Strange

It might be the end of a long day, coupled with rereading one of my very favorite books, but I found myself idly poking through Wikipedia with Robertson Davies as the locus. For some reason not entirely understood, I had the hugest wave of homesickness when I read about Toronto (because of course, the city features prominently in many of Davies' books). Well, I shouldn't say entirely not understood, Davies taught at Trinity, which is my alma mater, and attended The Church of St Mary Magdalene, in whose Gallery Choir I sang throughout my three years at aforementioned college; I suppose in some ways I look to these books as a thin but tensile link to my former life, reminding me of the positive bits and sanding down the negative ones.

It was just unexpected, and completely visceral. It probably didn't help that I made pierogi for dinner (from scratch - booya!), one of those ethnic foods I will always associate with my early years in Toronto growing up in a heavily Polish and Ukrainian neighborhood. Gah, will Proust please get out of my damn life?

Proust will only leave once you read him... or say his name 3 times. Oh wait, that's Beetlejuice.