Knowing that I would be surrounded by shortbread, fudge wreaths and assorted bonbons,  I declared the month of December a sugar and gluttony free-for-all. It was a glorious ride. I sailed along the chocolate river, climbed the sugar mountain to it’s sticky peak, and rode the wave of a fudge tsunami. I have lived in a candy palace and it has been beautiful. Alas, the sugar fog settled in and I finally realized that it was time to disembark from the sugar train.

The past three and half days have been hell. It is hard to give up sugar. If anyone tells you they felt clearer, more energized and even tempered by giving up sugar they are lying. I have spent an inordinate amount of time reminiscing about those little Lindt balls of chocolate and the remarkably smooth and creamy sensation they leave on the tongue. I am kicking myself for all the cookies I ate without truly being mindful. Why did I take that meditation course if I didn’t learn to be more mindful? What was the point? What is the point of anything anymore if chocolate is out of my life. Oh dear cookies, I would never take you for granted again. I am staring at the brownies I still have left over from a pre-sugar moratorium baking spree. Why didn’t I eat more of those moist chewy squares, why?

I had a dream about butter tarts last night. Giant butter tarts as big as my head, nestled in a cardboard box. Their tops were burnished like creme brulee, the sugar all caramelized , dark and glistening. Why didn’t I have such a  prophetic dream before? I should have bought myself one of those little kitchen torches ages ago.

I spent an extra long time in the shower this morning savouring the delectable aroma of my special Philosophy Hot Cocoa body wash. It is heavenly, only comes out at Christmas and is always my festive indulgence to myself. I felt like I was in sudsy chocolate heaven and would have happily lathered up all day. I smelled so delicious and chocolaty that I lost control and licked my arm. It tasted like soap. Oh sugar goddess, it is hard to let you go.

Thanksgiving came and went this weekend. I meant to cook a spectacular autumnal feast with vegetarian stuffing, squash soup and pumpkin cheesecake. Instead I worked for much of the weekend and seemed to eat an inordinate amount of cheese and cookies. As it happens with every holiday, I was in complete shock that it was indeed Thanksgiving weekend and my fantasies of making pumpkin waffles, centerpiece gourds and  corn husk dolls for the cat were dashed. I need to learn some time management and organizational skills. I suspect that I will be in shock on December 24th when it dawns on me that I have yet to make all the homemade Christmas gifts I was planning on creating. A holiday just wouldn’t be a holiday without big plans postponed until the following year.

Despite my nonexistent Thanksgiving feast,  I managed to feel grateful this weekend:

• The sun shone for a whole day, which was very welcome after days of drizzle and overcast skies.
• I had an amazingly vivid dream about a raggedy hairy beige dog, a cross between Mr.Mugs and an Irish Wolfhound. The dog and I were completely enchanted with each other and although it was huge, it insisted on clambering onto my lap so that it could smother me with big doggie love.

• I enjoyed the refreshing citrus-y scent of my grapefruit shower gel.
• My  local coffee shop had my absolute favourite flavoured coffee  (German Chocolate Cake, yum).
• A client brought me baked goodies, including almond macaroons. I didn’t know that such a thing existed. So delicious.

• The Sweetie and I spent an evening doing a Julia Child voice competition (He won).
• We drove to Kitchener to admire the open farmland and fall colours.
• We found an adorable looking antique shop that had a cat with only three and a half legs who was very camera shy.

I have love, I have health, I have baked goods and I won the Sweetie lottery by nabbing the sweetest Sweetie there is. I may be lacking in cash and canines, culinary and organizational skills, but I am still a lucky girl, and I am very thankful.

How to avoid being crabby on a rainy autumn night:

• Eat The Sweetie’s best in the world pasta arrabiata – lots of it
• Have chocolate ice-cream in the freezer
• Snuggle under a blanket with the pasta king Sweetie
• Watch multiple episodes of Flight of the Conchords and high five The Sweetie for our brilliant investment in seasons one and two

The Sweetie found a recipe for barbequed pizza and was instantly obsessed.  I’d find the magazine lying open to the photo of the pizza, our conversations began to revolve around pizza options and he started reading topping variations to me as a bedtime story. Unable to stand the food porn anticipation any longer, we invited my parents over for pizza last night.

It would have been a lovely evening for a barbeque, if it had been LATE SEPTEMBER. It is JULY. In July I want to be fanning myself and wiping strands of sweaty hair from the back of my neck and swatting at flies and pulling my damp clothes away from my body. I was accused of being a cold blooded reptile by my cool weather apologist loved ones, but otherwise it was a perfect evening.

The barbequed pizza was scrumptious. The Sweetie rolled out store bought pizza dough, threw it on the hot grill, let it cook, then added crushed san marzano tomatoes, garlic, meat for my carnivorous parents, grilled veggies for me, cheese, then closed the lid to melt the cheese and let everything warm up. The pizza was smoky, rich and delicious. It was a perfect summer/late September meal.

I’m still savouring the past weekend. It is impossible to go wrong with a summer’s weekend, even ones that are sprinkled with rain.

Friday was a gorgeous night when the temperature felt just right on the skin. Cool but not cold, just soft and pleasant, perfect for sitting on a backyard patio with grapevines overhead. We had a roti-off with friends who have been singing the praises of Bacchus roti, while we were more partial to Vena and Gandhi. Not all of the contenders were represented but we had a mini roti-off between Bacchus and Gandhi, unveiled in all their roti glory from behind a homemade curtain to heighten the drama of it all. So far, Bacchus is in the lead for best roti in Toronto. It will be hard to compete with their mix of channa, squash and spinach. So yummy and creamy and delectable.

The evening continued with full bellies, beer  and a game of Uno with candles flickering in a gentle breeze. Summer transforms the simplest of meals and activities into something magical.

I look forward to the ongoing battle for Toronto’s best roti, an Uno re-match and breezy nights with friends. Life is good in the summer.

Ah, summer. It is the most glorious season, full of fun and sunshine. Unfortunately, it is just not coming fast enough for my liking and I am beginning to panic. Blink your eyes and the next thing you know you’re back in your parka with ice pellets hitting your face. I am determined to squeeze out every last drop of summer, whether or not the summer decides to cooperate. If I have to force it, so be it. With this in mind The Sweetie and I decided to go on a summer road trip over the weekend despite forecasts of rain and cool temperatures.

We armed ourselves with coffees, road trip tunes and a map marked with small town thrift stores. I had to keep the window rolled up for much of the drive because the wind was cool, but despite promises of rain the sun kept on shining. We drove to the Barrie drive-in and ate junk food and listened to mosquitoes throwing themselves against our car windows. It rained a little but drive-ins are never really about picture quality. They are about mindless blockbusters, snuggling in the car, watching the stars and eating way too much sugar.

The following day, bloated from too much food we lumbered to Wasaga beach. I love Wasaga beach at the height of summer. It is filled with ice cream stands, blaring music and tacky beach stores stocked with inflatable floating animals. The main strip is teeming with a smorgasbord of delights: testosterone fueled lunkheads making awkward advances at imposssibly skinny bikini clad girls, aging bikers with their bleached blond babes, and frisbee playing dogs. I feel like a well behaved, pale interloper and love to evesdrop and people watch behind the shelter of my novel. Alas, it was too early in the season for the beach to be in it’s full summer glory. I heard one girl who had been brave enough to venture in the water exclaim that she could no longer feel her legs. Nonetheless we huddled for warmth on our beach towels and pretended that it was a scorching hot day, even managing to burn ourselves in ridiculous patterns where we forgot to apply sunscreen.

We returned to the city sun kissed and triumphant. It was a successful kickoff to the season, despite summer’s lukewarm participation.