I won’t dance around it: this holiday season has been one of the toughest. With each passing day my shoulders become more hunched, and my desire to pour bowls of gravy and mash down my throat is not at its usual frantic peak. So far, I’ve just wanted to crawl under my covers until the holiday has passed.
That was, until I ran into my neighbourhood friend today, Don. I don’t know too much about him, and I’m sure he knows less about me, but my gosh we sure do enjoy one another’s company.
I met Don in a cafe on Gottingen street while spending time hanging out with the locals when I first moved here. Ever since then, he has been a staple of my life in Halifax. And gosh, I sure am happy for it.
(Don is known for bringing his own maple syrup to the cafe for his coffee — which I am totally in favour of — and then pointing out that “We invented this stuff!” He’s just the best.)
This morning, while walking my dog, Don spied us from his front porch and instructed us to wait. Lo and behold, he had a holiday card for us! The best part? It’s written in Mi’kmaq! Don later showed me how to write my name in Mi’Kmaq, but the rest of the card will have for be translated for me by my father (who is fluent in Mi’Kmaq*) once I travel back to The Farm for the break.
I don’t know what it was folks, but this card sure made my day. The little things, I guess. The little things.
jei
* So my father has since read this blog post, and insists that there is no way he is even remotely fluent in Mi’kmaq. He said all his aboriginal friends would laugh hard and long at such a statement. I would, however, like to point out that for much of my life I have heard my father have, at the least, minor greetings-style chats with folk in Mi’kmaq. So he outright denies fluency (that’s fair) but to some degree he understands/picks up what is put down around him. I had to write this FULL DISCLOSURE paragraph so as to not embarrass him further. Somehow I’m sure I just made it worse.
