This summer would have been my twentieth in Ottawa. Imagine that. In 1990, my parents promised that we would move here “ONLY FOR A YEAR OR TWO, WE PROMISE,” and here we are (well, I am, momentarily), twenty years later. Despite living here for more time than I have ever lived anywhere, I have never once called it home. Halifax is home. Heck, Amsterdam and Hong Kong sometimes felt more like home. But now, as we pack the last boxes, dig up the plants we can’t bear to leave behind, and get ready to take cheezeball photos of us waving goodbye to this city on our soon to be not-ours front porch, it feels like home. And I’m going to miss it.

I have to confess that I have been finding this move-to-montreal thing rather stressful. Not in a hugely oh-woe-is-me sort of way, or as if it’s caused me to have anxiety attacks or anything, but they say that moving to a new city is one of the most stressful experiences you can have, other than getting married or divorced or starting a new job, and man, they weren’t kidding. I do not recommend giving this a whirl unless you are well and truly serious about standing in a lot of lineups and doing a lot of nailbiting. I especially don’t recommend the version of this where you decide to move AND start a new job in that new city at the same time (and just for kicks, throw in a six day vacation with your immediate family about five days before the movers show up). Bonkers is what that is (but the vacation part was delightful. Hi mom! That was fun!).

It hasn’t exactly felt real, these last few weeks. I mean, we’ve been talking to people for ages about this; “we’re moving to montreal!” has become the rallying cry for drinks and lots of celebration, hugs, tears, and a fantastic excuse to see favourite friends and people that we haven’t seen for a while but it felt remarkably uncelebratory while a mountain of empty boxes invaded our dining room just waiting for some treasured objects to fill them.

In truth, I’m not totally sure I’m ready for this. Not quite at the point where leaving the comfortable confines of our front porch and our quiet familiar streets that I know like the back of my hand feels ok. I mean, rationally, I know that it’s going to be all right, but last night while I sat on my sofa, with my terrified cat who couldn’t figure out what we did with his cat house and with no lights because they’re all packed, it felt less than exciting. Terrifying, might be more like it. And exhausting, too. I really hope that exciting is the stage that comes immediately after the part where I have to sleep in my empty apartment because *apparently* it takes moving companies at at least twenty-four hours to make a two hour drive. That is SOME detour.

Love., originally uploaded by mintyfresh.

in a city that is often maligned, tarnished with a reputation as boring and conservative, there is no shortage of public art that makes it seem like just the opposite. So many people walk by these often-stunning works on their way to and from the office and never bat an eye, while others delight in seeing something beautiful on their way to cube land (or in the case of my recent 15month downtown commute, office-with-no-windows-land).

Some favourites:

• My sonic deign prof Michael Bussiere’s V.I.P sound sculpture.
  Most often found *turned off* (thanks city hall!), you can occasionally surprise yourself with this magnificent sound sculpture. Walk through it often, and intentionally, and you will love it too.
• Maman, of course.
• The statues at the Library & Archives on Wellington (pictured above). They’re even more delightful when people dress them up.
• Nature Girls, by Laura Ford. You can find this adorable piece at the British High Commission on Elgin Street.

This is one of ten entries in my Ottawa top ten list. You can read the first two installments, ten, and nine, here.

bike love, originally uploaded by mintyfresh.

Some days it seems as if a staple of every urban home in this city is a bike or two. Whether it’s old, vintage, or new, everybody’s got one, and the instant it turns even moderately spring-ish outside, this town is riding.

Bikes have long been our commuting vehicle of choice, and we’ve spent many a weekend cruising along the canal paths, timing our 15Ks to the yacht club, or looking for a good spot to picnic with our DiRienzo’s sandwiches and Wellington Village bakery treats.

While Montreal has a great bike culture, I am going to miss the familiar trails (and sights) of the ottawa paths. No more will I see the awkward sunbathing man who rides with a boombox strapped to his handlebars (for the record he likes to hang out near Pretoria Bridge). No more sunset stops for mediocre pizza and plastic cups of beer at Westboro Beach on the way home from a day of sailing at Brittania, and no more Dirienzo’s bike picnics (though I guess that’s probably worthy of a spot on this list all it’s own).

Our bikes are going to miss this town.

This is one of ten entries in my Ottawa top ten list. You can read the first installment, ten, here.