My Lady

Tonight marks my last night in Vancouver. I've had last nights in Vancouver before, so this one seems a little bit easier, more usual. My friends I'll keep, the furniture I'm taking, history and memories I've got, so I'm beginning to realise the thing I'll miss most about living in Vancouver is my one and only: La Condesa.

For those of you who don't know, La Condesa (Spanish for The Countess) is the name of my quaint little 1950's eight-suite apartment building. She has a pink stove and a pink oven. She looks out towards the South because she loves the sunshine. She's a bit of a hypochondriac so she lives right across the street from the hospital. She's got a quiet, breezy little roof deck and basically I just love her!

She has sheltered many special people - from Caitlin Campbell to Tanya Black, from Stefanie Schussel to Gabi Jirasek, from Navid Mozaffarian to Elise Freeman - and her warmth has been felt by all.

It's particularly sad to leave her now; things aren't going well for my Lady these days. She's had a couple break-ins. And the dumpster divers' clanging bottles keep her up at night. She's leaking and cracking and creaking and old. I know that, in time (ten years tops), she will no longer be, and a more stylish, greener, taller building will be in her place. So I fear this may be the last time I lay eyes upon her boxy form, her modest front lawn, her exhilarating entryway mosaic.

Ok, so I know the people taking over my suite, which means I may actually end up seeing her again, but in the spirit of romanticism: She shall e'er live on in my heart as the coziest post-collegiate hearth and home I've doth known. From now on, I shall shelter her memory, as she once sheltered my bosom and heart...

To La Condesa!