precious overtime

It's soon Valentine's day, so let that be my excuse. Have this need to write about this little thing called love. My dear dominican was so sweet to me last week when I was sick. He made me his special tea every night and made sure I didn't have to cook, clean or do anything but rest. On top of that he had my car cleaned, filled up with gas and checked the oil. There are plenty of wonderful women out there that would deserve a man like this, I just wonder how he fell into my arms? What have I done to deserve all I could ever imagine multiplied with 100?

I often wish I would be able to offer him a younger, more pure and innocent me. I feel a little too worn and used. Been through some pretty rough car washes that have left some marks both on the outside and the inside. Then again, thanks to these previous relationships, I can appreciate what I have on a different level than what I would, had I met my beloved at 18 or 20 something. 
Ever since we walked hand in hand for the first time, I have secretly been whispering to myself, please, please no more of this, make this the last. I don't want another pair of hands to hold, not another smell to get used to or not another mouth to kiss. No more.

 A song started playing in my head already a few moths into our relationship "his not evil, his divine ...he is my last in line". That's not exactly how the lyrics go, I made a personal adjustment but sometimes it takes a little Ronnie James Dio for a girl to know how she really feels. 
I feel very fortunate to have found him finally. He is making two women really happy. The 16 year old girl, dreaming about her prince, listening to music and fantasizing about him and the 36 year old feeling a bit used and abused by life, listening to music and fantasizing about something like a desterted island. 

 "You can't recognize the good ones unless you haven't tasted the bad"

I'm pretty sure I would have recognized my dearest's beauty had he entered my life sooner but then again he was absolutely worth waiting for. I celebrated my 4 year anniversary in Quebec in the end of January. My celebration was not a very successful one. I went skiing in ice rain. Was able to go down 4 times until I gave up as it felt more painful than pleasant. The drive home wasn't pleasant either and when I finally reached my bed, I realized my throat was sore and the next day I woke up with a fever and flu. If I hadn't met my Dominican, I think I would have a hard time understanding what the purpose of me moving from sweet Finland here to Quebec was. I'm very fortunate not to have to wonder about it. The purpose of taking a very rocky and bumpy road to Quebec is clear as the sky to me now. I got asked the traditional work question last week, "where do you see yourself in 5 years?". I had the image of my Dominican's hand in mine. It was not the right response for that moment, so I kept my image to myself. That is however where I see myself in 5 years ...15 years...35 years. Any more years than that will be very appreciated and precious overtime.

village gossip

I kept up the tradition of an alcohol free January just like last year, the "Dropless January" and will continue the diet with a "Sipless February". Ironically, this healthy diet gave me a flu or whatever this is. Normally when I would feel I'm coming down with something,I would take a sip of cognac and feel better the next day. Now I've just been forced to drink tea in bigger quantities while staying in bed. While I've been sipping on my sweetie's handmade delicious tea, I've been watching endless episodes of Miss Marple. Both older ones with Joan Hickson and the newer ones. Anything I could found. Anybody who have read these Agatha Christie's books or watched the movies knows that a certain amount of village gossip is shared over a cup of tea. So that made me think of the little ladies I met in the Old Port. 

These ladies are called "Les Chuchoteuses" (The Gossipers). A bronze sculpture by the artist Rose-Aimée Belanger. The ladies have been sitting there gossiping since 2006 and one can't help but to be a bit curious about what their subject might be. 

They are situated on the Rue St.Paul. The street follows the Saint Lawrence river and is one of Montreal's first streets. I have walked this street many times but only this fine Saturday in January did I noticed these lovely ladies for the first time. I guess I'm not much for gossip.

"Gossip is the art of saying nothing in a way that leaves practically nothing unsaid"