Planting the urban seed.

Several weeks ago I embarked on a self-guided walking tour of Montreal.  Block after block sprawled sweet-azz old school architecture.  At ease, and in my urban element, the cacophony of ethnic textures jabbering in French further buoyed my enthusiasm.  I looked back to see if my kids were enjoying the tour.  Indeed they were.  They were busy playing “don’t step on the sidewalk cracks”.

Later in the week we found ourselves strolling the streets of Burlington, Vermont.  It was Jazz week.  From every corner of downtown, both good (wrong notes played at the right time) and bad (wrong notes at the wrong time) jazz was shoved down my ears.  The downtown area, being car-free, was filled with sidewalk cafes, and their ilk.  Greedily devouring a Ben and Jerry’s cone, Zach paused for a moment and said, “Dad, I’d like to live in a place like this.  You don’t have to drive anywhere.  Everything you need is on this street.”  Perhaps the trip was not completely lost on those kids.

Even the Creperie had Jazz