Oct 5, 2011
This change of Seasons is always a shock to the system. I mean really, give me a break! I can't get out of bed in the morning. I want to eat everything in the kitchen including the fridge and stove. I am homesick. I want to move back in with my parents and play in the park with my friends and come in for a nice, warm dinner that I didn't have to prepare.
I want recess. I demand milk, cookies and my flannel blanket for 30 minutes per day as a break from my work. I want to be 15 and have a boyfriend who is 17. I want him to "neck" with me and let me wear his jacket.
I want to skip class and have a crush on one of my teachers. I want to see that teacher in the grocery store and be amazed that he goes to a grocery store and he is human and he exists outside of school. I want to call my friends and talk on the phone for hours because the phone is all we have. I want to see my friends instead of texting them. I want a slumber party where everyone sleeps at a house other than mine. I want us to make popcorn and smoke my grandfather's pipe and call our favourite boys and hang up because their is no caller ID.
I want to know why it's so dark out so much earlier and why we change the time - I mean really, isn't life difficult enough?
I want to understand why on earth I live in a freezing cold climate. I know I will be asking myself this during the first snowstorm when I am wet and freezing and tired of snow banks and ice and looking like I have turned a new shade of green.
I want soup. I mean real homemade chicken soup with chicken and stuff that is real.
I want a heated, covered dome thing that I can walk my dog under in the wiinter.
I want to get up quickly when I go flying on my behind on the ice so that the people passing in their cars who have witnessed this occurance; know that I am alright and that when I fall, I get back up (and this is way too long a sentence).
Do you remember walking home after playing at a friends house and it was late winter and the sky was a solid, slick blue? As you made your way past the many doors to yours, you could smell the commingling (word?) of everyone's meals.
My mother was and still is a great cook. I would walk into the vestibule and crispy honey chicken with roasted potatoes would call me to the table. We would all sit together, eat, talk, argue, laugh and looking back, I am saddened by the stark reality that we will never all be together again - the 5 of us.
Be brave my fellow Montrealers - Grab your soup, your slippers and your blanket and drift gently into the falling snow that is about to kick you in the ass.
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