Of tears and timbits

He thought my sound went out on my end of the skype conversation. No. The sound was fine. The problem wasn't technical. The problem was I was trying not to cry. I had forgotten for the moment that he could see me still. Darn you video chat. 

I was trying not to cry over the box of timbits my husband had just showed me. Both us were taken by surprise by the existance of Tim Hortons in the United Arab Emirates. But one of the most important lessons we've learned on our little ex-pat adventure so far has been a piece of home will crash into our life when we least expect it but when it's most needed.

Some people know them as robins eggs or donut holes but we Canadians know them as timbits. They're just enough donut to get your deep fried glaze covered donut fix without feeling guilty for eating a whole donut. That little yellow box had reduced me to tears. It was the last thing I expected him to show me while he sat in his hotel room in Dubai.

But there it was. Our little piece of home.

He sat slurping is his "Ice Capp" and we reminsced about what these little balls of fried heaven meant to us. They represented road trips, hockey games, treats from a Sunday School teacher, an entire box of a single flavor for my best friend, our goddaughter taking bites and putting them back, quick snacks at airports before and after flights. They meant having coffee with friends, coworkers, my Oma. They mean childhood excitement and adult lunch break guilt pleasures. But more than anything, they mean a little piece of home in a land far away. 

There we were. I in our livingroom in Switzerland and he in his hotel room for the next week in Dubai. Talking about donuts and home. It was the best conversation we'd had in weeks. We've been singing from different hymn sheets for a little while but this sudden appearence of something from home not only had us singing from the same hymn sheet but the same verse. I looked at him at him and he looked back at me and we just knew, everything was going to be fine.


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