O Canada

Recently, I got to partake in the weekend getaway to beat all weekend getaways.

I went to visit my Texan cousin at her home in Canada.

My beautiful cousin.

My talented cousin.

My creative, artistic, kind, spiritual, culinary genius cousin.

Gayle.

My mother's brother's daughter Gayle, who is two months younger than me, but looks twenty years younger than me.

Though she and I had not seen each other in years, and had only communicated now and then via Facebook, it made not a smidge of difference.

We talked and we talked and we talked.
And we laughed.
And there may have been some consumption of homemade wine now and then.

{They make their own wine in Canada. They have "wine stores" where you go and throw a bunch of yeast in, and then come back later and pick up your 60 or so bottles of wine. It's how Canadians roll.}

One night, we went to visit her bff Mary Lou and her sister Sue.

The view from her living room, and pretty much every other room in her incredible house, was this:

I kid you not.

Crazy but true.

And in the pre-dinner hour, we sat and chatted casually as if this God-given sight was not looming just outside our reach.  And sister Sue sat and knitted mittens, and told us all about how she had just made moose sausages a week or so ago.

Umm-hmm.

She's from the Yukon.

Or she lives in the Yukon.

I'm not really sure how you say the whole Yukon thing, other than that you need to say "The" Yukon.

Like "The" Ukraine.

Except Ukranians probably have a lower people to moose ratio than Yukonians.

While we were eating dinner, someone thought it was a little warm in the house and suggested opening a window.

"Is it too cold out?", another asked.

"No, it's only about 0.", another answered.

Nods all around, window opened.

Canadians.





This was the breakfast Gayle made for me one fine morning.

That there is quiche, and bacon, and toast with homemade jam.

And I think I remember homemade fried chicken and mashed potatoes.  And biscuits.  But the food is all one delicious, mouth-watering blur.








And this is Gayle's little dog Georgia Peach.

She was a peach.

And when we went thrifting, she rode around in her friend Ken's hood.

Ken?  He's kind of important in Gayle's life, too.

When he talks, you think you're listening to the soundtrack of Fargo, and you pee yourself a little bit because he says, "That's real nice there, Margie".

And oh yeah, he's from the Yukon.

And he has chased bears.

Don't mess with Ken.  Don't let the "I'm adorable with cute little dogs" thing fool you.






And finally, here's Gayle.

See, didn't I tell you she was beautiful?

And youthful?

I hate her.

But I don't. I love her.

Really and truly.

Gayle, you need to leave Canada and come live with me in Pennsylvania. We don't have any moose, but we have raccoons. And possums. It's exciting stuff, I assure you.

Come live with me and cook for me and paint me beautiful artwork and make me wine and talk with me till all hours of the night.





Please?

Pretty please?




Love you, cuz!!!!!!