The Way Home

I rode home the other day along the Vancouver Waterfront.  Falsecreek 'SouthEast.'  It was astounding.  Why?  Because I had never seen it.  I know Vancouver is 'beautiful.' How could I have missed this delight?The water laps gently, and everything reflects. The glass walled buildings reflect, the water reflects... My mind reflects.

Priorities.  That's definitely it, and location.  I was all pot smokin' eastsider when I last truly lived in these parts.  That, or maybe a student.  As my mind floats through my history I realize there are times I care about, can't forget, and struggle to remember. All lounging somewhere in my chest.  

My heart knows, my body remembers, my mind shadows.  Have I been before?  It's funny how I remember all the difficult things.  It's as though times without drama are dull.  Not much to catalogue, not much to mention.

  

I live now near Main Street.  Main Street in Vancouver, in British Columbia, in Canada. I believe it would be defined as the 'hip' spot.  Lot's of cool kids, hipsters, giving slightly bad service in pseudo fashionable 80's 'vintage' clothing.  I like Kits, the richy, rich district.  It's clean, it's expensive - there are a lot fewer addicts to witness.  It's full of eccentric health freaks and new-agers that used to be hippies.  I work in a restaurant that has both.  We provide the bad service in our skinny jeans to the customers who create a new dish every time they are there.  It's like home.  New York and Vancouver; they have this in common.

Vancouver is a port city.  A port city that is a treasure trove to the illicit.  Drugs and sex and serial killers, all present.  In recent local news the debate is whether or not to have legal brothels in the city, particularly by 2010 when this lovely city is to wine and dine the world with the winter Olympics.  If that's not ironic I do not know what is.  It's very left.  

I grew up here, I thrived here, I dived here.  It was my miracle and pinnacle, my deprivation and loss, my 'hometown' - self-described.  The Canada I lamented and the Canada that confronted me when I returned.  Since I have travelled and lived other lives this city seems small, meaningless.  Really, it affronted my reality and reminded me of my grief, and continues too.  Then, I notice the waterfront and I see old friends and family and I struggle.  I struggle to remember, remember all those good times.  I imagine they are right in front of me I'm just looking in the wrong direction, like behind.  Either that or I'm just no longer 'at home.' 

Onward and upward young Courtney.  Someone I love used to say that.  I'll try.