At Least I Still Have My Saeco Espresso Machine
Well, these past three days have been some real welcomed ones that have already put me in a better position; I'll be able to take care of of my passport this week, and not have to pay the rush service fee—bureaucracy... ughhh, my nemesis; started minding myself to get it done tomorrow so I'll hopefully take care of it within a comfortable margin before closing-time on Friday.
Selling my solid-oak dresser, a fairly imposing piece of furniture, forced me to clean out seven drawers that reminded me how much stuff I had that I could do without, even if separating myself from much of it made little sense other than to have empty drawers. Perhaps my problem is that I had too much storage?
The place I'm in is a reasonably-sized three-and-a-half apartment, but the kitchen is larger than most and offers way more cabinets and storage than one is used to seeing in a rented apartment. Plus, I 've quite a bit of furniture, which means many drawers. I've gone from having a reasonable-drawer-to-space-ratio being owner of a good-sized place, the problem occurring when I found myself going toward renter of medium-sized, but especially toward a small-but-only-temporary one... this year marking the tenth one I've been here, at the last. So, unless we redefine temporary, it's high time I get out of here, says the dictionary. And my 'soul', which I say just to avoid getting technical.
What's that? Yes, I agree. But, for my sake, let's just agree that a decade is but temporary. And it is, in a sense, for what is time but a pure abstraction if without lease-renewal dates?.
Actually, ten years is the longest I've lived anywhere, which makes it odd that I've always viewed it as "temporary" in my mind.
But time does pass by quicker as one grows older, thus allowing older folks the time to approach "temporary" more wisely.
My parents put my sister and I through four major moves by my early teens, and I added at least two major ones and four minor ones to the list by my mid-twenties, and a few more since. These include Indiana, Brossard, Rosemere, Scarborough, Candiac, Mile-End, Plateau-Mont-Royal, Calgary, and a few more.
Quebec, though, more specifically, Montreal and area, is where I feel at home and willing to call it so, but there's no specific neighbourhood that I identify with in any manner that resembles the small-town romanticism that includes football and marrying one's high-school sweetheart that's often portrayed in Hollywood movies. Instead, there's several places, these like a slice taken from different recipes of the same cake, each one playing a prominent role throughout the specific phase of my life they represent.
What kind of cake? you ask.
Good question.
If I had to pick one, I'm not sure what my favourite cake would be. I do know that my ideal one probably includes chocolate, custard, wildberries, mocha, Macadamia nuts and almonds, some nougat, a bit of almond paste, and whip cream.
Well, that certainly managed to make me crave something fit for a pregnant lady. I wonder if I can make basmati rice and peanut butter taste anything like that... it should only be a matter of mixing the correct spices, essences, and food colourings, I'm sure.
I'm off to experiment. I'll let you know; maybe share the recipe...
