Finding Cake Again

I can't remember where I read it, or when, but I do remember reading that the moment you realize you will never read in Remembrance of Time Past is the moment you realize you are no longer young. So I set it to read it a few years ago in a bid to LIVE FOREVER. Now that I'm two years older, I realize that literature doesn't work that way. But in spite of my time-ravaged face and (presumably) worsening eyesight, I've rounded the corner on the final book of Proust's work.

So, I asked for madeleine pans for Christmas. Cheated out of eternal life, I wanted at least to be able to dunk a fresh-baked madeleine into a cup of tea the moment I hit the final period. And thanks to that timely gift and Julia Child's recipe for Madeleines de Commercy (reproduced on hungry sofia ) I think I will be able to.

French recipes for baked goods are, of course, fussy as fuck, but these are worth it. They "humped" perfectly in the oven, and once cooled had a slightly crunchy exterior that was perfect for soaking up tea. Or forcing you onto a journey of remembrance, as the case may be.

Even Smitty approved.

Always Moving, Never Resting

A few weeks ago, the owner of my current building sold the house. With these glad tidings (for the landlord) came the sad tidings that all of the renters would have to vacate the building. Our little ramshackle house was going to finally catch up with the rest of the street, and return to being a single dwelling for some well-heeled, well-educated family.

My roommate and I are okay. We will be moving, with the collection of cats, to a nice place at St. Clair West and Bathurst. There's an ice cream parlour and Filipino bakeries in the area, so I'm getting ready to let my pants out. Unfortunately, before I can do that, I need to pack up. Again. It's a process I should be familiar with, given the recent timeline of my life:

August 2010: Pack up 6 years of Montreal living; return to Guelph
September 2010: Move to Victoria
April 2011: Move to a new place in Victoria
September 2011: Move back to Guelph
February 2012: Move to first apartment in Toronto
August 2012: Move to second apartment in Toronto
January 2013 (proposed): Move to third apartment in Toronto
May 2013 (proposed): Give up; move to Fort McMurray... forever

But I don't really feel like I have another move in me. Probably because I moved into an apartment with what appears to be six waiter's friends and an apocalypse-appropriate store of red lentils, and who knows where it should all be packed and why.

So, if you know me in real life and you happen to be in Toronto the first weekend of January, please lend a hand. My sanity depends on it, and I can pay you in lentils. 

In the Bleak Midwinter

This week brought to you by the colour grey.

I wanted to post something cute and quirky, but ever since Friday, all I can think about are all those little boots and mittens, that are probably still on a cloakroom floor. When things like this happen - tragedy that seems like it should have been written, not lived - the general consensus is that it makes you think. About what? Judging by my friends on Facebook, it's an even split between gun control, mental health advocacy, and a deep aversion to ever reading the news, ever again. I find myself falling, distressingly, into the third camp. The first two issues are crucial, but even together they don't seem enough. And every time someone re-posts a simplistic condemnation of the "media" to their wall, the arithmetic gets worse. So, I'm not sure what to do. I go out, I keep busy, and then I write here, hoping to connect, in a warm room which keeps the cold at bay.