I’m such a loser
I cried twice already today, and it is only 8:30 am. First I cried when my bus came and the driver was dressed like Santa Claus and there were Christmas carols and he was so happy. That made me smile lots. But then I watched when at every bus stop people would get on, and then their faces would brighten so fast and there was such a feeling of commonality and goodness on their faces. There was something special and significant there, and it is all thanks to the bus driver who doesn’t have enough personal shame not to dress up like a badly dressed old fat man. I have lately begun to appreciate Christmas in ways which I haven’t before. Though not all in North America profess Christ, or may even understand what Christmas is all about, there is still something there holding people together. Something special about this time of year which everybody understands, even if it is just fleeting or very subtle. Something is there which brings strangers together in a very small way. And that is cool. And it made me teary.
Then I cried again when Quincy gave his life to save Madame Mina from the evil vampires. It was very touching.
Yesterday was the first time that I remember ever eating a turnip. I’m not even sure if I made it right. Are you supposed to peel turnips? It seemed like a good thing to do, so I did it. I made Stock with it. But now I have a half of a turnip left, but don’t quite know how to cook it. Any help? Janie? Martha? Luke? John? I claim ignorance in turnip-ness. Perhaps its not even a turnip at all, but was something which seemed to me might be a turnip at the time. There was a bin of 4 things, and one of the labels above was turnips so I took my best guess. Don’t mock me for my ignorance – it’s not my fault that my mother deprived me of turnips as a child.
Anyway. Happy Christmastime, all. That’s all for now.
Oh, yeah. Wait. I met with Jenny Gerbasi this week at Hy’s Steak House. SWANKY! It was fun, and I learned lots and also got 2 free tickets to a Hillbilly Burlesque show, dessert, and a picture for my wall (not of Jenny, of Portage avenue, though I think I can tape a picture of her in front of the MTS centre. We’ll see). It was great, and very eye-opening. Sometimes I think my calling is in politics, sometimes I think my calling is more pastoral, other times I think and wish I was called to more of an unemployed and hippie-ish type life where I eat the roots out of my backyard and spend all day trying to make a non-animal harming djembe out of berries and moose snot. Sigh. Where will the future lead? Who the heck knows?