Monday, June 7, 2004

5 days and counting...

...since I've been back. The process of coming home has never been as intense, sometimes I don't feel like myself at all. Sometimes I feel like a whingeing kid, and other times I'm so glad to be back. But, since whining never got us anywhere, here's a list of reasons why I'm glad to be back, also to satisfy Janice and her love of lists.

--there's something bracing about the Cape Breton air.
--the people are real, honest, friendly, and know how to make do.
--Cape Breton politics, by! The federal election is June 28.
--too many people to count that it is wonderful to see again. (Robin, Rachel, Dad, Claire, Janice, Kevin, Elizabeth...everyone.)
--we're never further than 50k from the sea, and on CB even closer.
--everyone plays music, or so goes the myth.
--you're never closer to yourself than you are at home. For better or for worse.
--food! a kitchen with spices, flours, sugar, honey, pots and pans! a root cellar with potatoes, beetroot, carrots! a garden with flowers beginning!
--my bicycle, that old thing, even though it could use new brake cables.
--my bedroom is a testament to the years gone by, in a way. a place to entertain others and go to for respite.
--mint tea comes in a big jar in the cupboard, wrinkled old leaves that smell pungently like what toothpaste wishes it was.
--dirt roads to learn standard on, dirt roads that lead to hidden beaches, and we don't encounter a single car on the way there.
--the mountains are old soft purple beasts sleeping.
--the place has a quiet way of making visitors fall in love with it.
--cheap photo developing! 4.99 plus 2$ for doubles, 48 hours.
--Mat is the only person who continues to tickle/chase/wrestle/beat me, even after I shout 'mercy!' and generally wuss out like an older sibling thinks she can. It's frustrating and terrifying and utterly great to have a little brother.
--Mat is also the only person in the world who gets it when I squeeze his arm, grin wide and say "curry moo-loo!"
--last but not least, my old collection of Vogue magazines! Oh, how I missed you, fascist Bible of style...

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