In this year of environmental wake-up calls, T wrapped my gift in reused paper and plastic and still managed to make it look attractive.

(It was Stefie Shock’s new album, Les Vendredis).

Daedal: ingenious. Dédale: a maze.

Welcome to the Montreal University Medical Care Center voice recognition system. If you know the five-digit number of the person you wish to call, dial it now. Otherwise, please say Appointment, Doctor, Department, or Employee.

I’m skipping the lengthy descriptions of each option, and the fact that you have to wait until all of them are explained before saying,

“Appointment”.

Appointment. For which clinic?

“Gynecology”.

Welcome to the Gynecology department. You have two options. To take an appointment, (uh… didn’t I just say that?) say Clinic. If you are a health care professional, say Doctor.

“Appointment”.

I don’t understand. Your options are Clinic or Doctor.

Oh right. To tell them I want an appointment for the second time, I have to say,

“Clinic”.

Clinic. For which hospital do you want an appointment?

“St-Luc”.

Welcome to Hôpital St-Luc. If you wish to take an appointment, say Appointment. &#*%$@! To reach a room, say Room.

“Appointment”. (for the third time. Shall we go for four?)

For which clinic?

“Gynecology” (for the second time).

Welcome to Gynecology. For an appointment, press 1 (Bingo! Four times!!!). For-

(BEEP - I press 1). A person answers. And of course, I tell them I want an appointment, in gynecology. Sigh.

This is an honest and unexaggerated account of my dealings with this phone system (I took notes). I have honestly not found a way to make it quicker.

-What’s the matter?

-I can’t sleep.

-Why, what’s wrong?

-I’m worried about global warming.

Of course I’ve always known it was a problem, and in fact, the trailer makes it sound like the movie will only restate what we already know. But it doesn’t. I didn’t know how bad - and how immediate - global warming was until I’d seen An Inconvenient Truth. The Scotsmontonian and I rented it this weekend, and we had to pause it to let our heads stop spinning. That night I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that my condo might be under water within my lifetime. My condo, Old Montreal, the Netherlands, San Francisco - basically my home and those of about 100 million other people, too. Watching it felt like waking up.

Most ecological warning documentaries are so incredibly dire that you are discouraged from believing that true global change can come from local action. Probably the most amazing thing about An Inconvenient Truth is that while is probably the most alarming ecological warning I’ve ever seen, it managed to convince me, for the first time in years, that action isn’t futile.

There’s something about watching it in during a green Christmas season in Montreal that just brings the whole thing into sharp focus, too.

So I have these really great friends who are really great cooks. Whenever they feed me, I don’t feel shame for my lack of skill, but rather, the eternal optimist that I am gets inspired by the fact that it’s actually possible to produce such kitchen wonders oneself. If it’s made in a restaurant kitchen, I assume that it necessitated some magic or machinery that’s out of my reach. But if someone I know made it in their kitchen, someone without superpowers, then I just assume I can do it.

And that’s how I came to think that I could ever make bread. On Michel’s recommendation, I ordered a book entitled Dough, which would demystify breadmaking forever. I excitedly tracked it on Canada Post’s website on its journey from mythical Mississauga to me. With each leg of the trip that this grimoire completed, I could almost feel my hands grow stronger with the power of the baker. Oh, how I was going to impress my team with homemade olive foccacia! How my father’s proud eye would tear up on tasting my baguettes on Christmas Eve! Nothing less than a new way of loving my uh… loved ones awaited me.

On the “what you need” pages, the author discussed how laughably simple the ingredients for bread are - flour, water, yeast and salt. Surely this is the most basic skill known to man. But still, the Scotsmontonian would think me a Goddess of the kitchen.

Then, later on down the page of what I’ll need, the author lists a dough scraper, a lame (thingy with a razor blade on it), and most importantly, a breadstone (a slab of rock on which to bake bread - the author mentions having found his on a construction site). Ok, so basically, to make bread, all I need is a bakery.

Undeterred, I hunted down and bought the exotic implements, and was finally ready to take to the dough. The DVD that came with the book, which demonstrates how to knead, didn’t work. Undeterred, I watched youtube videos of how to knead. Ended up with some beautiful proto-baguettes, which I set on my hot breadstone.

Set the timer. Waited.

The baguettes were too hot to pick up with my hands, so I planted a fork in one to get it out. But it didn’t plant. It almost bent. I pushed harder on the fork, but the baguette’s crust, seemingly made of adamantium, resisted. I pushed harder until the baguette flew to the bottom of the oven.

What had gone wrong? Was I wrong to use instant yeast? To use the highest temperature my oven went to? (the book said “475 degrees or more”) To be off in the cooking time by three minutes out of twelve? Where did my hubris lie?

Ever the sweetheart, Comet seemed interested in eating my homemade bread. She worked on it for an hour as if it had been a bone.

Update: Success on the third batch!!! Activating the yeast made the difference. Yaaaay!