Country Mouse, City Mouse

I pretty much grew up in the bush just outside of Prince George. You know, where mud pies, bugs (mosquitos, spiders, ants), tree-forts, wildflowers, massive snow drifts, and critters are in abundance (one time we had some moose walk through our yard). I liked that we had to run down a muddy dirt road to catch the bus with our jackets half on and our lunchboxes flapping against our legs. I liked that when I was in grade five, the grade seven graduating class had three students. I liked that when you drove down the road and met a car, you gave them a little wave because that's just what you did in the country. I liked that it didn't even matter that we only had two snowy channels on the TV-- I, instead, got lost in a world where the imagination brought a whole world of entertainment. I liked the country. I liked its solitude, its simplicity, its speed.

Then we moved to the "big city" of P.G. where it smelled no longer of wild grasses and trees, but pulp mills! I remembered realizing how sheltered I had been from the world, especially city life. I can clearly recall the day when my friend Tracey taught me what J-walking was. But I mean, it was Prince George, so the hick in me was still a little bit at home. (Last night I actually dreamt of our house in P.G. and it had all been renovated. I wonder if we renovate our memories -- people give us a little bit more detail, or something triggers an additional memory and we add it to the pile.)

Kamloops was next, then Vancouver. It was a pretty big jump to go from the 'Loops to the 'Couv. In Kamloops we'd spend lazy summer afternoons floading down the river beneath the desert-like hills. Often when people drive through Kamloops they comment on what an ugly city it is, and I'm always shocked. I find its geography to be quite stunning and unique -- nowhere else in Canada is like that (people study Kamloops in Geography classes, you know). Plus, I lived there and knew its people, its hidden charms. But, when I had to leave, I was really excited to move to a REAL city -- it was like my evolution would then be complete.

The jump wasn't really that big, though. Sometimes it would hit me kind of funny that I was living in such a big place of culture and ideas and noise and speed. But I liked it. I was ready for it. I would go for walks around my neighbourhood and feel oddly connected to the people outside trimming their lawns or walking their dogs, even though I never talked to them. There's something magical about Vancouver; everyone can feel it.

I have been living on the fourth floor of an apartment building in Aldergrove for two months now. It's crazy. Again there's that sense of everyone being connected, yet we don't really talk to each other. When I'm in the elevator and someone comes in, I'm not sure what to do with myself (and I think I'm generally friendly). Sometimes we chit chat about the weather, and sometimes it's really awkward and I just look at the red numbers changing as we go past floors.

This morning my sleepy ears were met with the sounds of hammers, people laughing, screaming babies, doors slamming, and it was the weirdest thing. All of that chaos was going on at once, in the same place. I looked out my window and could see six pick-up trucks filled with possessions and a whole bunch of friends scurrying around, helping a family move. (I was reminded of when my sister and I would find the biggest ant hills and kick the crap out of them, just so we could see all the ants go nuts.) Other people leaving the building would open the doors to help the army of movers; meanwhile, people were installing hardwood floors in the apartment below me. This bustling of activity made me feel part of something. Part of a community, oddly enough. Then the theme song from Mr. Rogers Neighbourhood began to play -- and I figured it was time to end this post.

t. end.