Upon watching PBS last night with some friends of mine [yes, I just used PBS and friends in the same phrase], I have been afforded a new zen-like vision to consume my thoughts. A commercial aired for a program featuring rustic lodges in the Canadian Rockies, like log cabins with picture windows framing beautiful halcyon fields extending toward snow capped mountains in the distance. I seem to recall one lodge having a waterfall right next to it. mmm.
If there's one thing to be known about me it's that I have a Canadian fetish [infatuation, lust, longing, etc. etc.]. I love Canada, especially Western Canada. This may be ridiculous in that I have only been to the Great White North one time, and that was Niagara Falls [not honeymoon related], and that was pretty weak.
Still, I am accosted with vistas like those last night and can't help falling in love with the notion of life in Canada.
After I hadn't spoken for a while, following the commercial, Amy finally figured out the source of my dreamy gaze:
[keep in mind, at least five minutes of silence had passed since seeing the commercial]
A.: deBiase, what's wrong with you--wait, you're still thinking about that Canada commercial aren't you?
d.B.: yeah. . .
A.: Thinking of living in a cabin in the woods; taking your kids fishing; watching the dog run around, like a golden retriever or a black lab. . .
d.B.: Actually, a beagle.
A.: Beagle, right. Wearing flannel and having an organic wife named Lilac or something.
I couldn't respond with any witticisms because I had drifted back to my dreamland of towering conifers, ice hockey as religion, and decriminalized reefer.