I went to bed relatively early last night, awoken periodically by the going-ons in my house. When I was asleep, I had the most stressful dreams. I dreamt that I went to visit my childhood home, where my father still lives, yet when I arrived from Montreal I found it abandoned. There were evil blonde teenagers trying to break in at the back of the house for fun, which I managed to shoo away in my dream.
When I went around the front of the house, I found the whole front yard and garden under muddy brown waters. My dog, Billy, was clinging for dear life on the roof of his dog house in the flood. I tried to send him some food via a floating dog food dish, but the current was too unpredictable, so I managed to fling some soft dog food onto the roof of his house for him to eat.
It was during this, that Tristan suddenly appeared, hovering over my shoulder, to critique the design of Billy’s doghouse, which my Dad had built out of wood, with insulated walls and a shingled roof. Tristan kept on going on about what a stupid idea it was, and didn’t listen to my practical explanation on how the design makes sense for an outdoor dog in the country. Like usual, I lost the fight, and Tristan evaporated into thin air.
I went back inside to call my Mum to ask her what was up with Dad’s house. When I got her on the phone, she told me Dad had been forced to abandon his house because the federal inspectors didn’t think it was aesthetically up to par with today’s homes, and that it needed a million dollars worth of repairs. I was shocked, so decided to go back to Montreal, but the train station had been turned into an indoor swimming pool with dolphins, so I couldn’t get home. I awoke, petrified.
After such an unpleasant night, I decided to make the best of my day. I went grocery shopping, pumped the wheels of my bike, went to the post office to mail my Dad’s birthday card and my letter to my friend Caitlin, and returned the video Tristan and I had rented a few nights ago when he was visiting. On my way home, I happed to find myself in the park by my house, so I decided to go get some ice cream.
The cheerful owner was there serving when I got there, who greets everyone was such grace. I got pistachio ice cream on a sugar cone, and sat outside to eat it. The enjoyed listening to the breeze in the trees, the patter of the grand Victorian fountain nearby, and watch the little dogs and cute boys walk by. It was very pleasant.
When I got home, I realized I’d forgotten to buy carrots at the grocery store, so I trotted on over to the small vegetable seller near my house. I went a bit bananas at the store, adding alpha sprouts, asparagus, fresh dill, celery, and zucchini to my basket. I had decided to make a killer vegetable stew. I had been eating so unhealthily lately, I thought a big pot of soup may distract me away from easy meals of cheese on baguette and vermicelli.
I had a jolly old time making the soup. I tried to remember what my dad did when he made his winter stews which I have such fond memories of. I added chili powder which I recalled him using, and added other random spices that I found on the shelf. The end result was a huge pot of soup, not as flavourful as my dad’s, but still pretty damn good. I had two huge bowls of soup while watching an episode of Poirot in my room, then heated up a croissant laden with chocolate chips and a bit of rosemary. It made for a very delicious dessert.
And now I sit at home, plotting my next move. Do I have a disco nap before I go out with Nicole, or do I job search and drink lots of green tea? Hm.