I usually type from the quiet, restrained, orderly surface of the dining room table in an empty house, but today I write to you from a bustling coffee shop on Broadview – The Rooster. I am finding it nearly impossible to form sentences amidst the din of gossip, clinking of porcelain, and electronic thudding of what sounds to me like the Strokes. I am wearing Helly-Hansen, Arc’teryx and The North Face, adding to my apparent out-of-placeness.
It was/is a rainy day here in Toronto so I feel justified in dressing for an expedition. The ride in the pouring rain to school was an adventure and despite Gore-tex uppers and lowers, I arrived with a drenched seat (not bicycle seat, my seat!).
In class we plated salads and made a spinach quiche. Salads are perhaps an under-appriciated part of the menu. I myself never order a salad at a restaurant. It seems to me to be the easiest thing in the world to duplicate and there is little chance of burning it during the preparation stage. There is, however the opportunity to appreciate every raw ingredient bite-full by bite-full. I say bite-full because if you are grazing away on a mouth-full of salad, you run the risk of looking like a water-buffalo pulling reeds from the depths of a pond. Manners, people, manners.
Since I have tempted you with an image of smartly dressed young people on a vast expanse of snow, I may as well tell you what’s up; This past weekend was spent in the company of guitars and voices, snow and fire, down-filled articles of clothing, red cotton long-johns, and good books. A good time was certainly had by all, although images of friends in long-johns may be forever burned in the eyes of those who bore witness to the spectacle!
The faces are covered to protect the guilty but you know who you are! If you are innocent, you may want to cover your face as well.