Dammit Gord. Why did you have to die? Just when I was getting my messy head sorted out, I heard the news and felt the nation-wide surge of sorrow. And I responded the best way I knew how – I extended my sympathy to someone who knew you better and loved you more and we spent a very long Thursday night toasting you with red wine from a box while watching your final hurrah on video.
Thursday night booze binges turn into remorseful Fridays and wasted weekends trying to get my 48 year old body back into shape for work Monday morning. The result? No clean laundry, no groceries in the fridge and a Monday night supper consisting of a grilled cheese sandwich made of freezer burned bread butts and cheddar with the mold blanket stripped off.
For good measure, I burned it, because everything cooks 10 times hotter and faster when you have your face in Facebook trying to think of something poignant to say about the passing of a national icon who was only 5 years older than me and whose voice instantly transports me back to house parties, basement jam sessions and boozy nights that turn into hungover mornings with nothing in the fridge to eat but bread butts and moldy cheddar. I think I’ll raise a glass and burn a grilled cheese this time every year, just to let you know you won’t be forgotten.
Cover Photo by Burst for Pexels.