That's the kind of math I like

I did a little math today. I have (spread over 2 weeks), 7 days of classes left! For this semester. This does not include exam week or clinical time in the hospital, but this is a manageable number for me. 7 days. I guess that's not really math, it's just thinking, but whatever, work with me here mm'kay?

3 months and 5 days until I go on vacation. FOR A MONTH. There won't be ANY snow whatsoever. I'm not gonna lie, I've been spending a lot of time in the last little while looking at summer clothes that I'm lusting after, and thinking about summer menus to cook for my wonderful friends down south.

You know what's funny? I cook, like a lot. I'm kinda prideful about it (is prideful the right word in this situation? Only other usage of prideful I can think of is getting a lecture about it in school. God bless the catholics). Point is, I love to cook, I have fancy pants cooking utensils, and am forever feeding people and watching them react to the food (sidenote, I think that is the best bit about cooking. Watching people fall in love with something they never even thought of before. But I digress). Long story short (too late), I cook, I love to cook, and I don't think I have ever cooked for my family. For real. What the frak is that about?? Weird hey? I guess it's cause I don't live in Newfoundland anymore, and I didn't really find my cooking legs (whatever, you know what I mean) until I moved to Nunavut. Which is also kind of funny, given the price of food around here. It's expensive to be experimenting in the kitchen.

I remember the first time my parents REALLY heard me sing. It was the same sort of thing. I never really stop singing, and they heard me sing in church a bajillion times (which is not really singing, It's the little white gloves of singing.). But after my friend Michael's funeral, me and all my hippie friends descended on my parents house (mom made a giant meal for us all, as none of us had eaten for days. I wonder where I get it from.....) and after eating, we decided to sing. We wanted to sing him up. We sang every song every one of us had ever known, and then some.

My parents were there, hovering in the background, and I remember very clearly (everything that happened that day is burned into my memory), my mom saying to me later "I knew you could sing, but I didn't know you could sing like that. I didn't know you could do that." It is one of my fondest memories ever, let alone of that day, when there weren't many good memories.

I can't wait to do this again. I'm thinking a mango gazpacho to start.

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