Coming to you from the great green northwest which, as these last few days have testified, is nothing like the great white north.
It is always such a hoot to come back to your old stomping grounds after a long period away. (Speaking of being ‘from’ Minnesota: hoot? Did I really just use hoot as conventional language?) Sure there are new strip malls around every bend, your favorite lunch place has moved to a new building up the street, and suddenly your home town has it’s own commuter train station, but there’s more than that.
There’s the feeling of unexpected shock at how things look around here. There’s that notion that this is all strangely familiar, yet strangely strange at the same time. I’m not as surprised by what is new since I left as I am by what is old yet feels new, feels different.
My mental maps are fading of this place. When I needed to get across town, I had to struggle to draw the roads toward each other in my mind until I could see where they met and how I would get there. I’m still not sure I took the most efficient route, but hey. At least I took a route.
But those moments of recollection are so great, aren’t they? Despite the duration, faded memories, changes, I could still find my best friend’s house with my eyes closed. The owner of the Teryaki lunch place still remembers me (and thinks my dad’s name is Robby, which it’s not). The cheapest gas is still right outside of town. That street in my old neighborhood still does the Christmas lights on their trees identically.
It’s a weird awareness of time and space to come back somewhere being so different from who you were last time you were there. I was not a mom last time I drove these streets, sat at this coffee shop, saw these friends. Much like my old city, a lot has changed for me lately too.