It is Labour Day. I could write the Where Did Summer Go comment but there would be nothing novel about that. My wife and I are just back from Montreal and I always feel a bit guilty after a vacation away. I certainly feel no pang of remorse about not working as I am innately lazy. I am not feeling bad about overindulging in food. Even though I ranted last post about my Smoked Meat sandwich I know that eating like this on a regular basis is fatal for me (and indeed most of us) and I will treat this like the nutritional statutory holiday that it is.

What makes me guilty is the very expensive briefcase / carrying bag that cost something like $2890 at Harry Rosen's store in Montreal. Of course I did not buy the bag. I could not afford to pay that kind of money for a big pouch with a strap on it and I would view anyone who made that purchase with equal amounts of disdain and jealously. After all, just think how much that $2890 would help the flood relief in Pakistan?

How much indeed? I have given zero dollars to the flood relief. I gave to the Indonesian Tsunami. I gave to Haiti. But why not a dime to the Pakistani Floods? Am I a racist? Do I somehow think that the people there are "less than"? Do I think that the size of Pakistan's military and its capacity for nuclear war makes it unworthy? Or is the flooding a bit too slow for me? It is not a Hollywood disaster, coming out of the clear blue, with a swath of destruction? Or maybe I think that Pakistan is not really our friend as it is way too cozy with the Taliban.

I think of the money that we spent on the train to get to Montreal. At $120 return for the two of us I think of it as an environmentally friendly bargain but $120 is $120. We had our anniversary dinner at Gibby's in Old Montreal - $145.00 before tip (and the place was jammed). Our accommodation was free (we used points)but we had meals and admission charges and Metro (mind you $7.00 per person for unlimited travel 24 hours), That is a lot of aid money.

I am not sure about final judgments and the settling of one's accounts at the end of your life. I have an innate feeling that you do go through some sort of check out as you check out. So how would I explain the weekend to a child that has lost her home and family and now has no medicine to combat a simple intestinal disorder that is killing her? I am sure that she would lump me together with the man who buys the three thousand dollar purse.

I do have to make a choice, do I not?