It's like going to "Cheers", the bar where everyone knows your name. Well, not quite. It's not a bar - it's work. It's not everyone - it's a few. But still, it feels warm and comfortable. A little of the feeling of coming home again.
The conversation started simple, "Where are you from?" Instead of going into the details of moving from the farm to the big city and moving a few more times to get here, I simply responded, "Well? My story began close to [hometown]". That hometown is a 15 minute drive from here so that is a good enough response.
I didn't realize I was talking to someone who was on my old school bus route. "What's your name?" I gave them my surname. "Which one?" Dad had six brothers so the surname provided enough, but not all of the information. I told them Dad's name, they looked at me and said, "You must be Colleen".
Wow. Blow me over with a feather.
I'm one of the youngest in our family of four. We moved from the farm to a new province when I was nine years old. My older siblings grew up, went to school, married local and remain connected with the community. People know who they are. I'm one of the forgotten ones. Not yesterday.
That feeling of "coming home again" is renewed on a pretty regular basis here. Coming home again has never felt so good.
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