Just Home.

Another day, another conversation with an old friend.  This time, it was someone I went to high school with here in town (all those years ago), and who, like me, made a beeline out of this burg as soon as that time could be put behind us.

We talked about that need to get out, and the lack of desire to never come back.  In her case, it's taken her far and wide - she's lived in every province west of Ontario, and travelled extensively.  Myself, it took me to the big city two hours south, and the odd trip within Canada.

We met in a coffee shop on the main drag.  She's came from her home in Manitoba.  I came from my home just down the street.  Along with the enjoyment of good friends catching up after too long a time apart, we talked a little about this town, about our love-hate relationship with it through the years.  How we'd come back to visit family, but avoid going out.  How we'd avoid coming back to visit family at all.  (Granted, in her case, well it's not really a quick drive from Calgary, after all.  My excuses through the years have been much flimsier.)  We talked about how those years are behind us both now.

A lot has changed about this town in the twenty years since we fled it at age 18.  But so have we.  For myself, when I first decided to return four years ago, those changes were difficult.  It was not the town I had left.

And that, it turns out, has been the secret.

This is truly not the town I left.  And so many of the things I left to get away from are no longer here: most importantly, my own perceptions of it.  The experiences of the wider world let me come back with new eyes, and a new heart.  This time, I chose to live in this town.  I chose to become part of the community here.

This is no longer the town that I lived in.  It is now, simply, home.

Just Heroes.

Had a great conversation with an old friend the other day, and at one point we were discussing how each of us is the "hero of our own story".

We are our own protagonist, and everything we do is filtered through that lens.  No matter the good or the bad, the mundane or inane; the actions we take and the things we say are all the things that the hero in the story of our lives does.  (Even the best written villains on page and film are ones who you can clearly see are acting as the hero of their own story.)  And just as there are many kinds of tales, we cast our own tales to suit our tastes.

Some of us want to live in great romances, or ripping yarns of rollicking adventure.  Others prefer quiet pastoral stories, or reflective philosophical tales.  Some want the saga of their life to be a story of great drama and history.

And, sadly, some just want their own story to be a tragedy, so they can revel in the woe of their lives.

We talked about people like that; ones we know, ones we've heard of.  And we talked about where we're taking the stories of our own lives next, and what adventures and challenges lay ahead for our own 'heroic' selves. 

It wasn't until later that it struck me that there's an even sorrier protagonist than the self-made tragic hero, though; those who are still waiting for someone else to write their tale.

Unfortunately, fate is a lousy author, and when left to chance life will favour those who tackle it headlong with the great epic chronicles.  Those who don't simply end up as bystanders, forgettable secondary characters in someone else's exploits.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have some derring-do to attend to...

Just Neighbours.

For the most part, this is a great neighbourhood.  

Trudi across the street is such a sweet old gal.  Anne & Jack next door are fine neighbours; Ray two-doors down can't do enough for you.  Across the street from him Krista & Mike have a growing family, and right on the other side of us are Derek and Rhonda and their girls.

All great people; it's an honour to know them.  And they're so quiet.

It's the other neighbours that make all the racket.

The Raven family start at the first hint of dawn with their loud rawk-rawk-rawk outside our bedroom window.  Then the Robins start.  Mind you, their singing voices are much nicer than the Ravens, but still; it's so early!

Throughout the morning we'll hear Mr. & Mrs. Finch chattering away at each other.  Our neighbourhood bachelor, Mr. Redpoll often interrupts them with his cranky chirping.

We have a local street gang.  Well, branches-gang, really.  The Chickadees.  They'll sweep in squabbling and rassling and darting about and then disappear as noisily as they came.

Our local hermit, Mr. Cicada, who lives in a tree and nobody sees, loudly razzes the neighbourhood on hot afternoons.

In the evenings, Mr. Cardinal sings beautiful love songs to his wife, while the Mourning Doves sit on the wire and pour out their grief.

At night, the Raccoon's have the loudest fights, crazy laughter echoes up from the parties the Loons hold on the lake, and the Nighthawk screeches overhead.

Thank goodness the deer are quiet...

Just Sticky.

It's been too hot and humid to even think lately.

Don't know what I'd do if there wasn't that nice lake at the end of the street.  I hear it calling me again right now...

Just Concise.

Long day, nothing to say!

Just Wider.

There's nothing like a nice trip to make you appreciate home.  It may be a cliché, but it is entirely true; not only sentimentally, but on a purely mechanical, practical basis as well.

You see, travel is a great cure for tunnel vision at home.

Consider:

When you travel through a new place, your eyes are quite literally wide open.  You are trying to see everything: scenery, sights, architecture, roads, traffic, signs, lights, people, around the next corner.  Everything, and processing it all in context, too.  Not only is it vital to your enjoyment of a new place, it's vital to your being able to find your way around it.  You're also trying, since you recognize that your time there is going to be fleeting, to memorize as much as possible so that you can recall your visit again and again over the years and savour it properly.

Now at home, you've seen it all.  You know where the roads lead.  You've seen the people.  And yep, that's about the ten thousandth time you've passed by that historic building or looked out over that scenic reach.  Got places to go and people to see, and they're not usually the ones right in front of you.

So your vision narrows.  You wander around your hometown with blinders of familiarity on.

Then you come back from vacation, with your eyes fully retrained for take-it-all-in mode, your brain still in full process-the-context gear.  And pow!  I never noticed that before...

The way the hills lie on the far side of the lake.  The birds in the sky and animals among the trees and lawns.  The curve of the road on your drive to work.  The look of all the shops together on the main street.  The mix and mingle of people on the sidewalks.

And you start to realize, this is how where you live looks to a stranger.  No wonder people like to come here...

Just Canadian.

I had the pleasure last night of visiting with friends who have chosen Canada as their home.  Myself, I was born here, and on the first of July to boot, and it's likely my sense of pride and patriotism in this country is influenced by those factors.  So it's nice to find that same pride and patriotism in people who chose to make their homes here.

Happy Birthday to this great nation, and all who love her as I do!