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I live now on Vancouver Island – a place the local Chamber of Commerce types think of as “a large body of land entirely surrounded by envy” – but I was born in a different part of British Columbia high in the mountains in the former mining town of Rossland.  Funky, picaresque, stupidly over-priced real estate, lots of snow and great skiing.  It was one of those snowy days in the middle of January my Dad finally took my Mom to the hospital.  I say finally because I was supposed to be a New Year’s baby, but baby, it was cold outside so I had the sense to stay cozy in the womb for another two weeks. That was back in the day when the town had a hospital with the name I’ve always hated, Mater Misericordia. Who wants to go to a hospital named misery.  The hospital in nearby Nelson, which had and still has everything Trail doesn’t, is named Kootenay Lake.  A beautiful name for a beautiful place giving the feeling of peace and tranquility.  Now that’s a name for a hospital.

I was five when we moved down the hill to Trail. Not funky, not picaresque, stupidly under-priced real estate.  “The last place in Canada where you can buy your house with a credit card,” my friend who still lives there said not that long ago.

Rossland memories are fractured, but our house half-way out of town on Columbia Avenue – the main drag -- grey plaster embedded with shards of glass aka “fucko” is still there.  I’m sure it’s been upgraded but on the outside it looks the same as it did the day we left in 1951.  Looking at it triggers memories like the time my big brother and Dad and I were walking home and I decided at age 3 it would be cool if I beat them into the house.  Running up the concrete path to the back door, tripping, launching through the air head-first onto the edge of the concrete step.  Blood everywhere, neighbours help and off we go to Mater Misericordia.  Terrified by all the machines burbling around me wondering how these machines were going to be used on me.  Five stitches.  Excluding my birth, the first of too many hospital visits that have haunted this one precious life.  (see Shitty Bricks).