Ter and I no longer live in Fairfield.
Our heritage suite was sold last fall and our new home is across the bridge in
Esquimalt, which is still within the Capital Regional District but is far
enough away from Victoria to be , as far as we’re concerned, on another planet.
Rather than being right across the
street, the ocean is two blocks away. I can still see it through my bedroom
window, but now it’s partially obscured by tall cedar trees and the rooftops
between here and there. The mountains I admired from the Ocean Room are visible
in the same frame—and yes, I have my own bedroom again. We both do, though
Ter’s is known as “the nun’s cell” because it’s so much smaller than mine. She’s
happy in her little den, as I am happy in what’s been dubbed “the Princess suite”
because “master” cannot apply when one’s house elf was accidentally freed from
service.
Fate has been extremely kind in granting
us a suite where no one lives below us in a building where all our neighbours
are older and (mostly) quieter than we are. We have more of them than we did
off Dallas Road, but I’m the only soul in residence who leaves at crap o’clock
because she has a regular job. Everyone else is retired or semi-so, but if
you’re inclined to laugh at us being roomies in an old folks’ home, you can stifle
the impulse right now. This place is a gift. It more than met all our
conditions. It included a few we hadn’t even considered.
In truth, I have never felt as blessed by
my loving friendly and generous Universe. Here, we can heal. We can rest and
recharge from the ongoing strain of living above entitled millennials while
adapting to a world, first, without Ter working and, second, without Mum. It’s
been tougher than I thought it would be—not that I thought much about it until
it happened, and if I had thought about it, I would never have imagined it
playing out as it actually played out. Many things have changed. It seems
everything has changed. One thing has not.
The view may be different, but the magic
is the same.
Your new digs sound like a dream. I always joke with Mom Myers that I'd fit right in with a load of retirees. That would be my ideal set-up. It would make me really happy. I like quiet. I have since Dad died. I appreciate it more than I can say.
ReplyDeleteOh, you're funny. A premature retiree, lol. I think the world is too noisy as a whole, don't you? I completely see why some vampires go mad, especially if they were "born" before the Industrial Revolution.
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