Tessalonika von Bonbon (nee Dog)

I just wanted to thank everyone who called, dropped by or wrote after Tessa died - it really made/makes a difference to feel the love and support. THANK YOU.

It's been a really hard time since I found her gone, the grief comes and goes but when it hits, it hits like a storm. I don't think there's a moment where I'm not thinking about her or somehow missing her, but I know it will get easier to bear as time passes. And I worry about that a little, like it'll be disloyal not to grieve or feel such a loss. So I'm making a little list of the joys. Not the stories - I won't forget those (nor will you, I'm sure), but the wee things that helped make my time with her so wonderful. If I do someday forget these things, they'll exist somewhere and that's good enough.

Tessa, I miss asking if you want to go into a tent, and the way you burrowed into the covers then nestled into my side. I miss how you'd stand at the side of the bed and hope so strongly that it could change the universe. How you'd get into position so we could lift you up, and how very crazy happy you'd be when you were up there but trying not to show it in case we changed our minds. I miss hearing your breathing and feeling your weight and warmth on the bed with me. I can NOT say I miss your horrific farts but I'd take 10 a day if I could have you back.

I miss the way you'd eat your food like it was about to be taken away or would never ever happen again. Your idea that just coming in from outside warrants not only a treat, but treats. The way you begged without begging, or managed to watch every person that had food, has food or possibly one day could have food. I miss saying Uh Oh when I drop something, and I miss you patrolling the floors for any crumb, real or imaginary. I even miss the lake of water that you'd make when you drink.

I miss the way you smelled like corn chips, and how you'd just fall into a trance while licking. Man, you loved to lick. I miss the sound of you padding across the floor or going up the stairs. I miss having to watch in case you ate the flowers, or sticks, or rocks, or dirt. I miss your wigglebutt, I miss your giving a paw or lying down or lying down all the way. I miss your excitement for everything, seeing people, going out, walking into a new room - it didn't matter, you loved everything. I miss how soft your ears were, and the way you'd sort of bouncy walk, and the way you'd let us know it's time for bed. I miss how happy you were when we got the dog bed for downstairs so you'd be able to stay with us in the evenings, and I miss you not being on your dog bed, watching everything and joining in. I miss you sitting by me on the couch, tucking your feet in under you to be dainty and warm. I miss whistling for you and seeing you bound over from whatever dirteating adventure you were on.

I have never met a dog with such a gentle nature, or such a happy disposition. You were a half-full kinda dog, no matter what. When we watched Cesar or Dogtown, I loved how you wanted to climb in the screen to see the puppies and help them. I miss how gentle you were with Trixie when she was a puppy, and how understanding you were with her as a teen and adult. She is a handful, and you would just roll your eyes and keep on keeping on. I miss, I really really miss how you'd know when I was sad and would just be there beside me letting me know that things go on, and that things would get better.

The night before you died, I think you had a heart attack while we were sleeping. I woke up and knew something was wrong - you were going crazy like it was the worst nightmare ever. I just stroked you and talked to you and calmed you down and brought you out of it. It took a bit, but you settled back into place and slept, warm against me. In the morning, all was well and you wolfed down your breakfast and went out to sniff everything, and we said goodbye when I went to work. Then I came home, went downstairs and opened the door. Trixie barreled outside, and I went with her, thinking you'd be right behind us. There are some moments I will never forget - the one when I knew something was wrong, and the moment when I found you curled up and gone away.

Just remembering it is making it hard to breathe, and Trixie just came over to make sure I'm ok.

I'm sorry I wasn't there when you passed, it must have been frightening and horrible and I hope you weren't in pain. I'm sorry you were alone when it happened. I always told you that I'd always come back, but my timing was off and we missed each other. I'm sorry I didn't give you more cookies, and let you on the bed more, and I wish you were here with me again.

You should know that Trixie the Brat wandered the house for 2 days - every floor, every room. She'd start upstairs, checking and whining and then move her way through the place looking for you. She would end at your dog bed, smell it and then start all over again. When we were out, she'd check the yard, and when we went to the park she'd wait for you to come to the leash before we could go. The only room she didn't go in was the room you died in. I can't go in there either.

Thank you for everything - and I do mean everything. You were an amazing dog, and I feel self-indulgent and stupid even writing this but I can't talk about it at all. There were years and years of good times, and I am so glad that you shared them with me. I'm so sad you won't be here to share our new life when Patrick moves in with us. You would have loved that, I know it. You were always so afraid that you weren't good, but you always were. You were the best.

Good lord, CBC is playing Jane Siberry singing Calling All Angels now. I'm not making it up. Bleah. She also sang a song called Everything Reminds Me Of My Dog. It's true, everything does.

Pictures to come

January kick off

What an interesting month!

The Russian Christmas party went well - lots of friends

and food, I looked down the stairs at one point and couldn't believe the number of people all in my home. Normally I rattle around in here like a dried pea but this was something else. It was wonderful. I had worried about not having enough food, about not getting to speak to everyone I wanted to, about some folks not getting along and about my dogs eating too many 'dropped' bits - all the normal things pre-party.

This is the shoe pile by the front door. Trixie was checking it out for potential treats or bricks of cheese.

Instead, I had Marnie, Jenn, Patrick, and Deena all helping me out in the kitchen. I can't tell you how much they helped.

Jenn has a touch for dough - the vereniki were perfect and I'm sure the legions of babushki were

satisfied and telling each other that Ukrainian

is good enough.

Marnie filled each round, a Chic assembly line as it were.

Deena took the reins for the borscht - she's had my Uncle's borscht years ago and knows what Doukoborscht tastes like. And Patrick was everywhere, mostly cleaning and tidying because he's afraid of me when I'm in the kitchen :)

Once again, Trixie is all about the cheese.

At some point, I realized that I had whatever food I had, and that the rest of it didn't matter.

We took a break, ate some vereniki fresh from the pot with melted butter like we did when I was little, we talked about everything and nothing while we cooked and it was beautiful.

In the kitchen, we talk about those times when it all just falls into place and everyone is just moving like a dance or a play, where it comes together like a song. We had flow that day, people. We had flow.

Then the guests started arriving. The out of towners first - which was perfect as I hadn't seen them all day. Family next - also perfect. I love my family, I'm sure you know that. I get as excited as a kid before Christmas when I'm going to see them, I kid you not. Then my friends.

Friends from every stage of my life in Toronto, people who have witnessed the best

and worst of me and seen me change and lose hair and gain pounds and helped me move and everything else. I must be doing something right.

I'll post the recipes shortly - they (mostly) worked, although we did get creative at a few points!

If you made it to the dinner - thank you for coming!!

If you couldn't, I hope to see you next year!

Thank you.

Back in the kitchen

Over a year since I posted - Wow. Sorry!

Well, 2009 was a busy year, and a good one. I'll probably do a year in review post later, but for now I'm more focussed on the upcoming Russian Christmas party!

VERY EXCITED. And a little stressed. Will people come? Will there be enough food? Will Trixie freak out on my amazing brother and his amazing girlfriend? Will I be a maniac and make Patrick stomp his feet? Will I ever get the smell of butter and onions out of the floorboards/walls/clothes? Hosting a party can be hard.

But I kinda love it. I'll be making many traditional Doukhobor dishes again this year - lapshevnik, borscht, vereniki, nalyesniki, pyrahi, ploh, etc. But this year I'm going to try something old but new, if that makes any sense.

Among the things I received when my father passed away were some recipes. His, my fabulous stepmother's, my grandmother's. I've got a little metal box filled with weathered and smudgy recipe cards, almost all in my Grandmother's careful hand, covering a whole range of things to eat and drink. There are some recipes she snipped out of the paper or from a package, there are recipes she got from friends and family, and there are many many many of hers.

All of them talk to me. I can hear her voice and that of my Auntie, I can smell the dough rising and picture the faces of the people she references in the recipes. I can also hear my Dad, Grandpa and Uncle - three men who sure knew a good meal when it was put in front of them. It hurts a little, there is so much I wish that I would have said or done. But it's wonderful at the same time, and I wouldn't trade it.

Anyhow, I'm going to use some of the recipes in the box instead of my own ones this year. Ann Rilkoff, Dorothy Popoff, Ann Lebedoff and Anne Plotnikoff will all be showcased. I'm loving Grandma's little notes "Delicious!" or "Peter likes this" - that's my grandfather. The only problem is that she assumes a level of knowledge that isn't necessarily there. One recipe for lapshai lists the ingredients and then says "Mix in the usual way". I'm sure when she jotted it down that she didn't even think that anyone could NOT know how to make lapshai from scratch.

Argh.

But somehow I'll forge on and do my best, and on Saturday I'll be celebrating life with my friends, my partner and my family - living and departed. I hope to do them all proud.

More as it happens, and I'll put up some pictures when I have them.