barbeque

I decided today that heaven will smell like barbeque.  which will be ironic since there will be no death, but maybe God will somehow make cauliflower taste like steak for my benefit.

i was washing dishes at my kitchen sink as this thought was sliding through my brain.  right on it's heals was another:  a scene from 'Bones' where they're tracking down a cannibal and she's told to follow the smell of barbeque. 

did I go too far there?  sorry.  I think the show may be changing me. I watch it while I paint - because it's entertaining and I don't feel like I have to have my eyes glued to the screen to follow what's happening - and, frankly, I love the unrequited love, the lingering glances, the body language of longing and fear and desire....i'm a total junkie for romance.   especially long-drawn out painful ones. 

anyways, I think it's changing me because yesterday we introduced some friends to a magical place here in Saskatoon.  it's called the chief whitecap park and it's a forest that you have to hike through, branches flying back in your face, traversing swamp and stream, prickly sticks and bugs.  you come across this clearing that's heavy with wild grasses, dotted with birch and ash (okay, i'm totally making that up, but it sounds authentic right?  I have no idea what kind of trees they are, but picture something lovely).  just when you think you're going to punch your husband in the nose if he makes another comment about your lack of direction and how you're never going to get there...voila!  you find a river.  and a river bed.  and the most intoxicating white sand you could ever ask for.  it's like Florida sand.  and there are little shells to find in the sand and crayfish claws and clean crisp water. and the whole time you're thinking "what?!"  "how?"  "what?!". 

unless you're me.
i'm thinking "if I killed someone this would be the perfect place to stash the body".

maybe I should cut down on my Bones consumption.

but back to barbeque.  we are in full summer swing here in the prairies.  a month ago I was freezing, literally.  and now it's all sprinklers and weeds and the constant drone of lawn mowers.  Saskatoon is magical in the spring.  the first warm day everyone shuffles out of their houses, teeter-tottering on their bicycles down the road, roasting weinies by the river.  we are all gleaming white (except for those who were lucky enough to hit a hot destination in the last few months, but they're only a shade darker), sneezing and wiping our eyes and deliriously happy.  it's amazing how dear my winter coat looks to me in October, and how much I want to rip it to shreds in May.  I just might.

we look at our neighbours over the hedge, dig out gardening tools we forgot we bought in the fall clearance bins, celebrate every green shoot and blossoming tree.  we made it!  we're alive!!! 

but the real magic of this season in this city is this- it makes us fall in love so deeply that we stay through another winter!  last night scott and I had a date and we ended up down by the river, sitting on a bench wrapped in a quilt, watching the sun set.  there were people having a ballroom dance class just down from us, a kayak silently slipping past, and a duck, asleep, drifting downstream.  perfect.  I asked scott "what will you miss the most?".  we decided we won't really know until we're in North Van, but conceded that on thing we will probably, remarkably, miss is snow.

tomorrow we sign the papers to buy a home across the country.  we had it inspected last week and I cringed when the inspecting referred to as, yes, a "fixer-upper".  and he's right, there are quite a few little jobs to do.  but no cat-urine-soaked carpets or cigarette smelling walls, so i'm happy!  we feel immensely blessed, cared for and protected in this whole house affair.  what a gift to have the God of the universe looking out for you.  immeasurable gift.

I went to home depot today and came out with a literally arm load of paint swatches, and I got a book out from the library on trim (as in the trim around your doors and windows).  this is how I mentally prepare to leave the home I love and travel to a distant land:  I plan home renovations.  renovations that I have no idea how to perform (except the painting), and will probably never come to fruition, but it comforts me to plan.  maybe it helps me feel connected to our future home, or gives me an illusion of control.  I will be lying awake in bed at two in the morning thinking "could I live with a mustard yellow wall?".  sigh.  i'm not painting a pretty picture of myself in this blog entry am I?  a mind bent on murder and home décor. 

on Sunday my son found a loonie and gave it to scott "to help us buy the house".  it was scott's loonie, but it was still sweet.  he showed the first signs of sadness at the thought of moving yesterday, because I told him we're not taking the carpet with us.  I don't blame him.  I told him i'm sad to leave it too.  I imagine myself the day we leave, lying prone on my bedroom floor, soaking up the last moments of it shaggy softness.  don't laugh unless you've touched my carpet - you have no idea.

well, the smell of barbeque has faded from the neighbourhood, but I can guarantee that little piece of heaven will return tomorrow.  the next time you turn on the propane, think of me.