Welcome home...

Tonight I was reminded just why I ever came to this crazy city in the first place. Today I took the #9 bus downtown, not quite through to Bridgeland, but close enough. It hit me that I haven't taken the #9 into downtown in months. I used to take this bus several times a week to visit Paul, and I would curse it for coming early, curse it for coming late, curse it because one isn't allowed to drink liquor on public transit or just curse. And yet, on that 45 minute sojourn I was left alone, with my reflection and my thoughts and if I was lucky, a few good tunes. Tonight, having caught the #9 on a whim, having met it downtown completely by chance, we met, made eye content and smiled. We exchanged our silent "I've missed you(s)" and "gee, where have you been(s)?" and I took my seat. In the middle of downtown, having to crank my neck to see where the lights end and the sky begins, it took my breath away and gave me the shivers. The empty devonian gardens looked it's usual pristine, steamy, glorious paradise and it was still snowing.

I remember coming to visit Paul as a wee adolescent when he lived by Fish Creek Park and coming to downtown in his mom's Volvo was a real treat. Seeing the skyline chilled me. The excitement of knowing that Calgary was "the biggest thing" I'd ever seen. It's funny how in youth everything comes in superlative form. I would dream of my "big" life, living in a pink apartment down by the river in Eau Claire. I dreamed of playing in the kiddie fountain and of my mom singing "que sera sera" to me while telling me of how my wedding would one day look. I remember dreaming of my Christmas Concert at Rideau Park Elementary, worried that I would be late or have bad hair. I dreamed of walking Sandy Beach with my dad counting punch-buggies.

I came home from downtown tonight and after having said goodbye to the #9, I swung by CPU. I munched my grossly large, surprisingly delicious Hawaiian pizza, and made my way home. It's nights like these where I miss this city and I'm still living in it. It's nights like these where I realize I'm not alone in this great big city and that despite the jive I talk about SUV-driving money-crazy Albertans, I feel at home. At home, more so here than anywhere else right now. Home, it's where you are when you're wishing to be somewhere else.

Welcome home, Lauren.