notes of gratitude
Notes of gratitude:
early and quiet mornings with colourful smoothies and uninterrupted moments in the Bible, the unmistakable crunch of snow, putting away festive decorations whilst reminiscing our fondest yuletide memories, walking up the street to bare evergreens lofted in snowbanks on the curb (wondering what they looked like just a week ago), professors who are just as witty as they are impressively qualified, professors who share pictures of their littles (how they seem so much more human), Edith Piaf and Django Reinhart (playing in a loop these days of January), the liturgy of packing lunches every night, sitting at the back of the bus on the daily commute (for people watching), long breaks (time to read), the books currently devoured (Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolf? and Finding Holy in the Suburbs and two volumes by Henri Nouwen, one on belovedness and the other on death), syllabi that make you excited for the semester ahead, the hunt for used textbooks, a professor who swiftly quotes Gabriel García Márquez, a text message from the boy stating "I miss Montreal," the way he sends you interesting articles throughout the day (knowing how much I will love them, how much they'll make me think), the way he reminds you of the importance of soul rest, finding your favourite spot in Birks library again, the "no boots allowed" sign in the reading room, the consequent basket filled with knit slippers, taking notice of the portraits and tapestries and marble carvings on the walls you've walked past for three years, peering into the chapel and noticing a student praying by the stained glass, braving the winter cold with thick scarves and a cup of dark roast wrapped in foam, a daily sister date involving a workout (bane) and Gilmore Girls (reward), counting down the days until Vic visits, a chat with Celia come Thursday, the coffee shop with the smoothest cortado and Enya spinning in the background, the perpetual "stay warm!" send-off, back-to-back weekend plans involving the countryside, seeing a friend when walking into a class, exchanging stories of Christmas break and New Year's kisses, a schedule matching Laurianne's (taking the train home together), scheduling an evening to watch Amélie (a favourite), a Monday family dinner involving red wine and farfalle all' arrabiata, the comforting smell of soy candles, journaling late at night, trying to hear the soft whisper of God's voice (a gentle breeze), the sight of campus under a blanket of snow and sheer ice, the wonder of whether you'll miss this place when it is but a memory of a season past, and this thought (startling and bright): this is the last "first day of school" of your undergraduate degree.
Winter semester things.
early and quiet mornings with colourful smoothies and uninterrupted moments in the Bible, the unmistakable crunch of snow, putting away festive decorations whilst reminiscing our fondest yuletide memories, walking up the street to bare evergreens lofted in snowbanks on the curb (wondering what they looked like just a week ago), professors who are just as witty as they are impressively qualified, professors who share pictures of their littles (how they seem so much more human), Edith Piaf and Django Reinhart (playing in a loop these days of January), the liturgy of packing lunches every night, sitting at the back of the bus on the daily commute (for people watching), long breaks (time to read), the books currently devoured (Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolf? and Finding Holy in the Suburbs and two volumes by Henri Nouwen, one on belovedness and the other on death), syllabi that make you excited for the semester ahead, the hunt for used textbooks, a professor who swiftly quotes Gabriel García Márquez, a text message from the boy stating "I miss Montreal," the way he sends you interesting articles throughout the day (knowing how much I will love them, how much they'll make me think), the way he reminds you of the importance of soul rest, finding your favourite spot in Birks library again, the "no boots allowed" sign in the reading room, the consequent basket filled with knit slippers, taking notice of the portraits and tapestries and marble carvings on the walls you've walked past for three years, peering into the chapel and noticing a student praying by the stained glass, braving the winter cold with thick scarves and a cup of dark roast wrapped in foam, a daily sister date involving a workout (bane) and Gilmore Girls (reward), counting down the days until Vic visits, a chat with Celia come Thursday, the coffee shop with the smoothest cortado and Enya spinning in the background, the perpetual "stay warm!" send-off, back-to-back weekend plans involving the countryside, seeing a friend when walking into a class, exchanging stories of Christmas break and New Year's kisses, a schedule matching Laurianne's (taking the train home together), scheduling an evening to watch Amélie (a favourite), a Monday family dinner involving red wine and farfalle all' arrabiata, the comforting smell of soy candles, journaling late at night, trying to hear the soft whisper of God's voice (a gentle breeze), the sight of campus under a blanket of snow and sheer ice, the wonder of whether you'll miss this place when it is but a memory of a season past, and this thought (startling and bright): this is the last "first day of school" of your undergraduate degree.
Winter semester things.
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