Summer: Donuts and dahlias

It's  almost time to shutter the Passage until September 6. I will all but unplug from the electronic world, and meet every person I am lucky to know, face to face. Since the summer I turned sixteen—when a driver's license was the longed-awaited gateway to fun—I have not anticipated a summer quite so much.

From large-scale pleasures to small, it's officially time to lighten up. Our vibrant, eclectic Jazz Festival is back full-swing, the terrasses and balconies overflow with revellers. I met a friend downtown for dinner; the entire street had turned into a club. Ever walk out of a restaurant and think, "I'm not ready to go home yet?" This is summer in Montréal.

Summer makes me want what I usually bypass: see these still-warm donuts, dripping their pearly glaze? The text on the window reads "Toujours Fraîche".  If you can pass this up, you are a stronger woman.

At a secondhand boutique, I bought a dress composed of two Indian cotton prints, an unapologetic throwback to my mung-bean salad days. It's very much like this ba&sh style, but cost only as much as the tax on the French frock.

And, a pair of Camper "Otuga" sandals—not as practical as my usual cork-footbed "comfort" staple, but  they zhuzh jeans, and restore the 2cm of height I lost somewhere. (If found, please return.)

I live in the centre of the city, so my exposure to nature comes in homeopathic doses: front-yard garden or park. But from roses to dahlias, haphazard borders to exquisitely-manicured specimen trees, they nourish me daily.

The best part of the season is not about things, it's the people. We'll welcome visitors, more relaxed now that they can travel without costly, precisely-timed PCR tests. We'll join our grandchildren in parks, where no one worries about a careening toddler because all the kids are operating like manic windup toys. Below, Le Duc and the youngest.

It's not that I'm denying the crises and viruses, the economy and ecology, but my world will, for a few months, be less engaged by their relentless presence. 

I'll post next Tuesday, then it's time for a break, and I hope you have plans to relax, too. I will disable comments after next week's post, because otherwise I'm pestered with spam. 

But today, I wanted to thank everyone for reading and commenting, both those who have strolled through for many years, and new visitors. Though comments are not necessary, they make the Passage a conversation rather than a broadcast.

On September 6, let's meet at the market and do some people-watching!