How much do I love this town?
This much: when I asked Rev. Robyn for a certificate of character she grinned and wiped off the icing I'd unknowingly smeared on my face. When I promised to behave in a manner that would bring only honour to the United Church of Canada, she smirked & muttered, "what's the fun in that?" And when I was done giggling, she said, still smiling, that it would be an honour.
How much do I love Rev. Robyn? Way too much at times. Way, way too much.
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I'm so used to living in my private world that it can take me awhile to notice anything on the outside. Old training, I guess. Grow up in a city and you get used to filtering out the sounds of the world just to get a little peace and quiet for your own thoughts. I still do it here although I don't have to. Today I walked several meters from my house in a daze before abruptly realizing how quiet it all was. I listened for civilization and got the faraway drone of a plane, hidden in the thick clouds. It was so quiet that I could hear the breathing of a girl 10 feet away.
I thought, Good Lord, I will miss this when I'm gone.
"No sunflower seeds?" he said, and with that the cashier pulled me out of my reverie. Oh my God, I thought. They know about my almost-desperate obsession with the salty seeds. It should've come as no surprise because I usually buy the little green bag here, but I guess I was still convinced that they would never remember...because nobody in Toronto remembers anything about you. I suppose this is what the book was talking about when it warned that after awhile in Wolfville you may get sick of everyone in town knowing your business.
But I'm far from sick of it. I love the fact that every walk downtown will bring a chance meeting with at least two known faces and I love knowing the names of at least 85% of my crewmates on the good ship Education. I hate the jockocracy of the university proper, hate the ranks of Gap-clad drones wandering to & fro all day long, but I love the town they walk through. I love the old stone & plaster church I visit every Sunday and I love the people inside, people who get sad when the Boy takes a cab and they miss the chance to drive 40 minutes to drop him off at his work. I love the softly falling snow that never lets us forget who's in charge and I love the view of North Mountain in the morning before I walk too far down the Valley slope to see it clearly. I love our silly student apartment with its scarred linoleum and gigantic bedroom and white institutional walls that we're too practical to paint over. I love the gentleness of Ceilidh that has sprung up ever since we moved to a quiet fragrant place where cats are common but dogs are infrequent. I love living in a place without distractions, or rather, without things that wilfully interrupt your attention. This place has distraction in spades, but it's the kind of distraction that Wordsworth knew about best.
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1 year ago today: full of creamy food goodness
