Ottawa

I am on the train to Belleville as I write this. Supposedly the train has wifi services, but that is horse pucky, so I’ll be posting this when I next get access to a good internet connection.
For all that, I do like the train. It’s very peaceful. When you’re on the train, worrying is useless: the train will get where it’s going in its own sweet time and there’s not much you can do about it. Also, every seat has a power outlet, so you don’t have to worry about your laptop losing power. Really, it’s a pretty good place to get some work done, so long as you‘ve done your research ahead of time and aren‘t counting on the internet.
There’s a baby somewhere in this car who has been exercising his lungs for the past half hour. He’s showing a great amount of strength and endurance. If anything, I think he’s gotten louder as time has passed.
And with that, I’ll segue into Ottawa, where last night I witnessed not one, but two crying children. Kiara, my niece, has a dandelion, you see, and Kaeden, my sister’s boyfriend’s son, was of the opinion that he had picked that dandelion. So he burst into tears because she had it, and then, when it had been established that Kaeden had indeed probably picked said dandelion, and Kiara was made to had it over, Kiara burst into tears. Kiara then continued to cry for the whole drive back to her house over the injustice of it all and the fact that she could not remember where she had put the dandelion she had plucked (we found several, but she said none of them were hers). I think I may be a cold and unfeeling aunt, because the whole thing made me laugh.
Also, the dandelion that started the dispute was an extremely ugly one.
What else can I say about Ottawa?
I learned an interesting fact while at the Museum of Civilization: the Tsimshian tribe, native to Canada’s west coast, believed that when a chief died, it’s spirit came back to them as a dog. Everyone in the village recognized this dog, when it chose to appear, as their deceased chief, and while they apparently didn’t treat it much differently than they did any other dog, when it died it was buried with the ceremony befitting a great chief. I thought that was nice. I’ve often thought that there could be no better way to come back then as a dog.
…I heard a Tsimshian chief, Calvin Helin, speak when I was living in Smithers. He was very smart, and very articulate. I suspect he will come back as a sleek hound, or possibly a terrier. I keep meaning to pick up his book, Dances with Dependency. I’ll have to look for it while I’m still in Ontario. It would probably make good reading during my 3 day trip across the prairies.
But back to Ottawa.
Ottawa is one of my favourite cities.
I was born there, which is, of course, a notch in its favour. It is also the city I went to with Ed, Laura and Dave during Spring Break when I was at Queen's. Ed's mother made us a huge pot of spaghetti, which lasted the entire visit. We skated on the Ottawa Canal (or rather, Lauara and Ed did -- Dave and I spent most the the time on our asses) and at Beaver Tails.
This time, I was in Ottawa just in time for the annual Tulip Festival. The city was alive with the colours of thousands of tulips. I didn't get the chance to catch any of the festival events, but the flowers were lovely.
And then, too, Ottawa is where my neice, Kiara, now lives. When she’s not crying over dead dandelions she is quite charming.