It's taken me a week to write this blog; almost as long as it's taken me to recover from the hangover induced from a visit to Ottawa last weekend. It was a welcome respite - an evening with three women I've known since I was a young girl. The oldest relationship in the group is going on 30+ years, the youngest only slightly less than that.
I had high hopes for a weekend of relaxation and laughs - one that I sorely needed after yet another punishing week at work. I boarded the Porter Q-400 "stretch" dash 8 (thank you Porter for the most humane air travel experience I've had in some time) from the City Centre, now called "Billy Bishop" airport with Hurricane Irene bearing down on us. An hour and a few bumps later, I was in the old haunts of my youth, downtown Ottawa. It's funny how you think you'll just remember directions in a city you haven't lived in for decades. I didn't. Thank you iPhone.
It was surreal walking around the Byward market. In many ways it hasn't changed much in the twenty odd years since I'd left. The biggest difference I could see was traffic - Ottawa appears to be falling victim to the Toronto disease of gridlock. But mostly it was quiet, way too quiet for an area that appeared to be the busy heart of the city. I found myself walking behind pokey Ottawans as they worked their way through the market, wishing they'd hurry the eff up. It was shocking to realize just how much of my life was spent in overdrive, that even now, on vacation, I wanted shoppers in a street market to quicken their pace or get out of my way.
A short ride out to the 'burbs and I was happily ensconced in a suburban backyard, draped under the ubiquitous mosquito netting that makes sitting out all night drinking a pleasant activity, instead of a virtual slap-fest, or game of russian roulette with West Nile Virus. The table was festooned with nibbles, cheeses, veggies and spreads. Sandra had outdone herself, as usual.
Then the drinking began. Soon, the rest of the crew were there - Sarah, my oldest friend in the world and Anne, who I hadn't seen since my first wedding.
Slowly, the awkwardness melted away and years disappeared with each passing cocktail. We regaled each other with tales from our youth, weaving in stories about our more recent misadventures. Sadly there were many stories of heartbreak, divorce, wrenching custody battles, infidelity and general disappointment with their collective love lives. Having gone through all of that earlier than the others and now happily on the other side, I was able to at least give hope that things can and do, get better.
The thing that surprised me most was the laughter. It sounds like such a cliche that "I haven't laughed that hard in my life" but I honestly think the last time I laughed like that was in my teens, when these girls were absolutely everything to me. Years have passed and we've been spread out across the country - some farther than others - making this reunion almost impossible most of the time. And yet it wasn't impossible. Plane tickets are not that expensive. One night is all it really takes to catch up if time is a premium. But it took us more than 10 years to make this happen.
I think the temptation after a weekend like that is to try and recreate the past, to move back to an area where you had a prolonged period of good times, to try and make the magic happen again. In my experience, you really "can't go home". It's a sad, bittersweet truth, but once those times are gone, they are gone and you cannot relive them no matter how hard you try.
But I will say this: I felt relaxed, funny, appreciated and loved by these women while I shared one evening with them. They laughed at my jokes - and I mean really laughed - these women are a great audience. They wanted to hear my sob stories and the good stuff too. They wanted to entice me to "live near them", be it Ottawa or Vancouver Island. I felt good about myself by the time I left. That was nice for a change.
I guess the good news is, that if these people, who knew you before you were anything, still think you're worth hanging around with, you can't be all bad.
Let's hope it doesn't take us another 10 years to figure that out.
M
