Back and there again-Part 1

It's an cliche to say one can never go home, but like all cliche's it is also true. I recently had opportunity to head back east to southern Ontario. The excuse for the trip was a friend's third wedding (more on that later) and originally it was organized around the family tradition of Thanksgiving at the family farm, a week before the wedding.

My uncle's unfortunate remission understandably derailed those plans. The family spread to the four corners of the world and I endeavored to fill my week with as many visits with family and friends as possible. It has been two years since I was in the GTA and longer since I had visited Ottawa.

It would turn out to be a strange ride.



I was filled with trepidation on the flight in, I had made tentative arrangements with friends I hadn't seen in years to have lunch, have dinner and even crash at their homes. Landing in Ottawa, I was greeted by my parents and a surreality struck me: at what age does one no longer get picked up by their parents? I told my mom how I felt, explaining that it seemed like I should be arriving, renting a car and going to my hotel with plans to meet them later. Like a grownup, like a 40 year old man.

My mother's answer was simple. "Never" she said "You are never too old to stay with your parents".

I settled in at their home, a place I have know since I was a late teen. As I have moved through the two decades since, I always return, with the sense of home becoming more and more dim. It seems like a faded memory now, a place I would fondly visit but no longer my home. That sensation would return again and again as I traveled up and down the 401.

Leaving early in the morning, I borrowed one of their cars to head to Toronto. The long stretch of pavement between Ottawa and the GTA was well-worn in me, I had made this trip countless times. I was immediately struck by the beauty of the turning leaves along the road. The browns and yellows that dominate the prairies of central Alberta had dulled my eyes. Red, orange and even deep green lept out at me as I traveled. I had missed this simple beauty but I was also reminded of the clarity of the the massive sky back in the prairie, and I missed it immediately.

A quick reminder that I had once again returned to the busiest road in Canada smacked me square in the face as "Canada's Stimulus plan" forced me to a stop 5 times along the highway. The day after the Thanksgiving Holiday, construction held up traffic for over a 100 kilometers, adding nearly an hour to my trip. It would get worse when I entered Toronto proper.


Toronto traffic has always been a curse. With over six million people commuting for up to and over two hours one way every day, rush hour is nearly 24 hours. Only in the middle of the night does the traffic remain at a steady pace, the rest of the day is spastic fit of starts and stops. Cars stretch to the horizon across six lanes and while I had the misfortune of arriving during the "dinner hour", the sun set directly in front of me. Gold painted its way across the buildings and vehicles, rendering them darkened silhouettes against a sky of fire.

Eventually I made it into Oakville, some seven hours after I have left Ottawa. There was my first stop, and my first reminder of all I had left behind and lost touch with.