So I'm back in Canada, in the small town where I grew up, sleeping in my old room and visiting my old haunts. It's a beautiful part of the world: wild deer in the backyard, countless oceanfront beaches only minutes away and nothing but green trees, blue skies and the river to look at out the windows of our family home. That and the cherry blossoms and wild flowers that have taken over my parents' property.
I made one phone call to a childhood friend (we bonded on the first day of Jr High when we were the only two girls in class wearing new dresses -- her out of duress, me out of a love for clothes. At the time, I told her it was duress. The alternative felt too much like social suicide) and within minutes, I was caught up on a year's worth of developments: births, deaths, divorces, affairs, poisonings, daycare politics, contaminated poop, exchange students, work take-overs and lawsuits. Yep. One phone call and I got it all.
Dusty, noisy Cairo couldn't seem more like a distant dream.