Where everybody knows your name
A popular TV series, from a number of years back, had a theme that mentioned being in a place where everybody knows your name. Home, in simpler terms. This afternoon, as we wandered this area, I had that sentiment. People called me by name (for the record, it’s not “Hey, you!”). It felt good.
I have no aspirations to fame and fortune, although extra cash comes in handy. I’ve managed to remain relatively unknown, for most of my life. That’s not apt to change. However, I will know the backstory of my local area from now on, and if my wanderings take me into a lane, I should know where I will end up. That home thing, again.
Today we had no big plan. The shop for net necessity is “as of” tomorrow. We managed to get something to eat that I never did find in Quebec City: a foil-wrapped donair, dripping fat and smeared with the familiar creamy sweet/vinegar sauce. Not good for me, but oh, so good. And since my system no longer remembers the digestive technique required, I still feel full, hours after the fact. Won’t need one for a while.
The dog loves that we have unfamiliar fields to visit. He’d started to treat his usual hydrant and lamp post route as boring, in canine terms. Soon, with his flea and tick collar around the neck, he’ll be dragging me “hither and thither and yon” as my father used to say.
And as spring turns into summer, we stopped by the campground, where “the usual suspects” are already installed. A brisk onshore breeze, today. Coat recommended (required). At home, we have the view, but not the soundtrack.
