Hey Mirabel - as you and I are hunkering inside the house on this dismal rainy Sunday during the Victoria Day long weekend, I thought you should know what life was like in my first home. You see, I was born in Victoria, which is far, far away I think. Girl said Boy is there right now, and it's as beautiful as he remembered. He rented a scooter and rode past both my puppyhood home and my grandma Linda's home, which has been stunningly redone. Meanwhile, nothing's really changed at the little house. All of Boy's landscaping and handiwork is well intact, and around the block now is a cute modern coffee shop. Boy felt sad seeing the house, and I know why. It was because I was raised there - so many memories. Chewed up couches, pooed-on floors, knocked down baby gates, stolen underwear, dug-up holes for barfy bones. But also: dizzying laps around the spacious backyard, sunning on the deck, begging for barbecued goodness, cozy nights by the fireplace, walks in the charming streets, play pals at the local park, and lots and lots of camping trips.
Victoria, I miss you.
Victoria, I miss you.
