The story follows 11 year old Winnie Foster as she meets the Tucks family, who are immortal since drinking water from a magical stream by her house. She falls for 17 year old (well, really 104 year old) Jesse Tuck, and he leaves her water to drink once she reaches the age of 17, so that they can be together forever. Of course, she doesn't since she realizes that a normal life is better than being 17 forever, so she pours the water onto a frog.
But the story is poignant and all about nostalgia. It's one of those stories that gave me unrealistic expectations for childhood summers and first loves, and I read it and "The Princess Bride" everytime I'm sick.
Nostalgia plays funny tricks on the mind. I grew up in North Vancouver, across the water and a 15 minute drive from downtown Vancouver.
My Mom and Dad's house is lovely and unpretentious and backs onto a greenbelt.
North Vancouver is an upper middle class suburb filled with professionals, but it also houses a bunch of adrenaline junkies who smoke a lot of pot, listen to a lot of sublime, and came to North Van for the kayaking, hiking, snowboarding, and mountain biking. My house backs onto, apparently, some of the best mountain biking trails anywhere, and one of my absolute favourite things is to go for a long run or bike ride through the trails. I live a 10 minute walk away from truly inspiring scenery, and in high school, we used to have these campout parties a half an hour hike into the woods.
I still love to pack a picnic and spend an hour throwing balls for my dog in the river and pretending I'm far far away from civilization. Shots of the river by my house:
Although high school was fairly horrific for me, I do miss the North Van snowboarding, backyard parties, and mornings spent eating homemade donuts and drinking organic coffee at Honey's in Deep Cove. Memory is a funny thing, and when I'm home in North Van, I somehow forget all of those socially awkward I-can't-wait-to-get-the-hell-out-of-this place teenage moments, and recall all of the good times. But really, North Vancouver high school so messed me up, it took me a good three years to accept that anyone of the male persuasion might actually find dimples, dark hair, and my personality attractive, since I was so tortured for my weird looks, weird clothes, and weird interests in school. I so internalized the feelings of inadequacy due to my lack of a fake tan, revealing clothes, and long blonde hair, that I occasionally find it hard to believe that people have crushes on me.
My teenage/childhood hangout Deep Cove:
Not everyone had a childhood with hummingbirds and bears in the backyard, and teenage years spent drinking beers at the rifle range (!) around a big bonfire, mornings spent working at Delany's Coffee House in Edgemont Village, and watching the sunrise before work up at Mount Seymour.
Everytime I'm in town, especially in the summer, my heart aches a little for my home.
No wonder I keep returning. But, as they say, you can never go home again. Well, you can, but it never equals the gold-tinged memories in your mind.
Sometimes I miss having old friends around. I like meeting new people, but I love the feeling that comes from having lots of people around who really care and think about you, and it takes a while to find that. Although I met a couple of good people in Seattle, I haven't really taken the time to get invested in the city. It seemed I was escaping every second weekend to Portland, Vancouver, LA, New York, the cabin, etc. Admittedly, there are a lot of people in Vancouver who gave me a really hard time about breaking a few hearts between the ages of 19-22 to the point where it was a relief to leave the city. There really is a double standard for girls. The guys I know break hearts all the time, and I'm definitely been disappointed by people who I thought cared about me more than they actually did. I'm still disappointed by people that I think like me as a person, but are really just looking for someone to hook up with.
Now, I wouldn't care about people being judgmental, but at the time I took it to heart that all of those people I thought were my friends were saying such awful things about me. The slutty boy DJ at my Friday night hangout actually kicked me out of the bar once since my ex-boyfriend was there and I was dancing with boys. I didn't handle all of those boy problems in the best way possible (now I am just always upfront and don't let myself feel guilty about the way I feel), but looking back, I realize what a baby I was. Doesn't everyone fall in and out of love a few times in their late teens and early twenties?
Anyways, it was so lovely to see Vancouver people this weekend. I went to my cousin Sean's birthday on Friday with my sister Jessica and went out on Saturday night with old Vancouver friends.
This Saturday night!
And yes, there is a karaoke video on my facebook from Saturday, apparently. You have to love when you wake up slightly under the weather on a Sunday morning only to realize someone has "tagged" you in a facebook video from the night before.
These are the mental images that make my heart ache a little for home:
Me riding a bike down Commercial Drive with groceries from the Italian deli and organic produce store in my basket, days spend down at English bay beach a block from my apartment with takeout and sunscreen, singing karaoke at the hobo bars, days spent at Wreck (the hippie nude beach) giggling at the drum circles and eating veggie burgers, sunny weekends at the Vancouver folk festival, tofu shishkabobs (sp?), sunlit patios in the west end, Lindsay's rooftop deck, mornings down at Granville Island eating warm bagels on the dock, going to dance nights where all of your friends on the dancefloor, the cherry blossoms blowing all over my front yard near Commercial, mornings running (late as always) to work at the coffee shop when the city is so still, never having to pay cover at bars, drinking coffee after coffee and talking and talking with friends, afternoons spent out on the ocean in deep cove in boats or kayaks, drinking wine in my hot tub after a day on the slopes, thai noodles at the Naam at 4am after a night at the bar, sangria and potluck parties, and being surrounded by good people I love and that love me.
Of course, nostalgia makes you idealistic. I even miss the packs of bloody mountain bikers that congregrate on my parents' street every morning.
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