Sheryl Decterow

We finally got our heaters working a while ago. It’s lovely. They make explosive gurgling noises and wake us up in the early morning.

I’m visiting Calgary for the first couple weeks of December, alone. I’m imagining an espresso-fueled bender of cat-cuddling, manga-reading, project-finishing, family-cherishing, Daniel-missing, lurk-revisiting, happy times.

I logged in to Facebook and a Haagen-Dazs advertisement confessed to me that Oprah’s secret to staying slim and beautiful is their acai berry ice cream. I do love Haagen-Dazs; it’s probable that their coffee ice cream is my favourite ice cream ever. Oh, I’ve gone to their website now and it looks like their acai berry product is a sorbet, which makes more sense. I like their proposed idea of eating their fleur de sel caramel ice cream after eating salty oysters by using their shells as spoons, maybe I should try this except with the mussels I’ve been tempted to try every time I’ve gone to the French Meadow Bakery for the past five months and then I will die with pleasure.

I like this jacket a lot and it could be very useful as a top coat to my Prairie Underground hoodie in San Francisco. The reviews sound solid. I found it because on my way out today I had an idea for a coat to crochet, and was researching materials including a transparent waterproof shell or something. It always happens that when I get an idea for a coat, I find a sweet one that’s more suitable to the environments we plan to live in in the future. (San Francisco, Vancouver.) I could still manifest the idea I have, which is a longish hooded trench pea coat in red, probably this yarn, with silk lining. Honestly, the combination of all three could probably do me through this ugly winter creeping in. … Hmm.

Something smells like a sheep here.

It’s funny, if I haven’t eaten anything in a while then my mouth starts tasting like cilantro. No complaints here.

It’s a Sigur Ros day, rainy and dark and cold.

Last night we moved. THANKS, BOB, our truck tetris teammate!

I’ve been married and left my homeland and owned a condominium, but I feel far more legitimately grown up after moving into our new 1 bedroom apartment. For the first time, I share a bedroom with my husband. (the condo was a studio) This is wonderful – I close the door and can turn on any lights I want when I get up for work before he does. It has reinforced what home means, which is really cliche about hearts and things; which thus redefines itself, seeing as how my heart can be with many places and people at once. Can’t really say “I’m going home” and expect people to know whether I’m taking a bus or an airplane to get there. (Just as the speech therapist ordered – even higher demands for precise articulation!)

The wood (faux?) floors look really good with all of our wood furniture, which is surprising since I’ve always hated mixing and matching different woods. But this floor unites them. I am going to go walk around on it, putting things away and up.