I can say. Our long dinner reminiscing over many pots of tea was wonderful. We laughed, we grinned at each other, we remembered. The thing I adore about Marlene is that she loves life as much as I do. We are both basically happy people who love most other people. Marlene is still working, and I must say, I am a bit envious of those for whom she works, she is that good.

Virtually every meal, every coffee break time for the whole time that I am in Calgary, I am being joined by a different person who was important in my life. I feel as though I am the most blessed person in the world, to have so many stellar friends, who still love talking and laughing and loving and living.

Part of this trip is to do readings of course, not just visit and reminisce about the past. Tomorrow Joan and I head out to Edmonton, where I will be reading at Chapter's Bookstore. We will stay overnight, then drive back for the Calgary reading. At the risk of being monotonous, life is very good.

ON BEING JEWISH ON YOM KIPPUR

There is no time during the year that I feel so positively Jewish as the twenty-five hours starting the eve of Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. That evening, we go to the synagogue for the service called Kol Nidre, (need-ray) named after the song, a declaration actually, sung at the onset of the service. Kol Nidre means "all our vows". There are as many versions of Kol Nidre as there are synagogues in the world, yet every single one of them has a familiarity to anyone who has grown up in the synagogue, any synagogue. In my synagogue in Victoria, usually the rabbi sings Kol Nidre. Here in Winnipeg, the female hazzan (cantor) and a large choir, sing it together. But the melody and the words are always the same, a haunting, soulful, familiar, deep down in your gut kind of melody; those words of Kol Nidre begin the twenty-five plus hours of Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish year.

Yom Kippur is a time of introspection, of asking forgiveness for any transgressions we have made over the year, to others, to God, to ourselves. We fast, from before sundown the eve of Kol Nidre, to after sunset the next day, when the shofar blows and we all leave the synagogue to go somewhere to break the fast. During those twenty-five hours, we ask forgiveness of God and others for all the ways we may have screwed up in the past year.

If truth be told, the religious prayers and some of the rituals don't really mean that much to me. But of all the Jewish holidays, Yom Kippur is one of the most important days for me. It is the time every year that I have put aside to think seriously about my life. I recall how I may have hurt others, knowingly or unknowingly, and if I can, I ask them to forgive me. I try to figure out what my life will be like during the coming year. I think about ways I can be a better person. I use the time as one of deep reflection, of atonement, of forgiving myself, of hope for a better year. This is when I get serious about myself, with no illusions, strip myself bare, admit to my shortcomings and attempt to figure out how to overcome them. During Yom Kippur, we also take time to remember the dead; not only our loved ones, but the six million lost in the holocaust and other wars. It is a sad, somber, serious day, yet one, I feel, that is full of hope - hope for the future of being the best kind of person I can be.

I sat in the synagogue in Winnipeg during Kol Nidre, this synagogue where I had my bat mitzvah when I was thirteen, where I got married when I was eighteen, where I grew up and spent most week-ends as a child and teenager, and I reconnected with my past. I closed my eyes and I could feel my mother sitting quitely beside me, my father to her left, wrapped in his tallit (prayer shawl), machzor (prayer book) in his hands. I could hear my Uncle Saul and Uncle Jim chanting the prayers, could see my Auntie Jen and Auntie Clara sitting with their families, smiling serenely, watching my grandmother sitting in her corner of the pew, surrounded by all her children and grandchildren and eventually great-grandchildren. All my relatives were there tonight, the very same ones whose graves I had visited in the morning. All of them are part of my life forever, and I need just close my eyes in my old synagogue to bring them back.

Many living relatives were there too, of course. The patriarch of our family, Uncle Abe, sat behind us with his son and daughter-in-law. Many cousins were there - we filled two whole rows. This synagogue is very different from the one I belong to in Victoria. The Winnipeg synagogue seats almost 1500 people, 1,490 to be exact, which is much larger than my Victoria shul (synagogue) of several hundred. The Winnipeg synagogue has Cantor Tracy and a choir; in Victoria, the congregation does most of the singing, certainly not as beautiful as Cantor Tracy but very heartfelt indeed. Both places have their own unique flavour and I enjoy being in each one of them.

The morning after Kol Nidre found the whole family in shul, probably a little earlier than many normally would have been there, because Uncle Abe had been given the honour of reading the Torah portion for the morning. He had two rows of a personal family cheering section and he did an amazing job, singing out the Hebrew in a loud clear voice. Everyone in the synagogue listened intently to him. I was so proud that he is my uncle. Of course, I am always proud of him anyway.

Hours passed, people left. I wanted to stay for all of it. I like to think. I hold the prayer book in my hands, and I always know where we are in the book. I am still able to follow along with the Hebrew. But I think. I think of those I may have hurt in the past year. I plan how I am going to rectify certain wrongs I've done to friends, what I will say to them. I think about who is important in my life, and what I need to do to keep them there. It is a powerful day for me, one I cherish.

At the end of the evening services at the synagogue, we all gathered at my cousins Sharron's and Joel's home to break the fast. And what a break fast it was, for me in particular. I had not eaten wheat, desserts, bread, and so forth for three years until this week. Winnipeg is full of so many food memories for me. I had a most wonderful time. It felt good to fast, and it felt equally good to taste bobka and cinnamon rolls, gefilte fish, eggplant, egg spread on challah bread, lockshen kugel, honey cake and on and on. All my Jewish food memories came flooding back and it was marvelous. And so far, for those following this, the HCG seems to be holding. I have eaten gently, that is, not totally pigged out, but have partaken of all the above plus more this week, and so far, have not gained any weight and my clothes still fit just fine. I had been a little worried to try this - I don't think I actually believed that one could in fact eat normally without gaining weight, but now I experience that to be true. I think as long as one eats in moderation, then life after HCG can be pretty terrific. Stay tuned. I won't lie about it, and will let you all know what happens during these six weeks on the road. I think Winnipeg is the only city associated with so many food memories, and I had many Jewish goodies flooding to the forefront of my mind and subsequently my tastebuds as they entered my body, nourishing me in a particular way that only true Jewish food can do. Life is good.

RECONNECTING

Photo: Basketball team some fifty years later.

In the morning I had coffee with a wonderful woman, Ethel, with whom I went to school in kindergarden and grades 1 through seven. Then we reconnected again in university. Although throughout the years we haven't seen much of each other, I have always kept her in my thoughts. I wasn't a very happy kid in school, and at times, got into fights with other kids. Ethel was always so nice to me. She was kind and intelligent; one of my favourite people in school. I liked her a lot and always felt safe with her. Now, more than sixty years after we first met, we sat on the sofa and talked with each other about our lives and caught up just a bit - not nearly enough though. I also got to visit with her cousin Donna whom I remember from the 1950's. What a pleasure the morning was! It's visits like this that make writing the book and doing these book tours more than worth any effort.

The afternoon was spent with my old basketball team. What a cool reunion that was. We talked about the time we travelled to Edmonton by train to play basketball, and while on the train, perhaps had a tad too much to drink, kidnapped the conductor, locked him in our room and took his pants off. Susan walked around the train wearing his cap, waving his pants over her head. He was not amused, but we certainly were. Then there was the Vancouver trip, where we lowered bedsheets out the second story window of the hotel to hoist up rocks to hide in a girl's suitcase. It was a mean trick. We almost broke a huge plate glass window at the Sylvia hotel in the process. And then Susan, always it was Susan, never me - I was innocent, Susan threw all my clothes out the hotel window onto the lawn. Oh yeah, we did manage to play the odd basketball game as well.

A few of the women brought photos from those days. They were wonderful to look at! The other night at the book reading some of the women actually remembered their basketball number, but I couldn't remember mine. Then I saw it on my uniform in an old photo - I was number 33. Not that it ever got much action on the floor. At night and getting into trouble, yep, 33 was always there. The neatest thing now about my old basketball team is that many of the women now enjoy talking about their grandchildren. I love that. And I love how we can reconnect in such a profoundly personal way, really, after not having seen each other (some of us) for fifty years.

At night, I reconnected with some wonderful cousins who made a marvelous dinner party for me. It was a perfect evening - beautiful home, excellent food, fantastic company and conversation. I'm so grateful to everyone for making me feel so welcome on this tour. And it is only just beginning.

And what a beginning it is becoming. I got a congratulatory email from McNally Robinson Booksellers with their list of Winnipeg Bestsellers for the week of September 12 - and there under paperback non-fiction, in the number five position, was The Jagged Years of Ruthie J, by me. I was blown away - I've never been on a bestsellers list before, and it was quite the high. Even to be mentioned on the same page as Lisbeth Salander was a great high. For those of you unfamiliar with her - I am a huge fan of Stieg Larsson's trilogy of wonderful novels, of which Lisbeth is one of the main characters. But I digress. I'm sure the sales at the reading put me onto this list, and that's fine - it's a wonderful feeling to see my name on that list of bestsellers.

ON TURNING ONE HUNDRED

My Auntie Jen turned one hundred years old today. On display in her hallway are congratulatory letters from the Queen, the Prime Minister, the Governor General, Premier of Manitoba and Mayor of Winnipeg, all nicely framed and wishing her appropriate one hundred year birthday wishes.

My Auntie Jen is the oldest of six siblings. Only one other is still alive, the youngest, my Uncle Abe. My dad was one of her brothers. Uncle Abe is 88 years old. He is one the sharpest most astute people of any age that I know. He never stops - he is always working on something, trying something new - I think I am a lot like him in that way. Except he is way smarter.

We went to visit Auntie Jen today, my cousin Em, Jen's daughter, and myself. Auntie Jen was in fine fettle. Her cognition is not exactly perspicacious but she seems happy enough. She spoke today in four languages, five if we count gibberish. She always wants to do more, a reflection of a life lived in hard toil and labour dedicated to others. I think she is frustrated that she finds herself to be one hundred years old, sitting on a chair and unable to run around doing things for people. When she realized she was 93 years old, seven years ago, she turned to her son Jerry and said: "I'm too young to be that old." Indeed.

Her younger brother by some twelve years has not lost any of his cognition. In fact, he seems to gain some as he gets older, appearing smarter, sharper and more with it with each year. He is such a total inspiration. He is my dad's younger brother, and I know why my dad loved him so much. The older I become, the more precious my family is to me. I do not want to ever lose them. They are a part of who I am. And once more I give thanks for being part of this family that has in it people like Uncle Abe and my one hundred year old Auntie Jen.

THE WINNIPEG READING

The day started off with a very early live TV appearance. The crew and Brian, the interviewer (and news anchor) were just great and we had loads of fun. Brian wanted to concentrate on the fact that Winnipeg had been my home so we talked a fair bit about this city of my youth and family.

I've noticed an interesting trend. When I did my US tour, a lot of people asked me about epilepsy, and my personal experience at the hospital. Of course. But now, the last few interviews have been about personal secrets - revealing them or not. I believe that if people can talk about experiences such as being a mental patient, or having a disease like epilepsy, it ultimately makes our lives much easier and even more importantly, demystifies these things and normalizes them more. So many of us have these secrets in our lives, and talking about them can definitely make our lives and those of others, much freer. So many people have confided to me that they too were in a mental hospital but nobody knew about it. And it is very freeing to tell someone about the experience.

So the Winnipeg reading. Why was this reading different than any other reading? Probably because it was Winnipeg, home to a huge family and loads of good friends. The book store has a lovely restaurant in one corner, and the evening started off with dinner there first. There were about fourteen at our table, another table of eight of my cousins and tons more tables of friends and relatives who had come to the reading.

The reading itself was very successful. John the event organizer, told me that they usually had 30 - 40 people at a reading. I had more than twice that number there, and he said it was one of their largest ever. I was quite honoured. I have to admit it was a very special feeling to read looking over an audience of relatives and old friends. Even my basketball team (from the 1960's) was out in full force and seeing their faces there was just so great!

My relatives are particularly very special and I feel so privileged to be part of this family. They couldn't possibly be more supportive than they are and their love just permeates the room. It was quite the high. After the reading was over, and I had signed the bulk of the books I was to sign, my Uncle Abe came over to me. He very tenderly cradled my face in his hands, gave me a gentle kiss and said: "I am so proud of you, sweetheart." Those words were music to my ears, they meant everything to me. "I am so proud of you, sweetheart." He was the emissary from my parents and all my other relatives who had gone before. I thought my heart might burst with pride and love. Things did turn out all right after all.

It was a most wonderful beginning to my Canadian book tour. We're off to a good start.

ON THE ROAD AGAIN

Photo: The Golden Boy atop the legislative buildings in downtown Winnipeg.

Today is Day One of my Canadian book tour. I am in Winnipeg, where my first reading will be tomorrow evening. Winnipeg: the city in which I was born, grew up, went to high school and university; Winnipeg: the city where my grandparents and parents are buried; Winnipeg: the city full of memories of happy and not-so-happy times. But what Winnipeg means to me more than anything is family. I have an unusually large family and when I was growing up, we all lived in Winnipeg and celebrated holidays and family events together. We lived next door to each other - and with all three moves during my time in Winnipeg, we always lived next door to our relatives. My extended family is very close to me. Now, some fifty years later, many of us have moved and live in other places, but I still have many cousins, aunts and uncles that have remained here.

One of the best things about these book tours is reconnecting with people and places from my past. It is such a gift to be able to see people I have not seen for a long time, for whom I care about and miss in my life, and be able to reconnect and talk as though all the many years have not interceded.

On my way to a TV interview, my cousin Ruthy and I stopped in front of a house on Stella Avenue.

"I think this is the house," she said.

"Naw, it can't be. It looks too nice," I responded. We went up and back with her saying she thought it was the house and my saying I thought it looked too nice. A man standing in the front yard watched us with interest and then walked over to the car.

"Excuse us," we both chirped, "we think we used to live here."

"Well, was it more than thirty years ago?"

"It was more than sixty years ago," I answered.

"Who was the family?" he asked.

"Simkins," I answered.

"Oh yes, I knew them. I often wondered what happened to them."

We chatted for a while, and he told us how he had put new siding on the outside.

"The outside is very different," he explained, "but the inside is pretty much the same."

And that was the house in which I was born. Behind the house was a tiny garage where my uncle Abe had told us they used to park four trucks. I couldn't imagine getting one truck in there, much less four. My parents were married in that back yard. And I lived in that house until I was almost six.

Ruthy and I drove on to Grant Park Mall which houses McNally Robinson Book Store where the reading will be. I had a TV interview there on location. The bookstore is huge, and as I walked in, I was very pleasantly surprised to see a whole table with my books on display, and everywhere I looked, there were beautiful posters advertising the reading. John, my contact from the store, told me they had been getting a lot of calls about it, and so I am very much looking forward to the reading tomorrow. Stay tuned.

It's good to be home.

Goodbye From Me, Argentina

My last day. What to do? Truly, this is such an incredible city that even walking around is a big experience. However, I decided to take a tour into the country. My plane didn´t leave until 9:30 pm, and I had arranged for a late check–out, so I had pretty much all day. No problems. Or so I thought. I booked a tour that was to take six hours. It went to Temaiken, which is a zoological park, kind of like San Diego Wild Animal Park. It was about an hour outside of Buenos Aires, and I thought it would be nice to get out into the country and walk a bit, as I knew I would be spending more than twenty–four hours on airplanes. I checked last night and again this morning with the people at the front desk in the hotel.
“You are sure the tour is only six hours, right? You are sure I will be back by 3 pm?”
“Yes, of course. Do not worry. Six hours maximum. You will have lots of time to get to the airport.”

I had a strange niggling feeling inside me, which I should have trusted and just not gone, but instead, I believed them and was anxiously awaiting my pick–up in the morning. The tour guide was only about fifteen minutes late for the pick up, but then we spent the next hour picking up other passengers, and driving to an area beside the stainless steel flower where some of our passengers got off and transferred to other buses, and other tourists boarded our bus. Once we got to the flower, it was actually pretty interesting as there was some sort of mini gay pride ralley going on.

At the front were folks with a large pink banner stating in English, although I am not sure why, as everyone was speaking Spanish: "Freedom – We Want To Marry". There were TV cameras, people hanging out behind a barrier, some of them in “gay costumes”, many with signs saying in rainbow colours, "Equality Now", "Freedom", things like that. There were many tourists at the flower as well, and music was playing and folks were excited, so it was an energetic event for sure. Then amidst much yelling and organizing, they started the parade, and the leaders marched down the street. There were about fifty of them, and they were very lively, dressed up, rainbow everythings, wigs, signs, clothes, flags, and a big rainbow balloon arc. I think they must have been rehearsing for something because after they had marched about one hundred yards, they stopped. The truck at the end of the parade backed up to the place where he started originally, and the people turned around and went back to where they were, lined up all over again, ready to march yet once mroe. The TV cameras were filming everything.

Well after an hour from the initial start of the tour, we actually started the tour. Our guide was a young Argentinian woman, Mariana, who spoke in both English and Spanish. She explained that there were actually two tours on the bus, and those of us going to Tamaiken (that´s me) will be dropped off, given our tickets, and then picked up again at 5:30 pm.
Wait a minute! 5:30! That means I wouldn´t get back to the hotel until after 7, at least an hour AFTER I have to leave for the airport, and I hadn´t even begun to pack yet!
“Mariana, I was told we would be back by 3 pm. Are you now saying we won´t be?”
” Yes, we never come back that early. We leave the park at 5:30.”
“ But I will miss my plane if I do that.”
“Yes, well, there is nothing I can do. The bus leaves the park at 5:30.”
So I told her we should put our heads together and figure out a solution because I was not about to miss my plane for North America to look at lions and tigers. To make a complicated exchange short, she arranged for Luis, a taxi driver friend, to pick me up at the park at 1:30. Of course, I was terrified that he wouldn´t come, and there I would be, stuck in the middle of nowhere with no way to get back to the city. But it was an unfounded worry, because exactly at 1:30, Luis pulled up and drove me back to the city. And of course, I not only had to pay for the entire tour, most of which I missed, but also for the private taxi ride back to Buenos Aires.

On our way to the park, we drove by the water, and there were literally hundreds of people fishing from bridges, and the road. I didn´t see too many fish, perhaps they kept them in the water until leaving, but there sure were a lot of fishing rods out there. We saw many joggers,, long–distance bike riders, and of course the ubiquitous dog walkers. There is always a lot to see on the streets of Buenos Aires. We drove along a modern big freeway with at least two toll stations, and then finally turned off to get to Temaiken.

Now, the park. As far as zoological parks go, it was lovely. I have very mixed feelings about zoos, and am not even clear why I wanted to go, except I thought it would be nice just to walk among trees and flowers, and in fact, it was. All the enclosures were built out of natural materials, stone, wood, etc and there were no cages or bars or anything at all like that. All the animals had little signs saying if they were endangered species, etc. There was lots of educational material, and young people working at the park gave little expositions about the animals or insects or whatever. This was not a tourist park, but an Argentinian park, so everything was in Spanish, there was no English at all, but that´s okay, I pretty much know my animals anyway. I think I liked watching the flamingos and the meerkats the best of all, especially the latter. When I first got there, I went to the information kiosk and asked how long it took to walk around the park.
“ Oh, four to six hours, more it you go slowly,” the young woman smiled. Luis, the taxi driver was to pick me up in just two hours.

It was wonderful to walk. I just walked deep into the park for one hour and then turned around and followed the “salida” signs until I could find my way out again. At one point I stopped for a quick snack. I ordered the only thing on the menu which I did not understand: a superponcho. I had no idea what that was, but was kind of hoping it might be a hot dog. Luck was with me, I think, as I got served a very long, very skinny, very undercooked weiner. It came with three packets of mayonnaise, one of which had some poor critters feathers accidently glued to the outside.

Once I was back at the hotel, I had one small errand I still needed to do, so ran back out to Avendia Florida, which is really only three blocks away from the hotel. As soon as I turned onto the road, there it was again – anothger tango show in the street, This is the street that is pedestrian only, so there was lots of room for the dancing. I had learned that originally, tango was banned here. It had orginated in the lower–class neighbourhoods, and the upper–class or high society people did not approve of it at all. Originally, only men danced the tango with each other. Women didn´t dance until much later. Tango was especially danced out in the suburbs. Ultimately so many people were “secretly” dancing that in 1912, the high society people organized a big tango event, and it was the first time the tango was danced publicly by the upper classes. After that, the dance was accepted. In 2009, after being lobbied by Argentina and Uruguay, UNESCO declared the tango as a world heritage of humanity, an intangible cultural history.

I had made a stop at Starbucks again on my way back to the hotel. I had begun to get a tad tired, after a week of four hours sleep a night, and needed a hefty caffeine fix. This time when they asked my name I said “Estella”. They got that wrong too, but not the coffee – it was strong and good.

When I first arrived in Buenos Aires, the customs and immigration area was small and dingy and not overly impressive. However the departure terminal more than made up for that. It was huge and glitzy with loads of upscale shopping. It was quite beautiful. And so I left Argentina, flew to Dallas where the plane had a flat tire and we sat on the runway for almost four hours, and then got to Vancouver. I think I walked more in the Vancouver Terminal in two hours than I did a whole week in Argentina! I do not like that airport. But I do like Beunos Aires, and although I was happy to return home, I was very happy to have experienced Buenos Aires and hope that I may return one day. Hasta Luega.

Last Training Day

We met again at 9:30 in the morning to discuss basically new research and new concepts. Assiz showed up again, and Frankie and Mike and I were there, and Dr. Belluscio and the three women: Anna, his daughter, Beatriz the marketer, and Maryelle, the nutritionist. We had a good discussion about lots of research parameters and again, I learned a lot.

So what is the bottom line on HCG? Is it a cure for obesity? No. But it certainly can help control obesity for years and years. Does it reset the hypothalamus? No. But it certainly has a hypothalamic effect, and that is where HCG works. As Dr. Belluscio has said, it has taken humans hundreds of thousands of years to evolve the hypothalamus to what it is now, and it´s not going to change in three weeks.

At one point, we were googling HCG. Three years ago, Dr. Belluscio was the ONLY one with info on the web about HCG. Now there are millions upon millions of hits, and everybody has twenty or thirty years experience. Where they all came from, no one here knows. I still think Dr. Belluscio is the only one with all that experience and everyone else is jumping on the money bandwagon.

I´ve felt this before and I even feel more convinced of it now: HCG should not ever be used without medical supervision.

I think HCG is a very fine way to control weight, provided the patient is compliant and stays on the protocol. The weight loss can be maintained for years, and if, it´s a big if, but if the weight gain should return, the person can always do the protocol again. And again. OR, prevent the weight from returning in the first place. That´s certainly my first choice, and I am going to try to do that from now on.

Around 2ish, everyone had dispersed to do her/his own thing. I decided to go to the mall and walk down Avenida Florida, one of the main Buenos Aires shopping areas. Pacifica Mall borders on Florida. The mall was wonderful – huge, modern, with wonderful paintings on the curved ceilings, replete with Starbucks. One store after another had beautiful leathers, clothes, shoes, books, on and on. And then the streets. They were full of people, walking quickly, shoulder to shoulder. Avendia Florida is a pedestrian only street, with traffic only at the cross streets. There is a large space for people to walk. I was trying to stroll, but the crowd of people was pushing me onward. People were rushing along, talking to each other, or on their cell phones, or to themselves. Buenos Aires is a very vibrant city, full of traffic and people and noise and motion and action. On the mall on Florida were hawkers selling anything from food in restaurants to today´s latest gizmos. There were buskers and beggars, usually women with children. Crosswalks are painted on every street corner, but usually pedestrians and cars alike totally ignore them. They don´t seem to mean anything. I had a lot of fun trying on beautiful leather jackets which I knew full well I couldn´t afford. I did try to buy some shoes, but couldn´t get them in my size. I loved speaking my broken Spanish and being part of the rush of people. On my way home, I stopped at the Starbucks for a dulce de leche frappucino. Only in Argentina. Dulce de leche is a typical Argentinian sweet with milk and caramel. When you order at Starbucks, they ask your name and write it on the cup and when it is ready, they just call your name. The woman had a difficult time with Ruth. Somehow “Bruth” got written on my frappucino, but I correctly identified my drink so all was well. After a few hours, I was starting to get claustrophobic from all the people and the fast pace, plus all the cigarette smoking was bothering me, so I decided to come back to the hotel even though there was still some shopping I wanted to do.

I worked on my notes from the training session for a couple of hours and then Frankie and Rene returned from their outing. We shared our shopping with each other, and then the three of us headed back out to Avenida Florida. In the first block, we came across an outdoor tango show in the street. This place is tango tango tango, for sure. And now it was evening, and all the stores were still open, but there were wall to wall sellers of wares sitting in the middle of the walkway with all their goodies. Of course we shopped just a bit more. We returned to the hotel around 9 pm, still too early for dinner. The two women were exhaused and retired for the evening, but I went back to work for a little bit more and then headed out for dinner.

I decided to go to the same steak restaurant I had gone to a few days ago because the steak had been perfectly cooked, the waiter was great (even though he spoke no English, but he seemed to understand my Spanish) and it was very close to the hotel (about three–quarters of a block away). So there I went. And I once again ordered in espanol and I had a most fabulous incredibly delicious meal. For an appetizer, I had artichokes and shrimp and onions and mushrooms, a main course of a rib eye steak cooked absolutely to perfection (for me that means pretty rare) and for dessert, crepe with ice cream and dulce de lece. Dulce de lece is the very caramel Argentinian thing and as it happens, cararmel is one my most favourite things ever. And the crepe was perfecto. The waiter had definitely remembered me from a few nights ago and couldnt have been nicer. I had a wonderful time, sitting there listeing to the voices speaking Spanish. I left just before midnight, and people were still arriving for dinner. The streets were packed. Maybe because it is a week–end (Friday) there were lots of police and police cars on the street. But everyone seemed very friendly to me, and I wasn´t in the least worried about my safety at all. It was a wonderful evening. And tomorrow, well tomorrow is my last day, Stay tuned to see what I have planned for that.

Another Day, Another Training Session

We started our training at 9:30 in the morning and went straight through until 2 pm. We had barely an hour for a quick lunch, and then reconvened until 7 pm. We were exhausted as we packed in tons of material, but we are having a training session dinner at 9 pm, so everyone retired for two hours before meeting again, freshly showered and properly attired for another night out on the town.

The training was good. Again, I won´t write much about it as it is medical and complex, but I am always available to answer questions about HCG and weight loss. We were joined this afternoon by an anaesthetist from Maryland, Assiz, so now our group is five students. There was much information given. Today alone I took twenty–two pages of notes which I have to transcribe and make some kind of sense out of the scribbles. But once again I did learn loads of great information.

At 9 pm Argentinian time, which was closer to 9:30, we got into a car to drive to Sirop, a lovely restaurant in an old building that used to be a post office I think. At any rate, it was down an alley and quite lovely inside. The food was fabulous, the wine was great and the company wonderful. There were nine of us: Dr Belluscio and his daughter Anna, whom I´m begininning to think runs the whole shebang, and Beatrice, the marketer for the HCG group, and Maryelle, the nutritionist, and we five “students” or participants in the training session. We ate late, and didn´t leave the restaurant until about 12:30 pm. Way past my bedtime, but I had a wonderful time and Dr Daniel Belluscio was such a gracious host.

It was a strange day. Assiz didn´t show up so we were just the four of us again. In the morning, we had the nutritionist and in the afternoon the pharmacist but they choose to give their lectures in Spanish. So we had simulataneous translators, who were both excellent, except the Spanish person spoke loudly, the translator whispered, the headphones kept cutting out, and none of us could understand anything. We kept stopping them and they wanted to try one more time, just one more time please, and it was like a comedy show. Finally, they agreed to have the Spanish person speak Spanish and then the translator speak English and both would try to speak in a normal voice, and we would not use any headphones at all. That worked much better. I think we were all a bit tired today. We finished about 4ish and then we all went to Dr Belluscio´s medical office where he was seeing patients. We put on doctor white coats – I think it was the first time I´ve worn a white coat since I graduated in the 70´s except for when I worked in Israel or China or England. I don´t ever wear one in Canada. The offices were very small, but the entire staff was most gracious and accomodating and we did manage to see some patients and get a feel for his practice here. In Argentina, everybody kisses everybody – on the right cheek. The doctor kisses the patients, the patients kiss the nurse, the nurse kisses the nutritionist and everybody kissed us. I love it. It is a very civilized way to greet people. Men, women, doesn´t matter. Kiss on right cheek, not both. Very nice.

At 8 pm that evening, Frankie, Rene, James, Darryl and I were picked up to go to our tourist tango show. The minivan dropped us off and in we went, to be seated stage side. First we had drinks, and I have to say, I asked Senor Bartender what the best Argentinian drink was and he replied Gancia Batido. Without having a clue what it was, I ordered one. And then another. And then another. It was incredible and one of the best mixed drinks I have EVER tasted! I absolutely loved it. The red wine was pretty good too. But the Gancia was just amazing, so Senor Bartender wrote down for me how to make one and I will try when I get home to replicate that taste if I can. The meal was fine, Argentinianly flavoured, good.

Before the show Senor y Senorita Tango went from table to table in the audience to ask if people wanted to learn tango steps. They would then take a woman or a man or a couple up on the stage, and teach them one, or two or three tango steps, depending upon their capabilities. Senor Tango would dance with the tourist women and Senorita Tanga would dance with the tourist men. They got to our table and all four women ended up dancing and I think we were all three–steppers. All of us did very well and got shown all three different steps. It was very fun dancing with Senor Tango. I loved it. I think we all did.

And then the show. First the musicians: two violins, a bass, a piano and an elderly gentleman with long gray hair on the concertina. Then the singers, one male and one female. And then, at last, the dancers – four or five couples, dancing either all together at one time and/or individually. At times, it looked like an avian mating ritual. At other times, they looked like panthers, jaguars, or bunny rabiits. The dances were playful, serious, sexy and always intense. Really, it was the most intense dancing I´ve ever witnessed. And at times, it looked as though we were watching people, well, women on stilts (very high heels) and young men have sex in almost upright positions. I felt I was intruding to even watch. OMG it was sexy. At times.

Then came Mr. Ukelele Man. Really, he was from Northeast Argentina and he was playing a charango which is an instrument like a lute, but I still called him Mr. Ukelele Man. He had long dark hair flowing to his waist and was totally into the music. He looked liked an Indian hippie. The first two or three songs were great, but after the fourth or fifth, I was happy to see Senor Bolo come up on the stage. He pranced onto the stage carrying a large drum and he danced, stomped his boots and played his drum all together. Muy bueno. Then he put the drum down and brought out the bolos. With one in each hand, he swung them round and round hitting the stage with them in syncopated beats while he danced a kind of flamenco type dance, so his boots and his bolos made the rhythms on the stage. Very cool. And then the singers and then the dancers returned to the stage. The dancers were without question my favourite. I just sat there with my mouth wide open for most of it. And too quickly came the finale. Okay, they sang (in Spanish) “Don´t Cry For Me Argentina” and they waved Argentinian flags, and it was hokey but it was wonderful and we loved the show. I think we all had a great time and came back to our hotel well after 12:30 pm. And of course we have a session early in the morning again. I am not sure how long I can survive on only four hours sleep a night, but so far, I seem to be thriving.