Ayita Brownlee

This is Ayita Brownlee as I met her the other day on a Westbound Train between St. George and Bay Stations. She told me that she is Ojibway and her First Nations name is First to Dance. Ayita has a Bachelor degree in Statistics from York U and an MBA from Rotman. She finished in the top two and a half percent of her class which brought her a bunch of lucrative job offers from large and prestigious companies (one had, as a signing bonus, a five year lease of a BMW 5 Series). Ayita was flattered but declined them all and proceeded to take the exams to become a Certified Aboriginal Financial Manager. The process took her two years (faster than anybody in living memory) after which she started working for the First Nations Financial Authority (FNFA) in Westbank B.C. That had been always her dream: to have a job she liked, that she was good at and that helps her people. Ayita has two small kids with her building contractor partner, also an Ojibway. 
Her other big passion is Bridge, in University she was part of the team that won the National Sectional in Ottawa and placed third in the Regional ... she is very proud of this although the trophies were atrocious. 

Ayita told me that she is in town to attend a conference on financial management, which, so far, turned out to be dull and uninteresting, except the hidden agenda, the red thread through-out all presentations of how to maximize the profit for financial advisors and obfuscate the process so consumers would be forced to rely on professionals. This brought back memories of what her uncle Acule Benson (Who Looks Up) always said: "To fight the White Man, you must get between him and his money".
She also remembered a recurring dream ... she would meet a woman who was over six feet tall, with a huge mass of reddish-brown hair that stood up in all directions. That woman's hips were wider than her shoulders ... she could never figure if she ever saw her face or if she just forgot her face.

Pilar Mullhoney

The first time I met Pilar it was 1702, in the small Finish port of Rauma. She was a cat and I was a rat and we were aboard the HMS Chichester ready to set sail to Varna with a load of valuable fresh Moonbeam-Flower extract. We have met three more times each following our own methempsychotic routes. In 1856, on the green, mean and dangerous pastures of suburban Rotterdam she was a foal and I was a mole. In March of 1946, high up in the Atlas mountains of southern Morocco she was monkey and I was a donkey.

The last  time I saw Pilar was a few days ago on the Westbound platform of Runnymede Station, she smiled, came over and said "Hello, old Soul!" then she gave me back my bullets. Pilar told me that they are of no use to her now as she will soon turn and expire. Apparently she will drown off the coast of Newfoundland in a suspicious boating accident, less than three weeks from now ... "Adieu, old Soul!"

Lorena von Braunschweig and Ken

This is Lorena von Braunschweig d'O (31) as I met her the other day at 6:28 AM, at Castle Frank Station. Lorena (Lodo to her friends) is 6'4" and weighs 140 lbs, she started ballet lessons at age four and is an accomplished dancer and teacher. Her career was cut short by an accident: she kept growing until nobody could cast her anymore. Lodo switched to choreography with quite a bit of  success. Recently she finished her own full length ballet "Niobe" and is now busy fundraising to produce it. Last night she went to the Korean Association to meet with the Korean cultural Attaché Mr. Hyung-joon Myeong who expressed interest intrigued by the Niobe story (it seems that Koreans are fascinated by Greek mythology). The talks went well and, at the drinks after, she met Ken Keyo (23), nephew to Mr. Myeong, student at U of T (majoring in Islamic Studies). Lodo took Ken home. He turned out to be, at 5"5' and 140 lbs, a very enthusiastic, inventive and energetic lover, alas totally averse to early raising. With great effort Lodo made Ken to board the subway wit her. Lodo got off at Yonge to go to her morning class and I went on to Ossington Station. One can just hope that kind souls at the TTC woke up Ken at Kipling.    

Consuela Pang

This is Consuela Pang as I met her in Rome, in January 2015 on the Caelian Hill listening to a really clever version of Rodorigo's "En Tierras de Jerez" by some local busker. She few in from Krakow where she runs the "Singapore Thick", a Chinese Fusion Bistro. Over coffee, in a small bar on via Druso, she told me her story: her mom, Celia García was a soprano in "Captain Morton McAvoy's Travelling Most Excellent Opera Company". During their yearly Asia tour, she was singing the part of Mesmerolina in Giorgio Pantileschi's "Psyche and Eros" at the Singapore Lyric Opera where the Reverend Pang Li from the Grace Baptist Church of Mattar Road heard her unbelievable voice, saw her incredibly voluptuous body and was instantly smitten. He took her to dinner and they spent the night in a small hotel on Geylang Road. Rev. Pang resigned the next day from his church and joined McAvoy's as Li, a stagehand, prop master, set painter and general labourer. In the next several months, the company made its way to Hong Kong, Shanghai, Tashkent, Minsk and eventually Krakow where the highly pregnant Celia sang her last role: Ghiadródena in Michelle Panteotti's "Fruit of Love". After the show, Li drove her to the hospital where she gave birth to Consuela at dawn. McAvoy's left three days later and the Pangs settled in the city where they opened a 24 hour Launderette. The business was very successful. On the second floor Celia gave singing lessons and in the back room Li dealt hashish. Consuela grew up with a love for music and, in time, took over the family business ... she got rid of the hash and the washer-dryers and opened the restaurant where she serves and does the books and her husband Andrzey cooks. They are very happy ... Consuela came to Rome with Celia to see the 1,000th commemorative showing of  Pantileschi's "Psyche and Eros", the opera that started it all ... their only regret was that Li could not be with them ... he died a year ago when he cought some virus that was going around.

Janina Speaks Out

This is Janina V., an architect from Bratislava, as I met her at the archaeological site of Palmyra,  in Syria, about nine years ago. Janina was super-excited - this was the high-point of her Middle-East trip. There is a reason she did not want to show her face ... read on and all will be revealed. In the morning she took a quick breakfast early, packed lunch and plenty of water, grabbed her notebook and camera and made for the main entrance. Janina's plan was to see everything, take lots of pictures and chat with people to exchange impressions, ideas and compare knowledge. She was climbing a small hill with interesting looking columns when she saw a large black car stopping and three local people climbing out: the one in the middle seemed important. When he approached, they started talking while the other two burly and serious looking men stood respectfully back. His name was Sheikh Rashid al Hussaini, he spoke good but heavily accented English, a businessman from Damascus, who stopped to see what the big deal was with these ruins (he had no idea of history). When he heard that she's from Bratislava, he told her that he'd been in her town, one of his companies imports furniture made there. He said: "Nice city, lots of pretty women." Janina, proud of her hometown, protested saying that there is much more to the city than "women" to which the Shiekh dismissively replied: "Not for me, and women are women, right?" Janina became upset and said that women deserved respect, after all, "You were born from a woman". The Sheikh, looking angry, raised his voice and said: "You are not to mention my mother!" The two bodyguards moved in closer and before Janina could continue, I grabbed her hand saying that we must catch our bus and pulled her down the hill and into my van. We drove downtown, Janina seething and red in the face shouting "male chauvinism" and "sexism" and I saying "different culture" and "take it easy" none of which seemed to have an effect on her. We found an Internet Caffee where we had sweet mint tea and Janina sent her mom a very long email.       

Nicoleta Nicolotti

This is Nicoleta Nicolotti (23) as I met her at the ancient church of San Trovaso in Dorsoduro, Venice sitting in front of the West facade. San Trovaso is strange (even by Venetian standards) having two almost identical facades to accommodate equal access to the church by the famously violent factions of the Nicoletti and the Castellani (feud documented all the way back to the first Dodge Ziani's time, in the twelfth century). Each of the groups was ready and willing to start a fight with at any, even so slight excuse, but there would be no fighting in the church, so two separate entrances were built. Nicoleta told me that there is really no saint called San Trovaso, Venetians made it up by squishing two or three saint's names (like they did with Zanipolo), but this is where she was baptised, had her first communion and this is where she planned to marry Ciccio Grassetti and, in time, have their kids baptised too. Nicoleta told me that Ciccio's family was from Cannaregio, parish of Madonna dell'Orto, and thus, theoretically, a Castellano, and she had not yet brought up the subject of which church they'll have the ceremony at, was actually afraid to do so. "What if he doesn't want San Trovaso?" she asked me. I said: "C'mon girl, this is 2016, are you kidding me? You love each other and will find a way".  She sighed a desperate, deep heartbreaking sigh and said: "How little you know of Venice". I took her for coffee and a pastry at Tonolo's, by San Pantalon.

Angela und Helmuth

These are Angela (48) and Helmuth Kleingräber (52) from Groß-Bremerhaven sharing an apparently quiet and dreamy moment at the Starbucks in the departure lounge at Heathrow. They flew in from Kuala-Lumpur and are waiting for their flight to Bremen. I said quiet and dreamy moment, but that's not so: they just dead tired and that is why they stopped fighting ... read on to see what this is all about. Helmuth is a teacher and volunteer to teach teachers to teach, he travels on his off-time for "Teachers Across Borders" since way back in 2000 when it was launched. As very publicly the awards and citations grew and his fame increased, so also surged hushed rumours and whispers of young women and girls who dealt with teacher-H. Management considered suspending him risking to send the rumour mill into overdrive and more questions to be asked. Eventually, after many a quiet word with embarrassed "victims", it was decided to keep teacher-H, but keep him on a short leash called Angela who was to accompany teacher-H on all his future assignments. A slap on the wrist, you think ... true, but the slap was on uncontrollably wandering, fidgeting, touchy hands! A whitewash, you believe ... true, but a scandal would have damaged the reputation of this venerable NGO cutting or limiting its funding and stopping it from doing so much good ... A true, oh so Catholic, compromise. Ask yourself: what would you have done? And don't say "castrate the bastard", share your opinion in the comment section if you wish ...