Just a random thought in the wake of tonight's annual meeting of the Shediac Chamber of Commerce. (And, truth be told, after dipping yet again into The Lord of the Rings over the weekend.)
Seeing as I still barely know anyone, my preferred tactic--barring random collisions--is to scan the room for someone who looks as out of place as I feel and try to strike up a conversation with her/him/them. Of course, that's not how one expects to meet the proverbial movers and shakers. (Because those folks are already part of a crowd or systematically working the room.) But it does lead into interesting territory.
Alas, it involves having to tell a bit of my story, and with that the (almost) inevitable cringe at people being surprised that, with all of Canada to choose from, Dennis & I staked our tent in New Brunswick.
I say "almost" because there's one demographic that never asks me that question. And it's a healthier demographic than one might expect. It's comprised of the folks who grew up in N.B. (or the Maritimes), left for "the west" (which, to the uninitiated, almost always seems to translate to the Alberta oilfields, British Columbia, or possibly Toronto), but then returned to raise their children. It's like New Brunswick attaches its own special bungee cord--or "brungee cord," if you will--to many of its children.
If there's any surprise to be had, I would think it would be the brungees rather than we arrivistes who should trigger any sort of head-scratching. After all, for all our neighbours know, we threw darts at a map...although a quick peep (followed by a morbid laugh) at the Toronto and Vancouver housing markets should tell anyone curious everything s/he needs to know.
Yet, while "How Ya Gonna Keep 'em Down on the Farm after They've Seen BC?" doesn't quite have the same ring as the original version, the basic idea isn't all so threadbare, even after nearly a century.
Some Hobbits (e.g. Sam, Merry, and Pippin) find that their adventures among "The Big People" (not to mention Elves and Dwarves and Orcs and more far-fetched creatures besides) ultimately make them see The Shire again with fully-opened eyes. Others--like Dennis and your faithful blogger--find that sometimes that the path never circles back. And, like Bilbo and Frodo, we are pleasantly amazed to find more welcome than we have any right to expect among people with different customs and history and even language(s).
Either way, New Brunswickers, could you pretty-please stop being surprised? Because in doing so, you're underrating your home--and by extension yourselves. Yeah, yeah, yeah--I totally get the whole self-deprecation schtick. I mean, I come from a long, loooooong line of Minnesotans and Iowans, fer cryin' in yer Molson's. Self-deprecation was hard-coded into my DNA several generations before I was born: If you cut me, I'll bleed humility (along with coffee, tater-tot hot-dish, and Jell-O salad). Nonetheless, could'ya do both the immigrants and the "brungees" a solid and validate our choice of postal code, m'kay? Merci d'avance.
