A Long December

As we drove back to Toronto on Sunday, the Counting Crow's Long December came flooding through the speakers of Ramsey's car. We sang along, unabashedly, shamelessly, heart-fully.

"It has been a long December," Ramsey said.

"It really has," we agreed. "It really has."

The Secret Ingredient

I've never thought of myself as much of a romantic. But when I was transcribing interviews this week, I kept getting coming back to this one quote from Mel (who was kind enough to let me interview her for one of my upcoming stories): 

"Food is a huge tenant of how I express love, how I move socially. And when I care about someone, I want to cook for them and nourish them," she told me. "I really do believe in food that is grown with love. People who really care about our land and how they treat the environment and the growth of that food permeates through the food, to the dish that I make, to the person who eats is." 

This? This is something of love. 

Slowly, surely, I'm starting to remember, that yes, I too believe in something of love. And every morning, as I stand barefoot in the kitchen, measuring out the coffee grounds and eagerly waiting for the kettle to perk, I remember that I too, know what it means to be cared for and to care for someone. 

As long as there's coffee and whiskey and pie in my life, there will be love.  

Wandering Ways

I've only been back in Toronto for a month and I'm already getting restless.

I doubt that's ever going to change. (More on my adventures in Honduras are now on my travel blog.) 

Something of Love

For nearly 12 seasons, I watched the top branches of the tree bloom and die and become reborn again. 

From the window of the loft, it was the only visible sign of life outside, peeking carefully over the rooftops—the brick walls of our neighbour's house obstructed everything else from view. For three years, that tree was my only cue.

Dropping Brock off today, after our sanctioned time together was up, I paused for a moment in the doorway and looked out the window. Three seasons have passed since I last watched buds form on the branches of that tree.

It doesn't seem so long ago.

Against my better judgement, I'm starting to believe again. I'm starting to believe that yes, not only am I deserving of love, but I may just be capable of loving, too. I'm starting to place faith in impracticalities and impossibilities. I'm starting to remember that despite my pragmatic nature, it's the impulsive gut decisions that have always brought me the most happiness.

And above all, I have reason to believe that there's nothing that the perfect yellow vintage dress cannot solve. This, if nothing else, is something of love.

The Birthright

This weekend adventure was so amazing that I actually love this picture, wrinkles and all, because it reminds me of the perfect day away. (More on the travel blog.)

The Best Years

We were only one glass of wine in, but I was already drunk. That didn't make what I said any less true. They were words spoken in earnest.

"I really do feel like I'm living one of the best years of my life," I told Court. (These are the kind of words that settle warmly somewhere deep in my chest. Yet when I say them out loud, it's always in a hushed, almost guilty tone. If there's wood to knock on nearby, that's even better.)

After a summer of uncertainty, a fall of frantic work and manic behaviour, and a winter that was punctuated by excessive caffeine consumption and a kind of loneliness that I've never known before, I'm finally hitting my stride.

Although I was tempted to follow through on "Year of the Marriage for Money" as my 2013 resolution, I inadvertently settled on a much simpler mantra: working, working out and working it out. I'm focused and driven in a way that I haven't been in months. I'm being good to my body; running, lifting weights and even taking the time to brush my hair (most days, anyway). Most importantly, I'm reflecting on how it is that I ended up here and what it is that I want next. I take comfort in going to bed alone every night and even greater comfort in time spent in the company of friends. This is somehow what I always thought my life would be like.

And last month, for the first time, I truly took advantage of the "freelance" part of my job description by relocating my office to Honduras for a week to visit Sophie. (More on this to come.)

None of it is easy. But I'm happy to wake up every morning, knowing that the best is yet to come.

(Raw photo by the lovely Nettika during a day spent in Prince Edward County reporting for a Toronto Star freelance assignment. Because yes, my life is so awesome that I can legitimately play with baby lambs and call it work. These are truly the best days of my life.)