This is our first report. I thought I’d share it with you, seeing as it’s about the neighborhood I live in. Don’t feel forced to read it. It’s a lot of history and statistics. But it’s interesting.

AHUNTSIC

Ahuntsic, located in the northeast end, is your average Montreal neighborhood. With 76,000 people, this district comprises nearly 5% of the total island population. Statistically, it is a mirror image of the city as a whole. Small differences that might exist are usually favorable to Ahuntsic. In areas such as poverty and education, for example, the unemployment rate in Ahuntsic is 8.7%, compared to 9.2% for the rest of the island. The average household salary is $57,699, three thousand dollars higher than the island average. Similarly in education, the percentage of people living in Ahuntsic without a high school diploma is 25%, as apposed to the 26.5% of Montreal.
So it comes as a surprise that we found family problems and juvenile delinquency in Ahuntsic. There are more single-parent homes per capita than in the overall city, which already has a lot. And percentage-wise, Ahuntsic has a worse juvenile delinquency problem than it’s neighboring district, Montreal Nord, which is known for its poverty and criminal activity.
Daniel, the owner of a local dépaneur, doesn’t like what he’s seeing. “I’ve lived in the area [for] 15 years and it’s changed a lot,” he says. “There’s more trouble now, more gangs.”
We’ve given you a pretty clear picture of what Ahuntsic is like today, but how did it all begin? How did we get here? Well, it began much the same way Quebec began, with French explorer Jacques Cartier sailing down the St. Lawrence River. We walked through the parc-nature de L’Îlle-de-la-Visitation to see how the first settlers established themselves. Walking through that part of the neighborhood, it didn’t take long for us to find Cartier’s name. The tallest church in the area had a large engraving by its doors, which spoke of his journey through the area in 1615. A lot of Ahuntsic’s history has to do with economics and religion. The Huron people traded with the French while the Catholic Church set up a mission to bring the Good News to the natives. The neighborhood is actually named after a young Huron boy who drowned with a priest, Father Nicolas Viel, in the river (we found this out by walking through another park, parc Ahuntsic).

The expansion of water transportation on the Rivière-des-Prairies formed Ahuntsic as Quebec developed, and continued with the opening of the metro in 1967. It officially became a municipality in 1897, by a proclamation of the Quebec provincial government. The council of the new village operated until 1910, when the province passed laws creating the charter of the City of Montreal. It was then annexed and later combined with Nouveau-Bordeaux, forming the district of Ahuntsic-Bordeaux. The city of Cartierville and Sault-au-Récollet were added in 1918. In 1952, following a land exchange, Ahuntsic took over part of Saint-Laurent. On January 1, 2002, Ahuntsic-Cartierville became one of the 27 boroughs of Montreal during the amalgamation.

Today Ahuntsic has become a mixing bowl for all the different people moving to Montreal. The growing immigrant population is a blend of Haitians (23%), Italians (22%) and Algerians (4.5%), mostly. This creates diversity, but it, along with neighboring poverty in Montreal Nord, also breeds violence. Gangs have become a problem in the district. There is a need for youth programs and/or ministries. Another concerning issue, which affects all of Montreal, is the number of single-parent families. Support for single parents is important in this neighborhood.
In a way, both of these things, multiculturalism and single-parent homes, are the cause of the gang situation in Ahuntsic. Single parents don’t have the support of a spouse, so their kids find community with their peers from their culture. And because all the different cultures are clashing, they form groups and fight each other. Helping mend this situation is where I think the Church can step in. By giving support to single parents and building relationships with the young people, we can give them an alternate community that doesn’t result in violence.

It’s a welcoming place, Ahuntsic. That’s why so many immigrants have made it their home. And with a little initiative from the local churches, Catholic, Marmon (Lebanese), Orthodox and Protestant alike, it can become as peaceful as it was back when Maurice “The Rocket” Richard was growing up here. There’s a lot of hope for Ahuntsic.

Pierre sent us this picture. I thought you would all like to know the faces of the people I’m talking about. Here they are!

on top: priest we met, Denny holding Dennis (who you can’t really see), Julia, Thomas, pastor we met

on bottom: Glen Smith, Lauren, Beatrice, Obadias, me.

We’ve been gone in Toronto all week and I haven’t connected to the internet for a decent amount of time since Sunday, so I’m getting my fix now, telling you all about what went down in that town.

I guess the first significant event was dinner with John Franklin. John is a friend of Pierre’s who is a professor of theology at Tinsdale University. I’m not sure if that name is right, but who cares. What an awesome dude. He sat us down in his study/library (the guy must have around 5,000 books) to get to know a little about us before dinner. We’ve all gotten pretty good at explaining ourselves in one or two sentences, so it didn’t take long. I spent most of the time reading the book bindings.

John’s wife is exceptional. We barely saw her because she gave up her spot around the table so we could all fit, but we got to know her based on her actions, which is usually a clearer picture anyway. She made us so much food. It was like Thanksgiving or Christmas or something. There was ham, two kinds of potatoes, slices of peppers and squash, apple sauce, and chocolate cake like I have never eaten in my life. It was as close to perfect as you can get on earth.

Conversation at dinner was intense. It felt like I had stepped back into PHILS 106 with Bob Doede. Except Bob had gained a lot of weight and looked more like Santa Claus. We spoke together about art and theology and philosophy; all things holy and good. John helps lead something called “Imago;” an organization that helps believing artists – whether musicians or painters or dancers or whathaveyou – get their stuff out there. On Wednesday we went to an art exhibition they put on and it was incredible. Fones, you would have died. Anyway, about our conversation, a couple things he said really stuck with me. He said art is about truth. Amen to that, eh?! We had a whole conversation about that; just a taste of the blessings poured out on us that night like syrup. We went to sleep on Monday with full stomachs and sticky smiles.

Tuesday morning was spent with 614, a Salvation Army ministry in Regent Park, Toronto’s biggest ghetto. They first sat us down and told us a little about the history of the neighbourhood. They built it after WWII. It was the first housing development of its kind in Canada and is still the biggest. And they made so many mistakes, the worst being that they made no thru-roads, making it an island in the middle of the city. They’re trying to fix it right now, but there’s a lot of due skepticism about it. Mostly, they’re just pushing the poor out, which doesn’t really solve anything and just pisses people off. From there we went out for lunch at “The Real Jerk,” a Jamaican restaurant near the their building, with the “Ignite” kids. “Ignite” is the Salvation Army’s DTS basically. We looked around Regent Park afterward with them and Zooey, their leader, talked all about it. It sounds like their doing some awesome work. They’re being respectful and relational. We had to leave them for Missisauga, which ended up being a mistake. Pierre got his days mixed up and we ended up missing what was planned for the afternoon. Annoying, but it’s in the past.

Wednesday. I already talked about the art exhibit. It was called “Till We Have Faces,” and was obviously then a series of portraits from an array of artists. Some pretty cool shat. I especially liked one artist’s work, Paul Roorda. He used things that had to do with the image to make it, like crushed monkey bone for “Adam” and “Eve” and snake skin for “Serpent.” I know it sounds weird, but it looked really good.

Afterward, we walked down Yonge Street, Toronto’s main drag. Very rue St. Catherine (Montreal reference, sorry) but more English and littered with ads and screens. We stopped at Dundas square to decide on a cafe, and there, by the street was a three-by-four square metre white box. Naturally, I went over to check it out. On the side of it was a caption that explained. Without going into too much detail, it said that inside was a crowd of talented people willing, for one day, to answer anyone’s question in 20 minutes. Essentially, they were thinking “inside the box” (get it?). ‘What a cool idea,’ I thought, so I told everyone else to go read it, too. Some people in charge noticed our interest and started filming and photographing us. A guy came by to further explain and get us to sign away our faces so they could use the footage for their documentary. We came up with a question (how do we use art to reconcile the rich and the poor and the cultures of the world?), which was heralded as the best question so far of the day, and they went at it. We waited inside the Hard Rock Cafe across the square until they called us back.

Pierre, Thomas and I entered and they presented their answer, a grassroots movement with the slogan “Everyone Speaks Art.” It started with a UN installed, international Art Day, set aside for cultures all around the world to show off their skills. Pretty rad idea. Then they moved on to other ideas for the movement, art exhibitions in low income areas, art publicly displayed in parks and city squares, and an art auction with pieces from famous and homeless people, with the identity of the artist only being revealed after sale. These guys were on fire. They gave me a hint of their smarts after I first asked our jumbled question and the one guy with the “Fargo” hat broke it down into six words, “reconciling class and culture through art.” They definitely inspired me.

Thursday morning we went back downtown to “Sanctuary,” a church community of mostly homeless people. They’re supported by other churches like a charity, but aren’t really run like one. When I mention some of the stuff they do, they might sound like one, but their emphasis on relationship and community transcends them to something more than just a soup kitchen with a health clinic. Allan, The guy who spoke with us and showed us around, explained it really well. He broke down how people think of the homeless, from disgust to compassion, and said that none of these things were quite what these people need. He said what they need is love and trust. His call is hard. I don’t know if I could do it. It’s hard to care for people more than they care about themselves. But the people who work at Sanctuary do it every day. Props to them.

In the afternoon, we visited “New Direction,” a group of people who minister to the gay community in the Toronto area. Another tough calling. They said they spent most of their time repairing the church’s ideas about gay people and how to reach them. Most churchgoers would rather not reach them at all. They get a lot of hate-mail, either from angry Christians, or angry homosexuals who think they’re fundamentalist Christian conservatives, blah blah blah. The reason for all the flak from the Christian community is that New Direction doesn’t try to stretch gays straight. They realize that more often than not that doesn’t work. Instead, they try to help gay people live with it, and encourage celibacy. It’s difficult, but they’ve got a pretty clear picture of the situation. I think they’re doing a great job.

So with all of that as a platform, we spent all of yesterday at “Call2All,” an evangelism conference in rural Ontario. First of all, it was one of the most boring days of my life. By 2:00 PM I was sick to the stomach with boredom. We got there at 8:30 to help set up, put tables out at 11:00, and I manned a camera from 7:00 PM to 8:30. Other than some listening and participating, that’s all we did all day. No internet. No soccer balls or cards. We did nothing. Some people had internet, but it wasn’t working on my computer. We ended up watching some Michael Jackson videos on YouTube for a bit. But the boredom wasn’t the worst of it.

I don’t know if I’ll be able to properly explain the feel of the place, but it was unsettling. Eerily evangelestic. Does that make sense? The church was called “The Embassy of the Kingdom of God.” I think that best describes it. If you’ve seen “There Will Be Blood,” you get the picture. We didn’t actually spend that much time in the conference listening, because frankly, when we did it just bored us even more. They kept saying the same things we’ve heard for the past twenty years. Reach the unreached, like the indigenous peoples of Africa or the mountain dwellers of Northern India. They had a giant map out separating China and India based on the amount of “unreached” people in the region. I didn’t find that so bad, but with everything surrounding it, it just added to the effect. They emphasized more on the mission than the people. Everything was so strategized and calculated. There was one good speaker named Markus, who shows short films to people to encourage conversation. But what came after him just made me angry.

At this point I was at the camera, so I couldn’t fully concentrate on what this guy was saying, but the gist was that the best way to impact young people was to entertain them. He used a story of a lecture he gave to some pastors as an example. He asked them if any of them remembered their last sermon or the points of it. Of course, he got a pretty dismal response. Then he asked them if any of them remembered the movie “Titanic” and a bunch of them could sing the theme song. I think he missed the point of his own story. He thought the reason the preachers remembered Titanic was because it entertained them, but I’m pretty sure it was because it was a story. That’s why people also remember Jesus’ parables. All I have to say is “mustard seeds” or “the talents” and most of you know what I’m talking about (if you don’t, see Matthew 13:31 or 25:14). Then he went on to show how big mega events are a great way to evangetain the kids. He talked about “World Impact Tour,” this Billy Graham endorsed show that went all over, specifically Scotland, to save the youth of the world. He gave us a bunch of statistics and numbers of kids declaring faith at these things(failing, of course, to show us how many of those kids are actually still faithful). Then he showed us a video of people wielding fire, skateboarders screaming out that Jesus loves you while tossing their helmets aside and muscle men breaking bricks and making their fingers into crosses. And he was introducing this as a new tool of evangelism. But this is how the evangelical community has been “reaching” youth for the last ten years. And it doesn’t work. I’ve gone to these things. One happened every Friday while I was growing up. It was called “Revolution.” I’ve watched a classmate close his eyes and raise his hands and then go smoke pot behind the church. Even though I was a Christian before I went to any of these things, I’ve gotten caught up in all of it. I’ve been convinced that I need to “come to the front and give my life to Jesus,” even though I was already living for Him. I don’t think it’s right, getting kids’ adrenaline going so that in the heat of everything they’ll answer to your alter call. It’s manipulation. You’re manipulating young people when you do that.

And then a little puke came up the back of my throat. They asked everyone in the room to estimate how many people they could reach in the next ten years (most people in the room were leaders of missions organizations). They actually asked people to give them numbers. I wanted to walk up to Pierre and tell him to put down the number 1, just to see what they would say.

Anyway, I’ve ranted enough I think. You get the picture. I didn’t enjoy myself. I had a hard time sleeping despite the fact we got billeted out and I got to sleep in a nice, warm, soft bed. Plus they gave me some really good rue barb and custard pie. Yum. Nevertheless, couldn’t sleep. But we left all that behind this morning. Drove straight back to Montreal with only one stop to play Monopoly at Mcdonald’s. Anybody got Tennessee Avenue?

Hey Nick. This poem is by Buzzy Enniss. I bought his book in Portland this summer and read it all the other night. It’s awesome and funny. I was going to type out another one for your Birthday, but I just reread it, and it doesn’t work very well. This one will just make you feel good, which is what Birthdays are for, to make you feel good. Special.

Oh warning, this is not a short poem.

IF I WAS JESUS

If I was Jesus

I would rewrite parts of the bible

Instead of always just walking on water

sometimes I would swim through it really really fast

Instead of always giving blind people normal sight

Every now and then I would give them infrared vision

Like that thing from Predator

If I was Jesus

I’d makes a world where lawyers had to wait tables to pay their bills

While artists and musicians ordered their food and asked for

“More wine, please.”

If I was Jesus

I’d use the pick-up line

Hey Baby, I’m the Son of God, ya know

If I was Jesus

I would make carrots bigger

If I was Jesus

I would wear a loincloth because it would be socially acceptable, and comfortable

If I was Jesus

And someone prayed, asking me for help with his or her job interview,

I would tell them to go dressed as Underdog, and then watch, just for fun

If I was Jesus

I would walk into every place of worship – Jewish, Mormon, Muslim, Jehovah’s Witness,

Catholic and Christian – just to see who had really learned the most from me

If I was Jesus

I would remove the part of people that slows down to look at car accidents on the freeway

If I was Jesus

I would make everyone that wears a cross around their neck for fashion feel for 30 sec-

onds what I felt on that cross for 6 1/2 hours

If I was Jesus

I would die for you, and surprise you three days later by kissing the back of your neck

I would send you a piece of my robe when you got sick

I would tell you what the top of the stars look like

I would never let you itch again

If I was Jesus

I would turn the 70% of you that is water into wine and kiss you with the taste of Merlot on our lips

If I was Jesus

I would be with you right now

by Buzz Enniss

I realize this was probably written for his wife, but the last line was so good I had to share it with you. Nick, if I was Jesus, I would be with you right now. Happy Birthday brother. I miss and love you. Go home for Christmas so Mom and Dad aren’t alone in the house for our Jesus’ Birthday.

So Saturday morning I volunteered at a Christian prayer booth at a psychic fair. In the 1980′s, when the the fair began, God told Pierre through conviction to put a prayer booth in there. Near the end of our first week, he asked for volunteers. Denny and I put our hands up without really knowing what we were getting into.

Because Denny and I both only speak English, we were separated. I went on Saturday from 11 to 3 and Denny went at the same time on Sunday. I didn’t know how long it would take to get there, so I arrived a little early and ended up being the first one from our booth there. An awkward situation. There’s witches and terra card readers setting up all around me and I’m just sitting there. What made it even more awkward was when I told one of them that I was there to help out, not realizing she was from a different, more astronomy-themed station. After ten minutes or so, I took the blanket off the table full of stuff and soon after a French man came to help.

Well, help. He was there to do everything. Almost everyone spoke French so he and the other man that showed up later did most of the talking. They impressed me. They just jumped right into it. No reservations. I was so nervous, scared that some new ager was going to grill me on what the soul is (some thing that ended up happening exactly).

I had some good experiences. Some people did come by who spoke English. One guy, big tall guy with long dreads and headphones, came by in his French accent and asked what we were about. I told him we were there to show people the power of prayer. He said sometimes he looked up, but couldn’t think of anything to say because he didn’t think God was interested. I told him God loved him and was interested in whatever he wanted to say. He asked me how prayer affected my faith. I said without prayer my faith would be completely intellectual. I wouldn’t have a relationship with Him, which is exactly what He wants; a relationship. He said he was going to continue his tour.

A 20-something woman from Vancouver came by to see how the scene was in Montreal. She was disappointed. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “The scene in Vancouver is way bigger.” She made me want to come home and start a booth there.

And other than the new age lady pointing the finger, that was pretty much it. It was about 2:30 and I was checking my phone for the time every five minutes. Then these two girls who seemed to be having fun came by and asked me what was good to do there. “Nothing,” I said.

“Why,” the darker haired one asked, “do you think it’s bullshit?”

“Well, most of it, yeah,” I said.

“Then what are you doing here?” the other asked.

I kind of looked down sheepishly, “Well I’m a Christian, and this is a prayer booth, so I’m helping these guys out.”

“Don’t be ashamed of it!” she said. It was like God was looking at me with this annoyed expression on his face.

So I stood straighter, looked up and reexplained. We talk for a little longer and they left.

After a few times of looking at each other and me mouthing at them to get out of there, they came back and asked us what they should do with a free question they were getting from another booth.

“Ask her if there was one thing they could receive that would give them eternal happiness, what that would be,” one of the other men at the booth told them.

“Yeah, but then she’ll just give us some whishy-washy answer. I want to ask a real question,” the darker haired one said.

“Well then push for something more real,” he said. They said something about not want to waste a bunch of money, I told them “we pray for free!” and they laughed and walked away again.

By that time I was pretty much done, so I grabbed my coat and things and walked out. I saw them in line for the free question as I left and gave my last try to get them to leave. They just laughed (I had done it humoringly) and stayed in line.

Something – and no it wasn’t the fact that they were cute – told me to wait for awhile on a bench in the conference building to see if they would leave soon. 15 minutes later they came out, called me on waiting for them and invited me to explore the city for the rest of the afternoon. They were from Toronto, it was Oana the dark haired one’s 20th birthday, and they didn’t have anything to do till the evening. We walked through old Montreal and discussed our spiritual beliefs and the fact that Mirjam and I were both dutch till dinner time. Found a great, French restaurant called “Crème de la Crème” (chosen despite my deciding it was too expensive based on its name. “Don’t judge a restaurant based on it’s name!” Mirjam said). Had some awesome onion soup, chicken pot pie and blueberry pie for only $14.95. It was a great time.

On the way to the metro station I introduced them to the awkward turtle and they wrote their names on my hand so I could find them on facebook. So if you want proof, I tagged the pictures. Jon and I were talking about spending New Year’s Eve in Toronto, so maybe I’ll see what they’re doing.

That’s the sort of thing I came here for; conversations with peers about where they are spiritually. I know there are young people to talk like that with at home, but separating yourself from the normal makes it easier. And I’m learning a lot here about where people outside of the church bubble are at. It makes talking to them better, more productive, if that makes sense. Like Pierre and Glen Smith said, coming in with your finger in Revelations telling them all “Repent, repent, repent!” isn’t going to work for most secular or searching city folk.

Anyway, I think that’s it for this time. Peace.

“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I -

I took the one less traveled by

And that made all the difference.” – Robert Frost

So on Tuesday we all went up Mont Royal, had lunch and looked over Montreal. After we ate, Pierre told us we were going to walk alone around the mountain – it’s really a hill but I keep that to myself – and think as if we were Adam or Eve, taking in creation for the first time. He asked us to bring back ideas of their reactions and things of significance we found along the way. The idea sounded a little kitschy to me, but I went along with it anyway.

After watching a squirrel for 15 minutes or so, I began walking through the woods. But which way? Then I remembered that poem Mr. Beimers grilled into us in grade eight till our ears bled, along with the fact that The Path is narrow, and began following the smallest, most untrodden paths I could find. And it did make all the difference.

The first path led me under a walking bridge. Someone had made dinner – canned beans – over a fire under there. The words “WISDOM LOVE MAKE PEACE COMMUNITY” were painted on the wall along with “ANDREW + SABRINA” with a heart encircling it. I asked God who Sabrina was. He didn’t answer me.

Along with that, I found some garbage in strange places and made friends with a white squirrel. He was fighting with his brownish gray cousins. They weren’t accepting him for his differences. He seemed lonely, so I stuck around for a bit. 15 or 20 minutes later, a young, French couple caught sight of him and scared him away accidentally. After sharing what I saw with the group, I went back to there. He was still around, and after awhile, another young, but English this time, couple came by and saw him. They weren’t as obtrusive though, so we all looked at him for a bit. I told them about seeing him earlier and then we went our seperate ways.

I was supposed to head back to clean the apartment, but I felt drawn down some side roads instead. I walked through McGill, the big English university in the middle of the city, happened upon the Religious Studies and Music buildings, and made my way to UQAM the French university. For the first time since coming here, I saw a Starbucks, so I walked over and used some of the money on the card mom gave me. Thanks mom.

Last night we watched this movie, “Jesus of Montreal.” It was made here in 1989 by an atheist. Pierre said that in the years preceding the movie, the people of Montreal were realizing the spiritual void left from the Quiet Revolution. The director attempted to redeem Jesus’ story to them through this movie.

The movie accurately shows how so many Quebecers think about the Church and Christianity. By the end of the movie, Jesus was a good man with a good message who possibly lost his marbles near the end and died like a criminal because he upset the authorities of his day. And the Church was instigated by evil to use his message for profit. Depressing, I know. But it’s exactly what people around here think. Upsetting yes, but it was very educational.

I am seeing roads diverge lately. I ran into David Keift, family friend of some, cousin to others, at an emerging church meeting on Sunday. We’re going out for coffee next week to see if I can help Inter Varcity at all. Today two women came in from 24/7 Prayer and talked about what they’re trying to get started in Montreal. I’m going to join them, I believe. Things are falling into play. God’s sliding the pieces together.

Hope all is well back home.

I read something tonight that I’d like to share with you.

“He is the Beginning, O God, in which you made heaven and earth. In this wonderful way you spoke and created them in your Word in your Son, who is your Strength your Wisdom, and your Truth.

“Who can understand this mystery or explain it to others? What is that light whose gentle beams now and again strike through to my heart, causing me to shudder in awe yet firing me with their warmth? I shudder to feel how different I am from it: yet in so far as I am like it, I am aglow with its fire. It is the light of Wisdom, Wisdom itself, which at times shines upon me, parting my clouds. But when I weakly fall away from its light, those clouds envelop me again in the dense mantle of darkness which I bear for my punishment. For my strength ebbs away for very misery, so that I cannot sustain my blessings. And so I shall remain until you, O Lord, who have pardoned all my sins, also heal all my mortal ills. For you will rescue my life from deadly peril, crown me with the blessings of your mercy, content all my desire for good, restore my youth as the eagle’s plumage is restored. Our salvation is founded upon the hope of something, and in endurance we await the fulfillment of your promises. Let those who are able listen to your voice speaking to their hearts. Trusting in your inspired words, I shall cry out: What diversity, Lord, in your creatures! What wisdom has designed them all! The Beginning is Wisdom and Wisdom is the Beginning in which you made heaven and earth.” – St. Augustine.

See, even Augustine had trouble finding the words. How do you explain that to people? That wholly, awesome truth? I don’t know, either. I don’t know.

This is what I did Wednesday afternoon.

I haven’t had a cup of coffee all day. The coffee machine in Thomas and my apartment is garbage. I think it holds six cups and the grounds spill into the pot like crazy. The coffee machine in the other apartment was great. Plus, they had VanGoute in there. A good heritage taste. But I don’t live there anymore.

We’ve started our lectures, beginning at The Beginning. Although it’s usually a good place to start, it brings up some issues that not all Christians agree with. This means that I’m starting off by disagreeing with a lot of what Pierre says. Kind of an awkward situation, but it’ll all role by soon.

I’ve started researching and praying about my volunteer work and internship, and I’ve got a few vague ideas. Mike the British guy talked to the whole YWAMontreal staff today about Vancouver (he’s the leader of YWAM Vancouver). He’s actually from Wales, sorry. He said something about working in the businesses of the cities, and how one of his staff works part time as a roadie. That sounded cool. Maybe I could do that here. I don’t know. Then there was an idea for volunteering for a suicide hot line, but I need to speak awesome French for that and I don’t know what kind of credentials I need. I don’t know about education, how I could get into that part of Montreal. It’s hard. Every thing’s still hovering.

I’ll keep track of “Heroes” while I’m here. I was semi-interested at home and Thomas loves it, so I think we’ll watch it. I’m still trying to find ways to connect myself to the people here, him included. I want to come out of this with good friendships.

After the lectures yesterday I went to this site and there it was, all shiny and new! It looks great, don’t you think? Man, you made me happy, Darrell. And the ichat with you and Adrienne just brought it over the edge. I was all smiles for the rest of the day.

I’m sort of working on pictures. Last time I tried my computer didn’t recognize the camera. I talked to Mom about it afterward, so I’ll try again. We thought it was the USB, because I had problems hooking a projector up to it the other day as well, but that problem was true with other computers as well. That projector doesn’t enjoy USB connection. It’s loss, I guess. I’ll figure it out soon enough. I don’t have that many pictures to share anyway.

I’m sitting in the cafe on rue St. Denis called Cafeo. A good room. It’s long, with a bar at the end by the cashier. The unwindowed wall has all these obviously not original paintings in fancy old frames. There’s free wifi here, so at least six people including myself have their eyes on their screens. It’s a surprisingly warm day in Montreal. Someone said earlier it could get up to 18 C today. I believe it.

Anyway, now I’m blabbering. Until next time.

So here we are. Well, here I am, I guess. I’m trying my best to practice good grammar, capitalizing all the right things, trying not to use msn/internet language.

Montreal is beautiful. So far, much of it reminds me of home. The weather is very similar, except the crisp wind and leaves. Right now, I’m living in an apartment on the north end of the city. Everything thing is made of brick. The apartment is older than most of the buildings back home. Everything creaks and moves under our feet. It reminds me of the DeGroot’s home. I love that place. Even the smell is similar.

I’m actually moving into a different, newer apartment today. Originally, there was supposed to be two apartments, one for the guys and one for the girls. But we have a family with us, Denny, Lauren and Dennis, and they decided to live in the “girls” apartment. And one of the women, Beatrix, is from France, and only speaks en Francaise, so Johnathan, a volunteer who also only speaks French, is living there too. I’ll be living with Thomas (pronounced to-Ma), a staff member and my mentor for the DTS, and Obadias from Brazil, if he can make it. He’s having issues with getting the proper visa. Other than that, we have Julia from Germany, who learned English and French in school, Evelyn, Miss Administration and Pierre, Mr. Head of Everything. He is a saint in every way.

These first few days have been mostly introductory, moving in, meeting everyone, and having everything explained. I came in knowing almost nothing, so it’s been very helpful. The internships are very open. Pretty much, they have contacts for a pile of different things to be part of in the city, and we rummage through them to see what we want to do. The structure that comes from most DTS programs isn’t here. Other than a couple of field trips, we have free range of the city.

My head hurts from the French, Evelyn. I’ve been trying to understand everything, and have understood almost nothing. It’s getting better, though. I’ve been getting better at following the conversations.

No one cuts the grass here, Reuben and Nate. Everything is overgrown. At first we thought it was a sign that we weren’t living in the best neighbourhood, but it’s the same everywhere we go. Even the commercial grass is folding over itself. I almost let it get to me.

I’m eating well, Mom and Dad. It took a day or so for us all to realize that the food in the cupboards was ours. But we settled in and found the pots and pans. Don’t worry about it.

To everyone else, keep the good times rolling back home. The first podcast I’ll try to get on here tomorrow. I had a playlist all set out, but with the plane ride and life here, I think I’ll change a few things. Darrell’s working on a better theme, just in case you were wondering about the whole “Detour” business. Hopefully it’ll be up soon.

bye for now.