Why you love Mississauga, Ontario, and by extension, all of Canada and everyone who lives there

5 thoughts on “Why you love Mississauga, Ontario, and by extension, all of Canada and everyone who lives there”

  1. This post made me smile and laugh. The bulging tire = bulging can of corn – hahaha! Too Funny!

    what a lovely memory! i love how these are the moments we remember – when we received the kindness of others, not necessarily the sights we saw or the boring periods of a road trip – but this lovely moment of kindness. One of my most vivid memories from New Zealand is when we got our van stuck on the beach and the couple who helped us get it off… they spent nearly 45 minutes helping us. It is amazing how friendly and kind others can be.

    I also loved

    And I have to say, you left me craving a Tim Horton’s sandwich (I do miss Tim Horton’s from my days in Canada.)

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  2. Excellent reason to love Canada! What a lovely story. (I loved the bulging tire=bulging can of corn=botulism/explosion=certain death, too!)

    On a related note, I will never forget the guest speaker who came to my 9th grade Civics class and told us how wonderful and brilliant it was that everything we bought was made to break piece by piece so we would be able to support our economy by fixing it piece by piece. That everything was built shoddily on purpose so we could all thrive. Mayhap you are not the problem at all!

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  3. Mayhap I’m not the problem? There’s a novel concept, one which I like very much. Cars and I don’t have the best personal history. Thanks, Karen.

    Bulging cans! Does anyone else share the horror of them? As a child I was convinced that a single bite of food from a bulging can would kill you immediately. To be honest, I’m not sure I’ve ever even seen a bulging can of food.

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  4. Wait, are you suggesting there may perhaps be people who are not horrified by bulging cans? I thought that was some sort of survival instinct built into our DNA. When my mother brought home dented cans from the food shelf, I was horrified that their misshapenness (That should be a word! Listen to all those sinister “s” sounds.) made it impossible to tell if they might have a bulge. She’d laugh at my paranoia, but I’d say, “I’m not gonna die from eating that–you try it first and I’ll see what happens.”

    But in the end it wasn’t a supermarket can that almost got us. I bought a jar of mango salsa from a vendor at the farmer’s market, which exploded in my face with a horrifying noise when I opened the seal. My husband, who apparently is lacking in the fear-of-botulism gene, was loathe to believe that I was saving his life when I wouldn’t let him eat the rest of the jar. It took a random poll of acquaintances, 100% of whom agreed that could have resulted in hospitalization or death, to convince him that I took the reasonable course of action. To think, all these years of fearing the cans (which I have in fact seen bulge, by the way) and the botulism was waiting for me in glass…

    I’d say now I’m just scared of everything and will only graze in my garden from now on, but I promised after reading your mountain post that I would let go of fear. So off I go to have some raw-egg mousse and a rare steak. And maybe a side of canned peas. Ok, I draw the line at the peas. Bulging container or not, canning peas is an insult from which they cannot recover.

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