Rose's Cantina

For a whole decade, when I was in my forties, I literally spent Sundays on my hands and knees. In the morning, I would polish the white ceramic floors in my condo -- a poor design choice in retrospect -- to an immaculate sheen. It was an obsession. I was like some kind of weirdo from Crazytown trying to scrub the dirt from my life. When it was all done, I felt better, refreshed. It didn't matter if the rest of the house was a mess, at least the damned floors were clean. Then, I'd whip up some marvellous Sunday gourmet dinner for the kids who were head deep into movies and video games. They might have preferred pizza or takeout, but I was going to make sure we sat down for a family dinner -- at least what was left of the family -- dinner. Back in the "Sad Rose" decade, after my husband left me, Sundays were my salvation. I would put on Blue Rodeo's Five Days in July for the cleaning and Valdy's greatest hits for the cooking. I liked to imagine myse...