This Way to the Labyrinth

A fine Memorial Day to all, or at least everyone for whom it's a day off. For everyone else, have a tolerable Monday. Back on Tuesday.

Here's how to joke about death. Years ago, I remember Johnny Carson mentioning in his monologue that, statistically speaking, there were going to be x-hundred traffic fatalities nationwide over the upcoming holiday weekend. He asked Doc Severinsen or Tommy Newsom whether he knew that, and they bantered a little, and then Johnny turned to the camera and said, "Goodbye."

Today was Ann's last day of preschool. Come September, she'll be on that long toboggan ride known as K-12. I picked her up, and felt a small twinge of melancholy. For me, because when this child is grown, I'll be old. For her, because you can't be six on Sugar Mountain. Well, maybe seven. It passed quickly, this twinge. The kid needs to grow up over the normal span of a couple of decades; the world needs grownups.

A few more Canada notes. Squeezed in between a mall called Toronto Eaton Centre and a hotel -- the one I stayed in -- is the Church of the Holy Trinity, part of the Anglican Church of Canada and a fine Gothic structure. It was there long before the mall or hotel, of course, and most of downtown Toronto for that matter, dating from 1847. I saw this plaque. The other photo featured at that link is of the front entrance. Off to the right and behind the entrance is the mall, and also -- in its own little space -- the church's labyrinth. A sign I saw elsewhere said, This Way to the Labyrinth.

Inside the church sported hard pews ready for kneeling (no folding kneelers), some excellent stained glass, various social activism banners ("Compassion for Cameroon") and a couple of bums -- homeless men, I mean -- parked on benches at the side of the building. The outdoor labyrinth was interesting, but looked better from about 20 stories up.

I attended a meeting in a nearby skyscraper, and was able to take a picture of the old city hall (until the mid-60s) from about 20 stories up:

And the new city hall. Newer than the old one, anyway. Compare and contrast:

Transit to and from Toronto was amazingly smooth. No delays either way, not much in the way of rough air, and customs was fairly straightforward on either end. Canada didn't stamp my passport, though. I like passport stamps.

The Air Canada flight to Toronto was on an Air Canada Embraer 135, small but not the smallest regional jet I've been on. While waiting at the gate in Chicago, I actually witnessed my bag go into the plane. A first.

Approaching Chicago on the return flight, I saw the arc of the North Shore, all the way from the Bahai Temple in Wilmette to the familiar shapes of downtown, and then we headed west over other familiar territory – such as Ned Brown Forest Preserve, an enormous track of undeveloped land roughly east of where I live. The plane then went further west, turned, and headed east in such a way that I could see Lilly’s elementary school. The sight of it guided my gaze to a fuzzy spot nearby: my house. I’d never seen it from the air before.