So today I am home. Home.
After a wonderful three weeks away in blossomy, ocean-y paradise, I am back in my snowy, tiny Town.
This is the worst time to come back here. This Town is beautiful in almost every season except this one. In most of the western world this season is called spring. In our Town this is dog sh*t season. Over the course of the winter dogs poo, and that poo gets snowed upon, and then they poo again, and then that poo gets snowed upon, etc., and then all that poo gets preserved between strata layers of snow, and as the warmer weather arrives and the feet of accumulated white stuff melts, the dog poo emerges from its frozen state of suspended animation and takes on the form of mushy, floating turds in a disgusting slush soup.
Winter here is pristine snow sparkling like diamonds, potlucks, fairy lights, crackling wood fires, winter sports and coziness. Spring is filthy snowbanks, dirty cracked roads, ugly puddles, mucky cars, and patches of dead grass. Summer here is alpine wonder, bears, moose, caribou, wildflowers, spectacular storms, lush meadows and bustling activity. Spring is dog poo. Autumn here is dazzling yellow leaves, crisp air, the return of winter birds, the excitement of waiting on the first snow, tearful goodbyes to summer friends. Spring is mud and poo.
So, it is a little bit hard to come home right at THIS moment. My visit to my other home - the town we used to live in - was magical, sunny, with daily walks on the beach and amazing food cooked for me by my mom. It was constant help with the kids. It was revisiting the academic institution that feeds my soul. It was my sister and my brother-in-law being awesome with the kids. I missed the hell out of my husband. So, of course, I am happy to be back with him. But, as usual, his crazy job forced him to cancel the plan we had to spend a family night in a hotel tonight in the nearby bigger Town. He just never gets a break.
Also, and I have hesitated to write about this, so I will write around it: the situation with my mom-in-law, who lives downstairs in our place, is... challenging. Extremely challenging. And I'll admit, the break from that was a little bit needed.
I know in a few days I will settle back in to being home. I need to turn my mind to the work to be done in preparation for the upcoming season at the Site. I need to get some paperwork done, and to tackle the biggest task that keeps smacking me in the face - clearing out the girls' room (which is still full of unpacked boxes) and getting it set up for them. And in three weeks I go back to the ocean-y town to direct some fabulous young actors and get them all ready for a fabulous summer gig. So I better not head to Dollarama to get supplies for my pity party just yet. For now I will allow myself one day to wallow, gaze out the window, and watch the dog turds float gracefully down the muddy rivers of gloom.