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:

Los Juegos del Hambre!

So usually I wait to blog until I have something interesting, bizarre, or intelligent to say. Well, I don't know if the following will fit any of those categories, but as I've said multiple times before, if you don't like it, read someone else's blog.

So I went to see The Hunger Games this Saturday. And I thoroughly enjoyed it. When I saw the teasers and previews a few months ago, I was doubtful. Don't get me wrong, they certainly rile you up quite a bit. But it looked like a shoddy production from what I could see.

BLOWN. AWAY.

I don't pretend to be some sort of advanced movie critic, but here's the thing for me - I was 100% entertained 100% of the time. I knew how the story ended, since I read the books, but every part of the moviegoing experience was there.

I felt an agitating but not unhealthly level of anxiety for what would happen next. (Evidenced by my frequent change in sitting position).

I slowly grew to like the Katniss character (which I think was the goal; you're not supposed to like her that much at first).

I believed the character's motivations.

And I was rooting for the correct people. (One of the many reasons Avatar was flawed, in my opinion. I was rooting for capitalism the whole time.)

My only complaint was parts of the soundtrack... I'm not sure if I just didn't get it, or if it was off, but the music seemed oddly placed in some parts.

I fully plan on seeing it again. And again. And I think you should too.

Coming home

Today, I just wanted to make a list.

Coming home is:

Chilling with my parents.
Chick flicks with my sisters. Not the new, predictable kind - the 80s ones or the classic-novels-turned-into-a-british-miniseries kind. North and South anyone?

Joking around with my dad.
Howling with my dog. If she weren't so afraid of the camera, I'd show you that.
high heels. I ALWAYS forget flats when I come home.
Shopping. Thrift stores, to be specific. LOVE THEM.
Mexican food. Mostly from hole in the wall places, but my chipotle lime chicken can hold its own.
Not driving.
Inn - N - Out.

The Lakers flag on my parent's car at the airport. They think it makes them easier to see. They don't even know the name of 1 Lakers player.
Warm food.
Free ingredients for said warm food.
A big bed. With a feather mattress.
Being able to chill in my pajamas until 4pm.
Hot cocoa, vanilla steamers, and tea. All the freaking time.
Movies. Lots of them. In the theater, at home, on TV.
Yarn working. Crocheting and knitting, people. I've gotten GOOD at it.

This is the scarf I'm currently working on. Mine doesn't look quite this good...

So here is my question. What is "going home" to you?