No, it’s not too cold. No, it’s not too gloomy. No, we’re not buried under mounds of snow. And THAT is the problem. It has been ridiculously warm. Even when it is cold, it is noncommittally cold: Cold for a day or so, and then right back up above freezing. When it snows, it’s pathetic, thin, stays-for-a-few-hours snow. Nothing good, nothing sticky and fluffy that’s deep enough to kick up while you walk. We’ve only had barely enough snow to have a snowball fight with once this winter, and we had to drive up north to have it. I haven’t used my snowboots at all this year. It sucks. Where is winter?
This picture is from last year, when D. could gleefully eat handfuls of fresh snow fairly regularly, although still not as regularly as would have been possible even 10 years ago.
Did you know that different playlands at Ikea have different height requirements? We have broken D’s heart every time we went to our closest Ikea because that playland is right at the entrance and she just hasn’t been tall enough. She has been so sad because the two requirements were 1) get potty trained and 2) grow! She has accomplished number 1 beautifully but number 2 just hasn’t been happening as fast as she’d like. However! We went to a different Ikea yesterday, and rather than 39″ she only had to be over 37″, and she is just about 37 1/2″. Happy baby redhead. This will now be our default Ikea, I think.
There will be more about Ikea over here sometime, I’m sure. We got a Christmas tree there yesterday for $20, and with that came a coupon for $20 off a future purchase. Pretty sweet. Goodness knows there are a few things we need (new bathmat, storage box, etc.) that we’ll get in the new year with that coupon.
People ask me sometimes whether I’m still homesick for South Africa. For a long, long time, I used to answer yes, even if it was with qualifiers. But that’s not true any more. I could ramble some more, but basically I’m happy to be here, in Canada, in Toronto. It feels like home here, now. South Africa doesn’t have that in the same way any more. It’s somewhere to visit someday, when I can afford it. I miss my family there terribly, the few I’ve stayed in contact with. The rest are strangers to me, I haven’t seen or heard much of anything from them in 12 years. My heart squeezes tight when I think about the smell of sunwarmed dust or the fijnbos after rain… and I’ll probably always get teary from missing the ocean there, sometimes my skin craves being in that water so hard it hurts. But I cannot contemplate ever living there again.
What I’m feeling cannot be described as homesickness. It’s nostalgia and a sort of physical body-memory of the place that makes me want to run my hands over the rocks, have the hot wind fill my lungs, taste salt air and eat warm grapes off the vine… to physically connect. I will always care. But it’s not emotionally home any more. And that is sort of bittersweet.
Eau de Guy-Next-To-Us-Trying-To-Be-Nice: Stale cigarette smoke and liquor partly dispelled by a chilly draft and huge amounts of air freshener. I guess somebody complained about how the hallway smelled like a bar, hmm?
I am all alone in the apartment and it is seriously weird. I have never in my life slept alone in a house, without at least a cat or a dog for company. Now, there is a fish in here, but he’s hardly going to make companionable noises at me, climb on my lap, or come lie down across my feet. It feels very odd, and am going to admit that I’ve been sleeping with the bathroom light on.
It’s the perfect food when it’s cold and rainy, and you go over to your friend’s house to study and she takes you out for a delicious lunch, like today. And somehow, it’s still perfect on the steamiest of summer days. I love that it’s so easy to find amazing, delicious Indian food around here. I really want a good recipe for matar paneer, but neither of the girls are all that into Indian food, and it’s silly to just make it for myself. Which is why getting to go out for Indian food with somebody is extra awesome.
In other news, without my girls here, it is so hard to get to sleep. I basically have to read myself into a coma. It’s no fun.
