Saturday, August 04, 2007

More letters from the archives

Senor Koopman,

My friend, 30 is fast approaching. It’s like the edge of the world in a Monty python sketch. But you know if the world was flat, Columbus would have never hit Costa Rica, and MTV Latina would never have saved millions of culture starved Mayans from colourful woven sacks and pan flute dance extravaganzas. So it’s 30, but the world is round, and so there is still hope for the lot of us.

I live in a country where 70% of the population is 17-29 years old. On Friday nights it keeps me feeling young. Not so at noon on Saturdays when old age starts knocking at the back of my head. Word has it that you escaped to the north for another summer of wilderness adventures, fried fish, and cervesas. What holds for the future? Where are you hiding out this winter season? It’s been too long my friend, coming from one who has no sense of time. Staying in touch with those closest to me has always been my strong point, but don’t let it fool you into thinking that I think of you often.

So, this will be my first Christmas away from home. Strange to hear Christmas carols wafting from store fronts, Christmas light icicles hanging from doorways, palm fronds waving in the evening breeze. My traditional sense of season won’t accept it. So I will spend my Christmas feasting on rice and beans, listening to Shakira, hopefully unwrapping some exotic Latina, and hoping it snows on Christmas morning.

I will be home in January, arriving the 10th and trooping around the province until the 25th. My plans are mayonnaise at Utopia, wood hauling at the Koopmans, wood hauling at the moms, wood hauling wherever else I can find wood to haul, snowball fights in Toronto alleys, snowboarding, guitar playing in front of every warm wood oven I can find, and of course enjoying the company of those closest to my heart. Here’s to you on your birthday. Write me tales, if you would, of northern loony adventures, future plans, and fortunes waiting to be conquered.

Your Friend,


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