So Toronto is in the midst of a wee heat wave. We’re melting, and frankly, I like it… especially since the one and only Andrew of my dreams installed my air conditioner yesterday. I’m sitting in icicles at the end of this wonderfully busy weekend. Freaky Friday involved a day of photo blogging with Conor, followed up with some paths of no good and an over-cooked burger. Saturday brought the beach… or at least brought us to the beach. The east end of Toronto sometimes seems very alien to me, a west-end sort of girl. Andrew and I shook off our preconceptions regarding the elusive east, and hit up the area known as The Beaches. It was fucking hot, and every second of frisbee-throwing fun felt like walking on hot coals. To ease the scorching heat, we dipped our toes in icy Lake Ontario. The sand was so hot, and the water was SO cold. Very bizarre, but that’s Toronto for you. This heat wave makes us all want to charge our nearest body of water, ripping off clothing as we approach the coast… but to our dismay, it’s far too cold to wade in farther than ankle-deep. We gave up on risking the thermal regulation of our feet, and read aloud while resting on a towel and taking in the beach volleyball tournament. I’ve started reading ‘Love in the Time of Cholera’ by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, even though it’s been bastardized by the stupid Opera Book Club sticker of doom. The artistry of language is beautiful, and I was happy to read such a romance on the beach in the sun.
“He recognized her despite the uproar, through his tears of unrepeatable sorrow at dying without her, and he looked at her for the last and final time with eyes more luminous, more grief-stricken, more graceful than she had ever seen them in half a century of shared life, and he managed to say with his last breath: ‘Only God knows how much I loved you.’”
Whoa.