Canadian Thanksgiving
No parades or football games or absurd shopping sales muddle the meaning.
No parades or football games or absurd shopping sales muddle the meaning.
I’d time the queue so that the lyric “can’t figure out / how I’m gonna get through the next 10 minutes” played as we arrived at the pitch.
We could’ve seen the excessive nail-marks in the wall as holes, but we chose to see them as opportunities—convenient holders for tiki umbrellas during our tropical-themed party.
It seemed like half our kitchen had been taken up by the banana tree, bringing a bit of the tropics into snowy Wisconsin.
An invitation to tea with the Lord sounds, well, heavenly.
Ramsay is creating a version of himself who can create a masterpiece, even if he is destroyed in the process.
I can’t explain, even to myself, why I’ve taken such pains to keep one previous owner’s “Streaky Bay Parish Announcer” bulletin from December ’65 in its proper page.
Even though I haven’t yet tried poutine and don’t really know where Manitoba is, I’ve observed enough fun quirks about Canada and Toronto to share.
Contentment has been slowly blooming for me this summer.
The line delineating old life and new life is blurry, and many aspects will never be the same.