Monday, January 21, 2008

instant coffee

I had friends over for dinner Saturday, including a baby who has recently learned to crawl. In preparation for them I cleaned very carefully with a specific focus on my floors. One look at a baby's pant legs after they have been crawling around and everyone knows if your floors are dirty. As I cleaned I listened to music, checking on simmering pots, setting the table, letting the wine breath. Do you really think wine needs to breath? There is something about that and perfume 'bruising' if you rub it together on your wrists that just doesn not ring true.

Anyway, I slept until ten that morning. It was a long week and I felt like I might be coming down with something. I started popping cold fx on Friday, felt better, and now my throat is starting to hurt again. I must have spent a couple hundred dollars on that shit this winter. Still I am a believer.

I was supposed to meet Harry at the gym Sunday morning, but instead I slept in and stayed home for most of the day watching taped tv and sipping instant coffee. Maybe it is because I grew up on it, but I love instant coffee. I used to love it with artificial whitener, but I had to stop that when I found out it was made of arterial plaque.

When I was a kid I used to spend the day with my Grandmother in her tailor shop sometimes. First thing she would do is make us "coffee". Mine was mostly whitener and sugar. Once we each had our drinks—as I recall, in plastic holders with disposable paper liners—we would get to work. She would give me scraps of material, thread, and buttons and I would make my creations while she sat at the sewing machine, pressing the iron pedal with her tiny foot, working the material slowly along with her fingers, peering over her thick lenses. I remember the smell of the hot steam iron and fabric, mixed with coffee. I loved every single thing about it. Now, for the life of me, I can not sew a proper button. Selective memory, my Mother calls it.

I finally left my cozy apartment to face the sub-zero city. Why? Why do I still live here? I had a massage and then went to meet Harry at yoga. On my way to the studio I realized I forgot my yoga outfit. Should I go all the way home and risk being late or should I go to the athletic wear store across the street and hope for some left-over sales. I could use a new pair of pants, I reasoned with myself. I chose the latter and I ended up getting a crazy deal on some nice stuff. It is no Lululemon, but still pretty good. I got pants, a bra and a top and it came to $45.00. That's less than half of what I pay for one pair of Lulu's.

I arrived at the class just in time, pointed my new outfit out to Harry and whispered the price. He shook his head.

"You are the best shopper I know."

And from him, that is NOT a compliment.

By the way, I am really liking the show, Women's Murder Club, despite the stupid name, partly because I am a sucker for that genre, but also because it is set in San Francisco. I love that city so much I am actually content to see even little flashes of it throughout the show.

Speaking of how I feel about cities, I though for sure I would love London this time around, especially since it was sans my sister's horrific ex-boyfriend, but I did not. London life is a much harder life in a lot of ways. Much harder than here, even with the cold factored in. It is expansive and expensive. Yeah, yeah, the tube system is good, but it felt a bit like a battle every time I left the house.

I am actually ok with my take on London. It was getting to the point that it seemed like I just want to be anywhere that is not where I am; not a great way to move through the one life you have. But it turns out that I just really like some cities. Toronto is not my favourite. Neither is London. But Montreal, Vancouver, Sydney, NYC, Miami, Edinburgh, San Francisco, Paris, Tel Aviv, Boston, on the other hand, I could live in those places. Not to mention the places I could 'summer' [ha!]: anywhere in New England or the Maritimes, or winter: Costa Rica, Panama, Florida, Mexico, the Caribbean. I think South America too, but I should reserve judgement until I travel there. Someday. When I can get on a long haul flight again.

Peace out.


Jeans Pants said...

I was wondering about Womans Murder Club. Is it still on the air.

That was a nice story with you grandmother. My family didn't do crafty things with me. We just watched TV.

Rachel said...

Oh, we watched our share of TV.

Without TV, you may not have had a future in video blogging...