One of the things you tend to forget when you live in a capital city - especially for a very long time - is that it's a capital city. Sure, there are politics, and the local bars have things like "hill hour' instead of happy hour, but you forget about the part of being a capital city that brings people who aren't from here, well, here.
For me, Parliament Hill has always been a place that is part of the fabric of this city - and sure, it happens to be one of those places where we place those we've elected and ask them to look out for our best interests while valiantly hoping that they just don't screw it up, more than anything else - but it's also an Ottawa institution - for the people, for the politicians, and even for the cats.
Walking home from a night out recently, I was thinking about what I would miss about this town while meandering home from the market. And I realized as I walked past it, past the late night tourists, past the RCMP officer who always offers a polite nod but never a smile, past the lululemon lunchtime yoga spot, past where we used to feed the hill cats some treats and leave our spare change for the man who cares for them, that this place would be one of the things - so imposing and significant, yet a place where I always felt right at home.