A Long Weekend in Montréal

I will try to start with the Saturday.

Whether people here believe it or not, I had no idea that it was the start of a long weekend. Montréal was about to face Game Six of the playoffs and I had a stack of exams that needed attention. My mind was on other things, including several contests for my poetry and stories. Yes, I admit it: Vocal is not the only page where I get my work exposed or rejected. The Canadian Broadcasting Corporation has three separate contests for short stories, non-fiction, and at this time of the year, poetry. Along with them, I include the Montréal International Poetry Prize (they extended their deadline right after receiving my submission; such a nice touch) Peliplat and Reedsy. And, like the wise Dr. Johnson said:

"No man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money.''

Just like the way I feel when I get the occasional touch of a $5 tip for a Top Story, I understand the lure of the almighty dollar. I am at the end of another semester with a little money saved after the clever machinations of my accountant...but it will still be tight. I could transfer the money I have saved on this page, but that will be for an emergency, like wondering why I am still stuck in Montréal for another summer after all this hard work (I actually start another online contract tonight).

But let me get back to that Saturday...

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Montréal hosted the Constellation 2026 Anarchist Festival from the 14th to the 20th. I decided to head back to the neighbourhood I knew quite well not out of loyalty to a political belief I did not hold, but to see how the diehards were holding up. I had already given up on the annual Expozine festival because of the heat, crowds and ugly basement it was hosted in. So, I headed off to another event and found myself in the heat, crowds and ugly basement of something called the CÉDA building (COMITÉ D’ÉDUCATION AUX ADULTES - Adult Education Committee). I did have it in the back of my mind to see if I recognized any of my old friends there (none on view), or if I could find a particular book (Antonio Gramsci's ''Prison Notebooks'' - no dice). My biggest hauls were free stickers, zines - can't get away from those things - and one t-shirt from a very nice vendor. I needed to blend in after arriving wearing too much beige and a hoodie that was far too comfortable once I got outside. My feeling was that I should have worn more black, and tried to avoid the sun for several weeks. I was curious about the calls to ''Abolish Prisons'', ''Abolish Borders'', ''Abolish Corporations,'' and albums and CDs that had a bevy of interesting titles (I still wonder what the ''Jesus Is Gay'' song sounded like). And I moved on.

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Now, the REM line.

In Montréal, they have introduced another train line to join different parts of the city and province (A3), and this past weekend celebrated that the line would now join the West Island, an area served quite poorly by the regular bus service provided by the STM. I had to see what the four extra stops would be like - another free passport with stamping at each stop took place, along with the origami trains handed out from earlier - and I wondered if I would ever ride it again. It is strange to have such a useful service, but to only appreciate it as far as it can take me home in a shorter amount of time. I saw nothing in the extra stops that would compel me to step out of the station. As I heard when I took the inaugural run to Deux-Montagnes:

''The only reason to go to Deux-Montagnes is to get back on the train to Montréal!''

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Finally, hockey...

Yes, some of you overseas readers might wonder why Canadians care so much about the results of a set of games played on ice with sticks, pucks and a fair amount of hitting. But you simply do not understand what it means to country that deals with winters that are severe for over six months, and has the added burden of seeing our finest trophy handled by the noisy neighbours to the south. I should admit that we have both the National Hockey League (NHL) and the Professional Women's Hockey League (PWHL), and that Montréal has teams in both championships...at the same time. It feels glorious to imagine what it would be like if we (yes, the imperial ''We'') win both championships in the same year. I would regress back to that twelve-year-old kid who wrote down all the scores on a piece of paper next to my bed the first time the Montréal Canadiens won it in my own memory (1986). This feels so close to that memory, especially after an overtime win in another Game Seven in someone else's yard.

And the whole country is watching...

So, that was the last three days. And I still have a whole summer ahead of me.

Stay tuned, folks.

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You can find more poems, stories, and articles by Kendall Defoe on my Vocal profile. I complain, argue, provoke and create...just like everybody else.

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