January 20, 2011 

Toronto, ON

Home Sweetland Home after a wee jaunt to Siberburbia. There I slept like a baby and kidnapped one small furry beast! Said beast are I back in the big city, warming up with some parsnip soup, and some serious Cary Grant.

A couple days ago it was my amazing grandmother's 90th birthday. It would also have been Cary Grant's 107th birthday. While I was out at my grandma's party eating potato-encrusted halibut and black forest birthday cake, my PVR was busily recording the Cary Grant marathon on TCM. Besides being the foremost exemplar of the debonair leading man, Monsieur Grant has also recently been starring in my dreams. For reals. But instead of playing a cat burglar, an anxious paleontologist, or a sexy CIA agent, he took on the epic role of "Captain of my Unconscious." Or so he said...

When I came upon him in dreamland, he was all dressed up like a sailor, in a ship sunk far below a phosphorescent lake. It was all rather Flying Dutchman with him just wandering his ghost ship for eternity, manning the depths of my deep, dark soul. Or something. But he didn't even remotely seem tortured. Instead, quite jolly. And very happy to see me. After une petite tête-à-tête, he handed me a helium balloon that lifted me up out of the sunken ship, through the phosphorescent lake, high into the sky, and onto the platform of an old Zeppelin. Where our hero just happened to be waiting for me with a top hat and a bottle of champagne. Obviously. It was a dream after all ... But what does it mean?

Perhaps I'll never know. But I certainly hope there's a bottle of champagne and a debonair leading man in my future. And of course, a Zeppelin.

x
K

Avec beast. More photos from our bon hiver here!