Its hot here in Calgary, and I mean HOT! Of course, a heck of a lot of people will laugh at me when I tell them that the torturous high temperatures we’ve been dealing with are hovering around the 35C range (somewhere in the 90s F I believe). To get some perspective, the highest temperature ever recorded in Calgary’s history is 36.1. Average highs for this time of hear is 23C (about 72F). The worst part is that we’re used to desert style dryness, but are having massive humidity. Also, we’re used to temperatures going down to an average low of about 10C (50F). Our city and our body’s are not set up for this temperature. Houses don’t have air conditioning, and body’s sweat uncontrolably. We don’t know how to cool our houses, and we can’t sleep at night.

This heat reminds me of our vacations to Vernon, British Colombia. These are Vernon temperatures, and several times over the last few days I’ve had sentimental moments as though I were right back in Vernon. Especially today, when I sat on the porch at my parents house in the sun and read my book and sunbathed.

My Grandmother’s house was brown, inside and out. Old person brown as though she forgot that lighter, brighter colours were in style. However, it was a beautiful house filled with comfy chairs and imaculately made beds (She was an old school nurse). Everything was always so clean and organized and splendidly peaceful.

Grandma was always waiting at the door for us, because her beautiful boarder collie dog seemed to be able to sense us coming for blocks in advance. Her yard was always full of exotic flowers and fruit trees; so mysterious for me coming from a place where spring starts in June as opposed to Febuary or March in Vernon. The flowers always seemed to have so much more time to grow here. They were always bigger and more colourful.

First thing was first. We would all marvel at how hot it was. Usually in the thirties. Grandma always had all the lights off and the blinds closed to keep the sun out. I was always so used to having them wide open, trying to collect as much brightness and warmth as possible.

After sorting out our rooms and quick “how are you’s”, it was off to the balcony. She had such a beautiful balcony. All brown of course, with steps leading to the back yard filled with more exotic flora, and the biggest garden I thought existed in the world. If hungry, we could just walk to the garden and grab what we wish.

Stretching beyond the backyard, without any interruption, was the largest and most beautiful park filled with luxuriously green grass and screaming East Indian children. Even farther beyond that layed the entire city of Vernon, and the hills beyond filled with fuit farms. Tucked between the hills were three lakes, Okanogan, Swan, and Kalamalka (sp?).

We would sit on that balcany for hours, my parents and Grandmother talking about what seemed to me as the most boring topics ever. I would simply sit in my chair with a drink in hand, staring at the city, and the haze as dusk crept up offering the only relief possible.

Once the house finally cooled down, we’d head to bed and sweat for hours in the still thirty something degree temperature. But even the temperature seemed to hug me in this environment, instead of strangling me. I felt so free and meditative there.

Vernon to me felt as though it were a paradise, filled with Garden’s and lakes and complete peace. You should have seen the disbelief that flickered in my eyes when my Grandmother told me that it truly actualy snowed in Vernon during the winter. Or the strangeness when I’d see kids going to school or people that lived their all year round as though they weren’t supposed to be there. And when I went home to the refreshing climate of Calgary, it felt as though I had visited heaven for a day and then was reincarnated, fresh, for real life.

Sitting on my parents porch, all brown, and with scorching heat, windows covered, lights off, staring at the view that is bigger than Vernon, but is only a small portion of Calgary, reading a book in hand, I fooled myself into thinking I was back in my little paradise.

I feel horrible that I haven’t been to Vernon in five years, but it seems too hard to get time. Plus I’m very shy and the idea of visiting Grandma by myself seems difficult for me (more irrationalities). I need to visit my Eden.

However, its never been the same since my Grandmother’s dog passed away. She was such a best friend to me, that Vernon seems nearly depressing to me when I go. I would sit and talk to her for hours in the basement while she just begged me to take her for frisbee practice. She was amazing, so intelligent…so missed.