Tuesday, December 12, 2017

The Magic Number

You know you move around alot when someone hears you're planning to stay somewhere for 7 months, and they say "WOW! Thats a long time!"

Norman and I have been living in Kelowna for almost 4 months. And I have discovered: the magic amount of time for living in a certain area is 3 months.

In the first month, you're just getting your bearings. Figuring out where the essentials are. What the best eateries are. Where to go see movies where the popcorn is fresh and not stale. (In case you don't know, popcorn is MY FAVORITE. And movies are EVEN MORE MY FAVORITE.) That sometimes, the chickens escape from their coop down the road and come chill in the orchard where you like to do yoga in the morning. 


Here's a photo from the top of a magical hike!


In the second month, you get to discover the extra little surprises - that every morning, there's a wind just after sunrise that makes all the fall colors shimmer like something out of a fairy tale. Or that there's a COOL little board game place where the owner can't organize to save his life, but he knows everything there is to know about all the thosuands of games in his shop. That there is a candy shop that carries every flavor of nerds.

In the third month, you get to benefit from your knowledge. Spend every day enjoying the magical little parks you've found, traipsing through the shortcuts you're sure no one else has figured out, and visiting your favorite breakfast place and chatting with the owner.

Then comes month four. The shininess of the place has worn off, replaced with a fatigue that has less to do with sleep, and more to do with needing a change. You're sick of that stupid wind. And the candy shop is always out of blue and orange nerds. The movie theater is too crowded sometimes. You're sick of the parks you've visited a thousand times, and don't have the energy to find any more. 

I go on a walk with Jewels and Lana every morning, and I walk by these homes of people who have lived there for long enough for their homes to have stone signs out front, proclaiming the name of the family that lives there. And I wonder what it's like to "put down roots". I picture these families as giant, sturdy, twisted oaks - strong, and deeply rooted to the ground. I wasn't built for "putting down roots".

I'm a tumbleweed. This is me:


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