French onion soup

This past weekend, I was at home sick. On Saturday, I laid in bed for about 7 hours straight. I don't remember the last time I did that, but after about 6 hours and 45 minutes I was DONE. Done with being sick, done with lying around, done with watching Will and Grace re-runs.

When I was a kid, one of the things my mom would do for me when I was sick was bring me a tray with tea, soup, and homemade piping hot tea biscuits. It was the best, and it instantly made me feel better.

Saturday evening, I peeled myself out of bed and stared at the basket of fresh onions my dad had given to me from his garden. French onion soup was just what I needed. 

Cold and flu season has arrived folks. So here it is - french onion soup - one of my favourite remedies. Recipe is from the late, great Julia Child.

 

Step one: Melt a shitload of butter and a tbsp of oil in a large saucepan. (The recipe calls for 3 tbsp of butter but I didn't really measure. More butter is always better.)

 

Once the butter is melted, add about 5 cups of thinly sliced onions.

 

 

Cook the onions slowly (on low heat) for about 15 minutes. Then, uncover, and stir in 1 tsp of salt and 1/4 tsp sugar. Keep cooking at medium heat.

 

 

 

This recipe requires a lot of patience. The onions need to caramelize, which means cooking them at low heat for a long time (about 30 to 40 minutes.)

 

 

Keep cooking the onions, stirring occasionally, until they turn a deep golden brown. 

 

 

 

Once the onions have caramelized, add 2 quarts beef stock, and 1/2 cup dry white wine. Simmer, partially covered for another 30 to 40 minutes.

 



 

By this time, you'll be really freakin hungry. But you're almost done! All you have to do now is ladle the soup into some oven-safe bowls, toast some rounds of french bread and put them on top, plus about a pound of swiss cheese on top of that. Pop it in the oven on broil until it's all bubbly and golden. 

 

 

Amazing on a chilly fall evening. And totally worth the wait. I promise. 









 





Sunny side

 

Today is the first day in about a week and a half that the sun is shining here. It lifts my mood so significantly that already I can tell it's going to be a fan-freaking-tastic day. The sky is so clear and blue, the air is crisp, the leaves continue to grow deeper and darker each second. This day, right here in front of us, is what they call a perfect Fall day. 

 

I got up early this morning and went to the gym, came home and had coffee while reading the September issue of Vogue. Then I had breakfast with the Roommate. The sun is streaming through the windows. Already this day has been close to perfect.

 

In fact, I was in such great spirits this morning that I gave up the two perfect eggs without a fight, selflessly accepting the broken yolk. That, my friends, is a crazy little thing they call love. 

A few of my favourite things

Sitting in the apartment this morning having coffee, I'm looking around and realizing how cozy it feels. It's a place I truly feel good about coming home to. When I moved in about 5 months ago, I wish I had taken some Before and After shots. It truly was a man's apartment - dark walls, hockey paraphenelia everywhere, nary a flower to be found OH FOR SHAME!

Now it's all girl-i-fied and cute. Here, let's have a look-see at some of my favourite things. And let me point out that there is NOTHING expensive about the decor. Most of the stuff is from one of only a few places which include but are not limited to Wal-Mart, Ikea, or my Dad's storage shed. I'd love to say that a lot of the stuff came cheap because this is only an apartment and we're saving ourselves for our future house, but as my charming fiancee so often points out, I have "cheap taste." See? Charm-freakin-ing. 

 

This is the "Sitting on the couch having coffee" shot that started it off. The little green crushed velvet chair was my Nana's, and it's always fit perfectly with my style. Striped pillow was like $2 on sale at Tweed and Hickory. Black and white photographs were taken by my sister and given to me as a gift. The grouping of the other three photos is 1. little red frame from Ikea (like $2.99), 2. Seurat print my sister brought back from the National Gallery in London and 3. framed photograph of the roommate and I at a wedding this past summer. My sister's always been a fan of photo groupings and I've grown fond of it myself - it's something that can fill a bigger space without having to buy a huge piece of art.

 



Here's a shot of the living room from the porch. Right now my favourite piece is the rug we picked up at Ikea. I love the bold, graphic pattern. I know we have two couches in the living room (not exactly 'zen', although I'm not quite sure that means), but they come in really handy on Football Sundays and Girls' Wine Drinkin' Nights

. 

 

Another of my most favourite things is my antique map of the world. Last Christmas, when the roommate asked me what I wanted, I said "an antique map of the world." I in no way, shape or form thought he would be able to find/purchase/wrap/surprise me with one. But Christmas morning, out he came with it. I've always imagined it decorating the walls of an office, but we're not there yet.

 

 

The schoolhouse clock was another Ikea purchase, and another of my faves.

 

 

Every so often, my Dad will go through a box of old things in the shed and pile it on the table. "Go through that," he'll say. "Take what you want. The rest is going to the dump." That explains my love of purging, and also? Gets me some really great (read: free!) stuff. The picture here is a reproduction of a Group of Seven painting (I think) that was in a box, painted on a piece of cardboard. I framed it with a frame I already had and voila! Free art.

 



Another grouping, featuring the roommate's family portrait, my sister's photograph, and a photo of my mama. The piece on the far left side was a frame I didn't know what to do with, so I printed out some of my favourite passages from novels. I like how it looks graphic-y and still has some meaning. (Passages are from The Lovely Bones, To Kill a Mockingbird, and Charlotte's Web.)

 

 

This is the entrance way, which like the living room, I painted a very light grey. The hanging lantern is from one of my Dad's purge-fests, bottle and bamboo is from Ikea, shelf from HomeSense, and print from a trip to New York City. 

 

 

The print will always remind me of wandering around Times Square with one of my best friends, in awe of the energy that city radiated. I'm pretty sure we stood in the middle of it, looking up, spinning slowly in circles with our mouths hanging open for about half an hour. One of my favourite trips ever.

 

 

These 4'x6' cards are from Ikea, and while they had no real sentimental significance, I thought they were super adorable. A flapper Grizzly bear? MIND. OFFICIALLY. BLOWN.

 

 

I thought this ceramic owl from Wal Mart would serve a dual purpose in being really cute and keeping the vermin away, but LOOK! A RABBIT CHEWING ON THE TV CORDS! Come on Mr. Owl. Step it up.

 

 

If you ever have an empty space on a shelf (like I did) and are at a loss as to what to put there (like I was) just take the jackets off some hardcovers and pile 'em up. The hardcovers of hard cover books are usually really pretty!

 

 

This was a bathroom DIY project I was kinda proud of. I found this wooden spice rack in one of my Dad's purge-sprees, and painted it white. Instant extra bathroom storage. (Please disregard the blue appliques on the medicine cabinet. I didn't do it and I am forbidden from painting over it.)



 

That's about all I can take today - mostly because the other rooms in the house are too disastrous to take photos of right now. 

 

Like I said, most of my favourite items are a) really cheap, b) second-hand steals from my Dad's garage and c) hold a lot of sentimental value. I never claimed to be Sarah Richardson (althrough I do often wish I were friends with her,) but I love the apartment with all its personal, girly touches.

 

What are some of YOUR favourite things from around your house?















It's my blog and I'll post shameless pet photos if I want to

 

Who's got the cutest widdle pink bunny nose ever? Who? Who? 

Genetics

I pick up the phone and say hello. Right away, I can feel the heaviness in her voice.

"I am sad," she says, and starts to cry. I start to cry too. She cries so very little that when she does, it affects me deeply.
 
Our family is going through a tough time right now. I am eight hours away from most of them, and as I talk to her, I feel so helpless. I wish I could just run across the street and hug them all.

I know we take a great deal of comfort in each other. It is rare for a day to go by without us speaking. When I need advice, when I am angry, when I am sad, I call. When I got engaged, she was the first person I wanted to call. It didn't feel complete until later that night when I talked to her. 

I know this feeling runs both ways. So, the other night, when she called, I knew it was my turn to do the comforting. We talked, we cried, we even laughed a little here and there. After 45 minutes, we were spent. There was no more news, nothing more to say.

"I'm gonna go get ready for bed," she says. 

"Ok, me too. But wait...there was something I wanted to ask you. I forget now."

A couple of silent seconds pass. 

"Oh yeah!" I burst out. "You know for New York Fashion Week? Do you have to be invited? Or can anyone go?" 

"Hmm. I don't know," she answers. I can tell she's really considering this random, stupid, out-of-left-field question. After the serious conversation we just had, I can't even believe I'm thinking about New York Fashion Week.

Not only does she humour my silly question, but she takes it one step further. She doesn't say "what made you think of THAT?" or "that is SO random." She legit thinks about the question. And I can tell she's thinking about the question.

"I think you can buy tickets to different events. Different shows. All of the fashion bloggers we read are there right now eh? They probably get invited. But I'm pretty sure anyone can buy tickets and go."

She's one of the only people who truly gets how my weird little mind works. Because hers works the same. Once, at a party, some guy was making fun of us because we 'only laugh at each other's jokes.' Which only made us laugh harder.

There's no one in the world like her.
 
I love my sister.

Vent, vent, venty vent vent VENT!

This Fall marks a lot of firsts. The first Fall that I have lived with a boy. Specifically, a boy who thinks having the temperature of the apartment hover around 14 degrees Celsius all winter is comfortable. 

It's the first Fall where, when my nose is an icicle and my feet are frozen blocks, I can't just go back to my apartment and crank the heat. What is this thing called compromise and how can I get out of it? 

It's the first Fall that I predict I will be sleeping in my wool socks and wool sweater. Last night was the first night of bundling up before bed, and it's only the beginning of September.  

I think this will also be the first Fall where I hang out a lot in my car. Just parked in the driveway, with the music blaring. Or maybe I'll grab a coffee and read in there. The extra gas money will totally be worth it because there, in my own little personal bubble, NO ONE WILL FORBID ME TO TURN ON THE FRIGGIN' HEAT. 

I know what you're thinking. "Wow, this has got to be the most dramatic women EVER." And maybe you'd be right. But also, maybe you won't be laughing when they find me curled up in the corner, covered in a thin layer of frost, my teeth chattering, mumbling to myself about that trip I took to Cuba where it was hotter than the sun and also my favourite place on earth.  

I'll be sending out my petition to free the furnace shortly. I hope I can count on your signature. 

Update: After reading this post, the roommate gave me the green light to turn on the heat. The sweet smell of furnace is in the air, and look out world, 'cause I am DRUNK WITH POWER. 

Falling in love

I came across this article here and although I wouldn't expect anything less from a man so poetic as John Steinbeck, it made me want to go out and read all of his books over again. 

It's a letter from John to his son Thom, who wrote home to tell his parents he was in love for the first time.  

Such great advice. 

New York
November 10, 1958

Dear Thom:

We had your letter this morning. I will answer it from my point of view and of course Elaine will from hers.

First — if you are in love — that’s a good thing — that’s about the best thing that can happen to anyone. Don’t let anyone make it small or light to you.

Second — There are several kinds of love. One is a selfish, mean, grasping, egotistical thing which uses love for self-importance. This is the ugly and crippling kind. The other is an outpouring of everything good in you — of kindness and consideration and respect — not only the social respect of manners but the greater respect which is recognition of another person as unique and valuable. The first kind can make you sick and small and weak but the second can release in you strength, and courage and goodness and even wisdom you didn’t know you had.

You say this is not puppy love. If you feel so deeply — of course it isn’t puppy love.

But I don’t think you were asking me what you feel. You know better than anyone. What you wanted me to help you with is what to do about it — and that I can tell you.

Glory in it for one thing and be very glad and grateful for it.

The object of love is the best and most beautiful. Try to live up to it.

If you love someone — there is no possible harm in saying so — only you must remember that some people are very shy and sometimes the saying must take that shyness into consideration.

Girls have a way of knowing or feeling what you feel, but they usually like to hear it also.

It sometimes happens that what you feel is not returned for one reason or another — but that does not make your feeling less valuable and good.

Lastly, I know your feeling because I have it and I’m glad you have it.

We will be glad to meet Susan. She will be very welcome. But Elaine will make all such arrangements because that is her province and she will be very glad to. She knows about love too and maybe she can give you more help than I can.

And don’t worry about losing. If it is right, it happens — The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away.

Love,

Fa

A farewell to Summer

The September long weekend is often touted as the last weekend of Summer. The focus shifts to a cozy Fall wardrobe, the days get shorter, the kids try and soak up every last ray of sunshine before going back to school. 

We spent the last weekend of summer at my Dad's place at the lake, and the Northern Ontario weather didn't disappoint. By that, I mean it was uncharacteristically warm, and we, like children going back to school, soaked it all in. 

I got to spend the weekend with some of my favourite people. 

My cousin, the 17 year-old wonder boy, flew my sister and grandfather up North for the weekend. I was at work when he landed at the airport 10 minutes from my Dad's place, but when he took off Sunday morning to go home, we all went out and stood on the runway in our pajamas and sent him off. 

Watching the cousin I held as a two-week old, babysat, teased, and cuddled get into a plane and take off was surreal. The pride bubbled up inside of me and came pouring out of my eyeballs. 

It was the perfect weekend to be at the lake. And we weren't the only ones who felt that way. We visited with lots of old friends who dropped by for a dip. 

We said goodbye to a good friend, Cec, who at the age of 89 is starting a new adventure in Southern Ontario. With the hustle and bustle of a cottage weekend, I'm feeling a little sad that I didn't get any one-on-one time with Cec, but I'm sure all of the visits, Oscar nights, and Chinese food dinners over the years made up for it. I know she understands that we love her and that we'll miss her very much. 

Although the weather gave off vibes of a perfect summer weekend, there were subtle signs that Fall is creeping up, a mist slowly settling in. 

The leaves have begun to change, the school buses are again rumbling down the streets in the early morning glow. 

While I'm looking forward to the new season, I'd like to take a moment and remember the Summer of 2012. An amazing time. Definitely in the running for the best Summer ever. 

Improvising

 

Who says you can't use Nana's old potholders as wall art? Ok, I'm guessing a lot of curators and interiors designers, but I don't care. These remind me of waking up at the cottage on a summer morning and heading out to pick blueberries with my sister and Nana. I would later trip over a tree root, spilling the freshly-picked berries on the forest floor, but that's not what I'm remembering right now. Right now, I'm remembering picking berries, the hot summer sun warming our backs, while Nana sings "There's a Skeeter on my Peeter" to keep the bears away. 

Memories

 

Fall is approaching in Northern Ontario. It's in the air, on the trees, in the department stores with thier Back to School specials. The mornings are crisp and cool and the sun dips below the horizon earlier every evening. 

 

I'm fine with that though, because I know my Summer 2012 memories will always be there to keep me warm on the coldest January night. I'll remember where I was and who I was with when I bought the straw fedora (Toronto, my sister,) and that I wore it on the best day of my life so far (when the roommate asked me to be his wife.)

 

Bring it on, Fall. There are more times to be had. More memories to be made. More "best days" are yet to come. 

Keeping expectations low since 1983

The roomate (now fiancee, although I refuse to use that word as it brings to mind elbow-length gloves and afternoon croquet matches) made a comment the other day about the ease with which we transitioned to living together. While I think this speaks volumes about our relationship and how we get along so well, I think it also speaks to the roomate's easygoing nature. I'm sure it was more of a transition for him than it was for me, as I ploughed through the door, my arms full of pink pillows, picture frames and furniture adorned with flowers.

"LET'S MAKE THIS THE GUEST ROOM!" I squealed, as I rounded the corner to his then-roommate's bedroom. His then-roommate was still there, but did that stop me from pausing at the door to envision the pretty flowered bedspread and vintage-inspired accents that would transform the room? I'd like to say it did, but no, IT DID NOT.

Cohabitation has been swell, and the roommate has agreed to pretty much all decor changes, handing over the reigns and admitting that I'm "better at this stuff" and that the place looks great.

In the glow of my new role as roommate, along with keeping a warm and cozy apartment, I also wanted to kick some ass in the kitchen. I gathered all of my cookbooks and marked the recipes I would try with those little neon page markers. I shopped, planned, and cooked. I made sure that three nights a week, there was something new and exciting on the table. Some of the dishes were really good, and were met with an enthusiastic full-mouthed grunt that sounded something like "keeper!" He would never go so far as to tell me he didn't like something, but would fall silent after taking the first bite. Never the less, I trudged on, scouring my books, and the grocery shelves, feeling every bit the devoted roommate I knew I was. 

One night a couple of weeks ago, I worked until 5 p.m. and the roommate worked night shift, leaving us with about an hour from the time I got home to the time he had to leave for work. I called and told him I would pick up something quick for dinner on the way home.

When I got home about 15 minutes later, he peeked in the grocery bag and let out a "WOOO!" 

"OH YEAH!" he said. "I LOVE THESE! I HAVEN'T HAD THESE IN SO LONG! I MISS MEALS LIKE THIS!"

 

Eat your freakin' heart out, Julia Child. 

 

As he ate, the roomate oohed and ahhed over the meal.

 

"You know what?" he said, as he sopped up the last of his mustard. "We should do meals like this more often. Your fancy suppers are good, but sometimes you just want a pig in a blanket, you know?" 

 

I guess there are some aspects of bachelorhood that will never change. And you know what? TOTALLY OK WITH THAT. 

Bling

Driving home from my Dad's place this morning, I wasn't looking at the late-summer sun as it reflected off the already changing leaves. I wasn't taking in the beautiful scenery that surrounded me as I whipped down the highway. Had there been a bear riding a tiny bicycle down the road wearing a tutu, I probably wouldn't have noticed. I was too busy staring at my brand new engagement ring.

 

Brand! New! Engagement! Ring!

 

The best part: it looks good with ALL of my outfits. There's also that whole 'by this time next year I'mma be someone's wife' thing.

 

That's pretty kickass, too.



At least I'll have someone to blame when they have to lift me out of my bed with a crane

Didn't know it was possible to simultaneously love and hate a person, but that's how I'm feeling about the summer student who gave me this recipe.

Recipes that take one minute in the microwave are WAY too easy. 

The relationship with this deep dish single serve chocolate chip cookie ended last night (I think. There may still be some late-night phone calls and tearful pleading but I'm feeling strong). Actually, it was my sister who set me straight. 

"Ok, you need to stop microwaving sugar and butter and chocolate and eating it with a spoon, hun," she said gently when I talked to her on the phone tonight. 

She's always been so good at tough love. 

Someone's growing!

 

Toto, I don't think we're in Dwarf bunny territory anymore.

The other night, Bun Bun's ears picked up a radio signal from a station in Russia.

When we got her as a little ball of fuzzy cuteness, they told us at the pet store she was "either a dwarf or a lop." I want whatever they've been smokin'. I think she would be better described as a "giant hare on ear steroids."

I'm not going to tell you that I buy kale and carrots and herbs just for Bun Bun. I'm also not going to tell you that I bought a harness and leash so I could follow her around in the park.

That would make me mentally insane, RIGHT? 



Indestructible (question mark)

Ok, people. Bear with me while I vent. If I can't do it here, in front of thousands hundreds tens of people, where can I? The roomate won't listen to me anymore (remember how the honeymoon period is O.V.E.R?).

It's no secret that I'm a little less graceful than your average ballerina. I've heard the word 'klutz' used to describe me, but don't you think that's a bit harsh? People are always putting things in my way for me to trip over and moving walls for me to walk into. I'm convinced someone sneaks in in the middle of the night and greases up all of my best dishes so they slide right out of my hands and crash to the ground.

So, I had a Blackberry. I loved my Blackberry. Most of my friends had Blackberrys and our BBM relationships flourished. This is in no way sponsored by RIM. Frankly, I don't think they could afford it. That being said, my Blackberry and I went strong for almost three years. My friends would complain of the odd problem, but my Blackberry was loyal to the end. Then, one day, my Blackberry up and died. I picked it up and it was just gone. White screen, unresponsive. 

When I took it in my service provider, they said there appeared to be water damage in my phone. I asked the roommate if he remembered anything being spilled on it. He said no. I still don't fully believe him as the word 'klutz' has been used a couple of times to describe him, as well. Anyways, that's a moot point, and after having a brief yet touching memorial service for my Blackberry, I turned it over to the service manager and walked over to the Blackberry table to pick out a new friend phone.

"Oh. Hmm. You're looking at another Blackberry?" said the service manager.
"Yes," I answered. "I loved my Blackberry." 
"Well, I wouldn't go with a Blackberry again. Don't you know RIM is kind of in the pooper right now?"

Ok, so he didn't say pooper. But he did strongly discourage me from buying another Blackberry. 

"This is the new Samsung Rugby," he said, holding up a shiny touch screen. "It's pretty much indestructible. Break-proof, waterproof, dust-proof. This phone will not break, so it's perfect for people like you."

The hint of smile that crossed his lips did not go unnoticed.

Anyways, the point of this long-ass story is that I was in Toronto walking down the street (coincidentally talking about my new phone to my girlfriend Trish,) and my phone broke. I pulled it out to show it to her and it slipped right out of my hands and crashed to the concrete. Those fucking grease-elves had followed me to Toronto!

The screen was completely smashed. To pieces. Long story (not so) short, I brought it in a month ago and I still have this "replacement" phone as I wait for the repair:

Along the way, I HAVE had contact with my service provider. First for them to tell me that it likely wouldn't cost more than $50 to have the phone fixed. And the phone company has this AWESOME new program where they'll pay up to $150 for a repair. So "you're laughin!" Then a call to tell me the phone would in fact cost $240 to repair (the phone retails for $250.) Another call to say they would call and "check on why it's so expensive, but there's nothing I can do about it anyways." Two more weeks went by and I finally went into the store to get my phone back.

"Sorry for not getting back to you sooner, but today's been crazy," said the service manager. 

"Today?" I said, smiling as he did when he sold me the "indestructible" phone. "I brought my phone in a month ago!" 

In the end, I have to pay $124 to have my phone fixed. The phone that is marketed as "indestructible." I asked about a protective case for it so this doesn't happen again and was told they don't even make one because "it's indestructible." I asked if there was anyone I could call to let them know that HI! Your "indestructible" phone? SO NOT FREAKIN' INDESTRUCTIBLE! I was told that it was a manufacturer issue and since it was their first model they would probably just take notes for the next model. And even then "you can't really speak to a real person."

So, here I am, still waiting to get my phone back. Still texting like it's 1994.

Do you have a ridiculous first-world problem to tell me about? Cause that would make me feel a lot better about spending the last 45 minutes writing about my cell phone. 

How to inspire me

Be an Olympic athlete.

Eat, sleep, breathe your sport. Have a goal that is so incredibly huge that it's what you have been working your whole life for. Have a body and drive that reflects that. Have more self-discipline than I could even dream about. Make me want to grate cheese over your washboard abs (did I say that out loud?)

Even though you've been working your whole life for the moment, hoping, praying, training, cry tears of joy and pride when you stand on the podium with a medal strung around your neck. Hug your parents, your coaches, your teammates like they are the only people in the stadium. Make your country incredibly proud. Inspire millions of young hopefuls around the world to go for the gold.

Be an Olympic athlete.

Letterbox

Remember that "Photo a day" challenge I said I was gonna do? Yeah, me neither. I guess it's more like "Photo when I feel like it."



Is it just me, or are kids these days, like, really freakin’ cute?

I was at work tonight, and a little girl walked up to my desk with her mom. 

“Excuth me, do you have any bookths about mermaidths?” she asked, looking up at me with bright blue eyes framed by reckless golden curls.  

“I think so,” I replied. “What kind of books are you looking for? Story books, chapter books…?”

“Justh anything about mermaidths,” she answered, so unbelievably sure of herself. 

I walked her and her mom over to the section, and pointed out that here, she could also find books about fairies and princesses. Her eyes lit up. 

Fifteen minutes later, I walked by again. There she was, sitting on the floor in front of the book stacks, totally engrossed in one of the books I had shown her. Around her on the floor were about 7 other books, open to various sections. I smiled.

When she was done exploring, she came back to see me, refreshed, I think, by the new possibilities lying before her. 

“Thankths for helping me,” she said, her eyes shining. “I’m going to camp nexth week, but when I get home I’m going to come back here and look at more bookths. I like it here.”  

That sound you heard tonight at about 7 p.m.? That was my ovaries exploding. 

I’ve heard about the whole “biological clock” thing, but I always chalked it up to urban legend. 

I’m not a bad person. I’ve never stolen anything. But tonight, I had the strongest urge to just pick that little girl up, cuddle her for about five hours, have her tell me stories, and cap off the evening by feasting on her little chubby cheeks.

Can’t argue with basic biology, people. If there is such thing as a biological clock, then mine? Mine is just-a tickin’.

Home

This weekend, we went to our second summer wedding in North Bay. It was perfect. The bride was beautiful, the weather was warm and sunny, everyone was happy.

It's really no secret that I, like hundreds of romantic, starry eyed women around the world, love weddings. Even strangers walking down the aisle with their fathers bring me to tears every time. There's a commercial on TV for a suit company that really gets the waterworks flowing. And DON'T EVEN get me started on wedding country songs.

The two weddings in North Bay this summer though, have felt different somehow. All of those warm and fuzzy wedding feelings are still there, but layered on top of them is the warm and fuzzy feeling that I am home. Besides my Dad's house at Nellie Lake, I have never felt more at home than I do in North Bay. It really pained me to leave that city with its glittery water and oh-so-close proximity to Toronto, Ottawa, and Sudbury (shopping!).

A big part of what made that place feel so homey though, were the people. In the short time that I lived there, I made some totally amazing friends. People who have taken care of me, celebrated with me, cried with me, booked my oil changes for me, helped me move, hosted my birthday parties, and brought me tea at work when I was having a bad day.

My people are what made North Bay the place I wanted to stay. I looked around the dance floor on Saturday night and I couldn't help but smile. My people were the only ones left. The bride was being lifted up on a chair, Hora style. Two girlfriends had taken over the DJ booth, including his microphone and sunglasses. One friend ran around the dance floor, using the hall decorations as a cape. And right about now, as they get married, have their babies, and build their lives, I'm really starting to miss those weirdos.

When I moved back to Timmins, I vowed that I would one day return to North Bay, to my people. It's a promise to myself that I'm not quite ready to let go of yet. 

I'm not sure when, or how, but when the time is just right, I'll be back. And this time I'm not coming alone.

Don't say I didn't warn you.