I don’t answer calls from numbers I don’t recognize. I don’t. I don’t want to talk to telemarketers, and I don’t want to deal with scammers, and I don’t want surprises. So if the phone rings and I don’t recognize the number on my caller ID, I let it go to voicemail.

So today, the phone rang. There was no ID on it; it was just a number. So… ringringring, and off to voicemail. And when the message popped up in my email, I checked it.

It was a woman looking for a company, one that I guess deals in those bouncy balloon castle things. You know, the ones you can rent for kids birthday parties and stuff? Anyway, she said she saw the number on a sign on a street, and said “So if I have the right number, can you call me back?”

Well, she clearly does NOT have the right number, for I do not deal in bouncy kids castle things. Not that I am against them, mind you — in fact, if they made them in adult sizes I would probably buy SEVERAL — but I certainly don’t sell them.

But I was standing at my computer, so I looked it up. And sure enough, the company is here in town, and the phone number is one digit off our home phone number.

So I called her back.

I told her that she had the wrong number, but I had looked it up, and I gave her the correct number. She seemed surprised, but pretty grateful that I took the time to give her the right number.

And I felt pretty good that I did something nice for a complete stranger.

Maybe she’s thinking back on the call and thinking I’m a bit of a nutter. Or maybe she’s surprised that somebody would be nice and just give her the correct information.

Either way — do gooder or freak — it works out well for both of us.

I took my car in for service today, which — because there is SO MUCH WORK to be done on my poor old car — meant that I had to drop my car off first thing this morning and leave it at the dealership all day. And that meant I have to get transported from and to the dealership by their courtesy shuttle in between.

Normally, I am not such a big fan. I hate the concept of driving around in traffic by a strange man in a strange van full of strange people, stopping of at all their strange places of work or homes or whatever. What’s normally a 10 to 15 minute drive stretches into a half an hour. It’s not fun.

But today, I didn’t mind it so much. It was a beautiful sunny morning, not too warm yet, and I was at the back of the van where I didn’t have to see all the traffic, and the window was open and it was nice and cool. I actually quite enjoyed it.

It was like a little trip down memory lane. Only, not really.

You see, I have always loved this town. Even growing up in the armpit of southern Ontario, I always looked at this city as clean and green and pretty. So moving here after coming home from Japan was a no brainer. The job offer I got was serendipitous, and I moved in and never left. And I still love it.

The problem is, I had forgotten why I love it so much. BDH and I used to live right downtown in a great apartment in a 100-year-old house, and I felt connected. But then, as families are wont to do, we bought a house in the suburbs and for the last few years, I have rarely ventured outside my small suburban area. And I didn’t realize how much I was missing.

I drove around this morning and looked out at the beautiful parks, and the river with it’s bridges over and trails beside, and at the lovely old buildings and houses, and at all the shops and stores… all these places I had never been. I had meant to get to know this town, and visit all these places, but haven’t had time or inclination yet. But to see them as I drove by, I realized that I missed the city a bit. I thought, this is why I moved here. But I am not getting out and enjoying it. So to ride around and be reminded was really nice.

It’s just so green and pretty here on a nice spring morning. I was glad not to be in a rush. Sometimes the scenic route is the best.