MINDSALAD

190811. mi casa.

Man, what a nice change of scenery from my place in Windsor. It has been so nice moving into the heart of downtown Toronto. Yesterday, I literally left my condo, walked to the Eaton Centre, returned an item at Aritzia and Banana Republic, shopped around a little, and managed to get home, all in under half an hour. Every dinner date or drink night this week? Less than a 10 minute walk. Haha.

But it’s so much more than that. It’s the liveliness of Yonge-Dundas Square, the lights and nightscape of skyscrapers from my living room, the accessibility of pretty much everything you need, right at your very fingertips.

The only downside? My credit cards have been getting the biggest beat-down of their lives. With daily visits to the mall, I have spent more in these last 3 days than I typically do in a month. Meh. :)

P.s. Yes, 90% of the things in my condo are from Ikea. Bahaha.

240411. you know you’re from the boonies when…

**BZZZ BZZZZ**

I get up and walk towards the door. 

**BZZZ BZZZZ**

Cool it lady. I’m getting there.

**BZZZ BZZZZ**

“I’M COMING!!” I yell. 

I open the door. Some lady I’ve never seen before stands in front of me. I give her the up and down. Doesn’t look like a missionary. 

“Umm.. Hi, can I help you?”

“Hi, sorry to bother you. But I was just driving across on Kennedy and thought you should know your cows are blocking the road.”

I stood there in deep thought, digging through my brain. Cows.. cows.. cows.. What? “Ma’am, I don’t have any cows.”

Her brow furrowed ever so slightly. “Well they’re coming from your property. It seems they have jumped the fence.”

I tell her to hold and walked straight to the back door. I stepped out onto my porch and looked far onto my 10 acre property. Shit. She was right. Only then did I realize that we let the neighbours’ cows eat our grass. It seemed those crazy bastards had planned an escape. A real life Madagascar moment.

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Sometimes I forget that I live in the countryside. We aren’t true farmers, but my family moved here when I was 7 because my dad retired. He hated the hectic lifestyle of the city. But after having gone to York for my undergrad, I had grown accustomed to the ways of the city girl. Everyone’s always speechless when I tell them I live on a farm. But sometimes, I am reminded of my childhood:

- In elementary school, when we used to get warnings that there were bears in town. I always thought it was sad that they had to tranquilize those suckers.

- The authentic hayrides and haunted barns for Halloween. The ones that the locals put on in old, creepy, broken down buildings and corn fields. Not the ones at the Exhibition Place in the metropolitan city of Toronto.

- Blowing up an inflatable mattress and sitting in the back of a pick-up truck, with the wind in my hair, watching this week’s big release at the local drive-in.

- Finding deer, prancing around on my backyard, often in pairs, chasing one another. My dad in the background yelling, “Shoot the damn thing.”

- Almost hitting a deer, several times, while driving because they jump out last minute at night. Or in my parents case, totaling my car by actually hitting the “damn thing”. 

- Collecting sap, from tree to tree, pouring it into a massive steel basin, waiting for hours for it to boil it. Then finally tasting that homemade maple syrup, on a warm bed of fresh pancakes.

- Accidentally stepping in horse shit. Because let’s face the reality, while visiting my friends, it was the norm to own a horse.

- Digging my teeth into a thick piece of steak, rejoicing in the freshness of such meat. Only to realize that the cow had been butchered earlier in the day, and my dad had brought it home from the neighbours’.

- Rescuing wild turtles crossing the street, putting them in the backseat of my car, then releasing them in my pond later because they all deserve a chance to live.

- Visiting my other neighbour, Mr. Haan, the bee-farmer. Watching him command all the bees to land his arms. Telling me, “Don’t worry, they’re friendly!” He was one creepy looking man.

- Getting our driveway plowed because it’s really more like a short road as opposed to a square concrete space.

- Cutting our grass with a lawn-mower, one that you sit on and drive.

- Watching the process of a family of Canadian geese grow. From the point where the eggs are laid, to when the little yellow-brown fuzzballs are born, to when they begin swimming behind their parents in a row, to the moment they finally learn to fly.

Some days, I really miss all of this. 

This is a photo of my “pond”.

And this is a photo of my driveway.

230411. it’s the who, not the what, when or where.

As I lay in bed next to him, the clock struck 1. Half the day had gone by and we had done absolutely nothing. The curtain blocked most of the intensity, but a small ray of light managed to fight through. I looked up, but then decided against it. I dug my face into my pillow further. 

I began to reminisce at how just the night before, we were panicking about the centipede. The one he refused to kill. The one that made him jump and panic like a child. His eyes were filled with vulnerability. Holding a slipper in hand, he asked the pivotal question, “Babe, can you kill it please?” 

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Aside from the couple occasions where I’ve been back for half a day, it’s been months since I’ve been home. And though there were no elaborate gifts, days planned or events stirring, the simple opportunity to just be in his presence and be comfortable in a way that I can’t be anyone else, that was enough.  

At the end of the day, you begin to realize that all the riches and gold in the world don’t matter if you don’t have someone to share it with. 

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**On a side note - Friday night, “Let’s Wing It” Sports Bar**

He looks at me and smiles, “Wait for it.”

I look at him blankly. What the heck did he mean?

And then I felt it. The vibration through the wooden bench, startling my buttocks, almost making me jump.

His was grinning from ear to ear. “Did you feel it?”

…Yes, I know, my boyfriend is absolutely disgusting.