A Canadian Lament

Today I made my first batch of homemade pasta sauce.  It tasted a bit like Kye did(your noise does have taste buds it it, look it up) after we tried to clean her skunked fur with tomato juice.  I used local tomatoes, salt, pepper, bottled water, and the better part of a bottle of local wine.  I originally bought it to try some wine since I still haven’t found a place selling Chinese liquor.  Usually when we got poor wine back home, or just leftover wine, we would use it in our pasta sauce.  I’m never buying wine here again.

It tasted like a Frenchman peed into antifreeze.

But, it got me thinking about what exactly I do miss about home.  And to be honest it isn’t food.  I miss dinner with my family, listening to my dad as he tells me about music or the latest beer mug he nicked, my sister as she gripes about work and the ways that her cat is now waking her up, my mum as she expounds about my dad and my sister and the things she wants to try out at the next family dinner, hanging out with my cousins and ripping movies a new one, going to the pub with my friends and watch one of them pee on another guys car while he’s watching, playing games with more of my friends while we drink more and more as the night goes on and our aim gets worse and worse, the cold weather and the terrible drivers, my dog eating snow and chasing snowballs, the good and bad beer and griping about it.

It’s the things we do and the places we go to that I miss because while this is my first extended leave from home, I can never wake up and not remember than I am a stranger here.  I speak the language enough to order some food and find the bus stop, but not enough to introduce myself with any substance.  I can eat almost anything, but not with the satisfaction I would get back home.  In fact, I am at the point where I don’t eat very much at all.  Filling up on food doesn’t seem to happen because I don’t have the company that encourages the experience.  Graeme Tegid Jones isn’t obsessed with food.  This must be the fifth horseman.

The simple truth is that now that I have moved to another country and living here, moving to anywhere else in North America seems trivial and simple by comparison.  Living here isn’t easy.  The things I took for granted are gone, and I want them back every day.  Even the bad things.

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