Every time I return to Hamilton I feel at home. It's not because there is a place in my heart for the smokestacks and steel factories that come into view as the 403 winds down the Niagara Escarpment. No, that certainly can't be it. And its not because I long to revisit my old apartment, cater- corner to the train station, where passing cars shook photos off my wall and blurred the morning news just as I was trying to catch the weather report. Nope, don't miss that very much either
It's not the Beeline bus stop, right in front of the exotic dance club on King Street East, where I'd stand on weekdays, waiting in front of neon lights as patrons break-their-erotica-fast in the early hours of the morning while I tried to look discreet wishing I hadn't worn a short summer skirt on a Monday. No...I don't miss that at all
What explains the warm, fuzzy feeling I get every time I take the Aberdeen exit is the company I am in when I visit. I look forward to seeing my Hamiltonian friends.
From right to left: Shawn, Adrienne, Kevin, George, Kelly and Jen. Soon to arrive and steal my vacant seat is Rako. Sydney is also MIA this evening. Together, they form a posse who I grew close with while at McMaster and remained close to since I left town.
Get-togethers typically begin as Jen brings me up to speed on current gossip. I admit, I have picked up on some investigative skills from that girl that might come in handy once I get going as a journalist. We manage to cover a range of juicy news over skewered antipasto-kebabs but by the time we get to the main course -and the boys joined the table- the conversation shifts, as it inevitably does, to training.
By comparison, these guys make me look much like a sloth, without the fur. But their company, along with the surroundings (I'm thinking escarpment, hold the smokestacks) is motivating. They are an energetic crowd, a group of kinesiologists, a bunch of endorphin-hungry athletes...like me. The motivation lasts only until Shawn gets the blender going. He is known to mix a fine frozen bevy and tonight's concoction including at least three different flavours of Bailey's brings my metabolism, and my mind, back to holiday-mode. I bet you wouldn't have thought of the Hammer as a holiday destination. I assure you its mind over matter.
I click my heels three times, but I am still here at my computer desk in Windsor.
There's no place like ...
