Dear Edmonton,

Remember when I moved here, Edmonton, when I was 13? We liked each other instantly. I loved your dramatic river valley, your festivals, your funky secret neighbourhoods. I liked the friendly people who lived here. You seemed perfect for me, the unpretentious prairies of my rosy childhood. My whole family was recovering from a horrible, underfunded foray East, and you seemed like the antidote.

As years went by my affection for you deepened. I liked the great university, improv at the Varscona, the Shakespeare festival, the Indian restaurants in Mill Woods. I even liked West Edmonton Mall, in a weird, masochistic way, and I still go there to buy things one can certainly buy other places than West Edmonton Mall. I loved taking my dog (remember Toby?) down to the river valley in the summer and sitting, baking, on the clay shores of the river, and being able to believe that I was in the wilderness--and yet a fifteen minute walk away from squishees. I liked the LRT system. When I got a bit older and moved to Old Strathcona, I loved the Chinese takeaway and the local library and the alternative video stores and the farmer's market. Even the drunken frat boys didn't bother me much--they seemed so good-natured, like they loved you, too. I loved voting for an NDP candidate in the provincial elections--and having him WIN. I liked riding my bike to school in the bike-only lanes. I liked your new radio station, for awhile.

I still love all those things, Edmonton, but recently I get the feeling you are trying to drive me away. Call me, OK? Don't let this be our last communication. We can talk this through. But you will have to change your behaviour. We can't have an adult relationship based on your misplaced desire to test me. Also, fix those stupid potholes. And maybe try to do something about all the stabbings.

Love,
Jocelyn

(PS. Yes, I did just write "the unpretentious prairies of my rosy childhood." That, as James would say, just happened.)