A blast from the past ...

A knock on the door, and suddenly all notions of propriety fade away, as I race, makeup half done, hair in disarray and t-shirt hastily tossed on, my meal half-eaten on my desk, to welcome, squealing at an octave probably only dogs can hear, my guest.

My best friend from home - the photo albums of my life show us together from newborns through every major milestone, bad haircut, and bump in the road - has arrived for a visit.

While both of our lives have hit some serious snags in 2010, we can laugh hysterically at the ups and downs.

Because, when we're together we're still those three-year-olds holding hands and walking down the beach, and those 16-year-olds enjoying our first taste of freedom, picking up litres of softserve and cruising around town in our parents' cars.

Married, unmarried, divorced, dating, employed, unemployed, surviving or thriving, it doesn't matter. We're just Jen and Ty.

It's a welcome bit of home that, come Sunday, is going to leave me unbearably, unspeakably homesick. And, perhaps, speaking like a true Nova Scotian, throwing in "right" instead of very and pronouncing my 'R's just a little harsher.