For years, I've dreamed of seeing its street side. Was it really as big as it looked from below the bluff? I wanted to walk that neighbourhood and track it down, even if the cliff view proved to be its better vantage. I began to take note of where it sat, to use the bridges as borders to narrow my search. One of these days, I'd tell my husband on yet another sighting, one of these days I'm going to find that back door.
In the end, it found me.
I wasn't out happy-house-hunting, or even fancy-house-watching. I was looking for free parking, and running late for a meet up outside the MEC. My eyes, scouring for gaps between "no parking" and "resident parking only", were at the perfect height to recognize the stickwork just beyond the foreground, that familiar white under gray-green.
I couldn't park there, but I came back later. I left the van idling while I snapped a few pictures and revelled in the completion of my little private quest. I felt awkward standing on that residential corner, squelching the urge to call out to any and all passersby that I was not, in fact, casing the joint, but indulging in a small act of local tourism. It's no Buckingham Palace, but I've seen it, just the same.
Life is for living, no matter the season. And our small joys are joys all the same.