notes of gratitude
Notes of gratitude:
snow-turned-puddle, chill-turned-breeze, April snowstorms until Spring made way, studying Job with milky coffee in the morning, late-night paper writing, Bob Dylan and Josh Garrels crooning through my headphones all semester long, the boy sending me off to the spa (one of the ways he says he loves me), meeting friends over Korean food or warm gnocchi, the deep exhale of an afternoon at a coffee shop to write and read, walking home to see mom and dad singing together at the piano (dreaming of a marriage like theirs), jogging by the water (stopping for a whiff of magnolia on the go), a visit from Erin (the comfort of friendships that pick up where they left off), perching on Mont-Royal with fresh bagels in hand, the first mint lemonade of the season at café Aunja, making use of recipe books (learning and learning some more), days in the Mile End or Outremont (getting my fix of brick and spiral staircases and wooden doors and arched frames), murals against grey skies, tickets to see the boy and our friends wed in July, graduation pictures coming in (this is really happening), eating breakfast and studying the Bible on the porch with birdsong, catching up with sister-friends while cradling mugs, a weekend at the cottage with much worship and laughter, sipping earl grey and reading Gabrielle Roy surrounded by the woods, pottery mugs, studying Quebec literature in a class with my sister, soaking in hours of art history (from Hellenism to Byzantium, Gothism and Impressionism), grabbing our first cones of the season (Kahlua cookie, please), accidentally matching friends at church, tulips budding, a lovely stranger calling out "aren't they beautiful? Spring is here-- isn't she?", baking a walnut-date cake with orange buttercream, sisters' day at Arthur's or Cordova, sage-painted walls, reading by the canal in glorious rays of sunlight, a friend who brings over a box of donuts (just because), signing a lease for an apartment (answered prayers), meeting my future roomates over video call (thank you, thank you, thank you), making it a habit to run with my sister, impromptu picnics with Elise where our conversations consist mainly of our dreams, my first trip to Schwartz (the best smoked meat in the city), the sight of churches in sunset, adding to my list of things to do and see in New York (a day trip to Greenpoint, an evening at Cafe Lalo, a visit to the botanical gardens to see the hydrangeas and hibiscus in June and crabapples in September -- knowing it will make me miss my mom all the more--), staying at Heloise's and revelling at the miracle of decade-long friendships, grabbing a pastry on the way to school (the bakery owner said, 'grab another one on us'-- making Laurianne's day), the familiar smell of fresh coffee beans for grinding, gypsy jazz playing as we prepared a Tuscan feast for mother's day (dreaming up a holiday in Siena and Florence), a long chat with Celia over the phone (impatience for the day we will live nearby), friends who say "me, too", smelling blooms (blooms everywhere), perusing Redpath Museum, making Sunday french toast with berries and syrup (thinking about how much I will miss the ritual of Sunday breakfasts with my sweet family), the comfort of Christopher Tye or Benjamin Britten as I sit in the sunroom (interrupted by bells chiming down the street - something that will forever sound like home to me), taking it all in and reminding myself to remember it all -- the last weeks in my childhood home -- the last weeks in the place I became.
snow-turned-puddle, chill-turned-breeze, April snowstorms until Spring made way, studying Job with milky coffee in the morning, late-night paper writing, Bob Dylan and Josh Garrels crooning through my headphones all semester long, the boy sending me off to the spa (one of the ways he says he loves me), meeting friends over Korean food or warm gnocchi, the deep exhale of an afternoon at a coffee shop to write and read, walking home to see mom and dad singing together at the piano (dreaming of a marriage like theirs), jogging by the water (stopping for a whiff of magnolia on the go), a visit from Erin (the comfort of friendships that pick up where they left off), perching on Mont-Royal with fresh bagels in hand, the first mint lemonade of the season at café Aunja, making use of recipe books (learning and learning some more), days in the Mile End or Outremont (getting my fix of brick and spiral staircases and wooden doors and arched frames), murals against grey skies, tickets to see the boy and our friends wed in July, graduation pictures coming in (this is really happening), eating breakfast and studying the Bible on the porch with birdsong, catching up with sister-friends while cradling mugs, a weekend at the cottage with much worship and laughter, sipping earl grey and reading Gabrielle Roy surrounded by the woods, pottery mugs, studying Quebec literature in a class with my sister, soaking in hours of art history (from Hellenism to Byzantium, Gothism and Impressionism), grabbing our first cones of the season (Kahlua cookie, please), accidentally matching friends at church, tulips budding, a lovely stranger calling out "aren't they beautiful? Spring is here-- isn't she?", baking a walnut-date cake with orange buttercream, sisters' day at Arthur's or Cordova, sage-painted walls, reading by the canal in glorious rays of sunlight, a friend who brings over a box of donuts (just because), signing a lease for an apartment (answered prayers), meeting my future roomates over video call (thank you, thank you, thank you), making it a habit to run with my sister, impromptu picnics with Elise where our conversations consist mainly of our dreams, my first trip to Schwartz (the best smoked meat in the city), the sight of churches in sunset, adding to my list of things to do and see in New York (a day trip to Greenpoint, an evening at Cafe Lalo, a visit to the botanical gardens to see the hydrangeas and hibiscus in June and crabapples in September -- knowing it will make me miss my mom all the more--), staying at Heloise's and revelling at the miracle of decade-long friendships, grabbing a pastry on the way to school (the bakery owner said, 'grab another one on us'-- making Laurianne's day), the familiar smell of fresh coffee beans for grinding, gypsy jazz playing as we prepared a Tuscan feast for mother's day (dreaming up a holiday in Siena and Florence), a long chat with Celia over the phone (impatience for the day we will live nearby), friends who say "me, too", smelling blooms (blooms everywhere), perusing Redpath Museum, making Sunday french toast with berries and syrup (thinking about how much I will miss the ritual of Sunday breakfasts with my sweet family), the comfort of Christopher Tye or Benjamin Britten as I sit in the sunroom (interrupted by bells chiming down the street - something that will forever sound like home to me), taking it all in and reminding myself to remember it all -- the last weeks in my childhood home -- the last weeks in the place I became.
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