First time "official" thanks were given at 400 Boreham

Well, the weekend of giving thanks has come and gone and there was much to be full of thanks for:

Hung out with the greatest gals, starting on Thursday night and ending on Monday (with lots of hang out time in between);

Enjoyed great dins complete with wine and giggles (Dear Pizzeria Gusto: please remove the pizza with anchovies on it from your menu…anchovies taste exactly like what they are – little fishy tasting fish. Not even the craziest amounts of salt can cover that shit up);

Went for a gorgeous run with the best runner in the world (we hightailed it out to Fort Whyte) – why does running always seems so much easier when you have a great companion by your side?;

PW’d around the neighborhood with Haney and Andrea dressed in long johns and toques and lest we get TOO healthy while we were powerwalking, we brought down our level of health by stopping at Starbucks for a signature hot chocolate with plenty o’ whip;

Had a wind-up party at a brewery. Seriously. A brewery. Oh, and my team dominated at Flippy Cup (yes, flippy cup – at a BREWERY!!!);

Had Andrea model for my photo assignment;

And….wait for it… Andrea and I cooked a (non free-range) 16 pound turkey with all the necessary trimmings for dinner with Mom, Dad, Ty, A. Gail and U. Craig!

So….

At the end of all the craziness that was visiting and laughing and sipping wine and …suddenly…saying goodbye…I did what I always do at the end of these fabulous visiting weekends. I get upset. I miss everyone more than usual. I start noticing the things I dislike about Winnipeg as opposed to noticing the many wonderful things about my adopted home. This feeling hit me last night at about 7 or so, shortly after: (a) I dropped Andrea off at the airport; and (b) Ginnie began overheating and I was in a crap part of Winnipeg with no heat in my car. I trudged home, plopped myself on a chair and let that wave of feeling sorry wash on over me. And compounding that feeling sorry for myself was the fact that I had to go to my first volleyball game at 9 p.m. on a cold and dreary Tuesday night in a place that I'd never been to before with a bunch of people I didn't know. Urgh.

But, being that I committed to a team, and being of the philosophy that if one signs up for a team sport (or anything, for that matter), one should attend, I hauled my butt to volleyball. And…

I had the greatest time.

I laughed. I met new people. I served underhand (and [mostly] made it over the net). I had the most hilarious “hit” of the night (Ty does a deadly re-enactment).

There just might be something to the old "sweat once a day".