Mulling on Red Shoes

I learned something tonight. Earlier I was talking with my friend Laurel about Cape Breton and Hamilton and the distance between places and people. She asked if I felt welcome here. I answered that I do feel welcome for the most part. For some people I will always be from away but those people aren't likely to make the best friends so I think I'll stick with all the people who have welcomed me home.

But there is still something of the tourist in me. Like I'm just passing through when in reality I'm going to live the rest of my life here. So I have to really accept this reality and embrace it.

One way that I feel like a tourist is that when I go out (rarely for a miser like me) I go to the Red Shoe Pub in Mabou. This is a spot for tourists. The license plates out front read Vermont, Massachusetts, British Columbia and they are sported by the most fabulous antique cars and Harley Davidson motorcycles. The food isn't very good given what you pay and it doesn't have to be. Locals sometimes attend but mostly tourists drop their large wads on the tables and move on.

In Mabou there's another restaurant called the Mull. The Mull is open all year to the Red Shoe's seasonality. To be honest that's all I know about it. I only passed through the door once, to put up a poster (in typical Ontario fashion). It felt dark and small at the time, nothing compared with the bright and cheery Red Shoe. But it's the real spot. It's made a commitment. Real people go there not the playboys and playgirls from New England.

So I'll be going. This week. Small steps matter.