Regina is the place that I always come home to. I've lived in a big west coast city, a small northern village, a Eurasian capital, and a university town in the Deep South, but I've always come home to this claustrophobe's paradise. I appreciate Regina anew each time I return. After my last sojourn away, I am proclaiming my love for Regina because I have never seen a cockroach here. (No, don't tell me your cockroach stories. I have never seen one here and never intend to.) I love the tenacious handplanted trees that blanket the city. I enjoy the small city size that allows me to frequently run into people I know and yet easily avoid seeing people I don't want to see. Mostly, I like the familiarity and the memories that places evoke - I'm an elderly person at heart.
Because I am elderly-hearted, I hate change. You could chalk up this curmudgeonly blog to my excessive nostalgia - if I hadn't recruited other ex-pat Reginans to contribute as well. There have been incremental changes for a while now, but in this past year, Regina has changed remarkably. Perhaps irrevocably. And we're going to complain about it.
Let the finely honed, articulate, incisive carping begin!
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