I'm starting to find myself seeing stories everywhere. Going through the day, and oh - there's a potential story, and here's something that definitely needs to get into the next blog, and here's something that I'd better do a bit of research on before shooting my mouth off, and more often then not: "Frick really? I had no idea. That's definitely something to tell folk." Stuff we come across, people we meet, moments we have, patterns that start to emerge, all of these are little pictures that chronicle the day. And I'm starting to note them as they happen. I imagine it is much like how I imagine a photographer views the world, framing a moment in time and cropping it to let us know where they focussed, what stuck to them. And as everyone can look at the same thing yet see something different - I for instance see bunnies - I expect we all end up with different stories that comprised our day.
Let me say for the record that I am pleased as punch about this. Seeing stories that is, not the bunnies.
Switching metaphors for a moment, I suspect one of the difficulties/dangers/styles, that could emerge from all of this is the list, or perhaps if you took the time to cull it a little, the highlight reel. Today's Top Ten. And what a great thing to do. All the moments that could be popped down in bullet form so that each one was captured. Would that tell a story though? I imagine it would, but would anyone know why those items made the list? Would I remember why each of those events made it? Is a mnemonic enough?
I don't know. What I do know is that I think I want to write as many stories as I can, and draw up as few lists (which will be tough as I am somewhat of a Type A) as possible. No one ever gets the full story anyway. Even the people living it.
So why am I rambling on about this? Well, if you're a student of foreshadowing, you may have guessed that our day yesterday travelling from Charlevoix QC to Plaster Rock NB was a day that warrants a highlight reel. You would be correct.
The day started in Charlevoix with pig on the air. The end of the day in Plaster Rock ended with skunk. Isn't symmetry wonderful? Okay, bookending the day with striking olfactorial intrusions does not symmetry make, but wait, there's more. Leaving Charlevoix and travelling west back to Quebec had us travelling the north side of the St. Lawrence through the Laurentian mountains. Crossing over the St. Lawrence had us soon moving east and through the Appalachians. See? See? And while not the chronological midpoint certainly the symbolic midpoint of the day would be the crossing over from Quebec to New Brunswick. And yes, this actually did come with a bit of a fanfare. I cheered. I clapped. I haven't been to New Brunswick before, so entering a new province was a moment for celebration, even if just a little one.
And some great discoveries along the way. The touchscreen radio for example. After a couple of days of scanning the FM band, constantly shifting from clear, to fuzzy, to french talk radio, to fuzzy, we decided that, even though it was Sunday, that we would try out the SAT button. Ah! Behold! Satellite radio. Not a button dedicated to the seven day of the week, or sixth depending on how you want to count. Now we have 20's on 2, 30's on 3, 40'4 on 4, and you get it I hope. Not to mention the other 181 stations. And yes, 80's on 8 is where we spent the most of our time, though 70's on 7 did creep in now and again, and we even tried Hits 2K on 10, but only for a minute.
Another great discovery - for me anyway. The fact that there were two zip lines spanning it suggests others were already aware, not to mention Sherri had told us it was coming up on the right, so maybe "discovery" is the wrong word. Anyway, this other thing we saw (see, while more accurate, certainly not as cool sounding as discovery) was Grand Falls, a water fall in NB that, in springtime has a waterflow 9/10 ths that of Niagara Falls. I mean - holy cow, that's a lot of water.
But the greatest one along the way, and likely why I feel like I now am overflowing with way too many stories to ever tell, were the people. Sherri's family in Plaster Rock. People all carry their stories, and make their stories, and each time you meet someone you get to hear these stories, make new stories with them, and share your stories, sometimes discovering that you had stories you didn't know you have.
And that's what happened the moment we arrived at Sherri's Aunt Heather's home. Family and friends were all there. Food was out and already well gotten in to (we were running late apparently). Immediately welcomed, and immediately hearing stories. The stories they shared are their stories to tell, so I am not going to tell them here. But there were stories. Stories of travel, stories of family, stories of Plaster Rock and its community. Surprisingly no embarassing stories of Sherri, for which I am sure she is a tad relieved. We didn't need more material. It was an evening of stories.
Wonderful warm, welcoming, amazing people, with amazing stories. And, as I already mentioned, the opportunity for new ones. I think Sherri's Aunt Angie summed it up best: Some of the worst decisions make for the best stories. And while I don't think there was any poor decision making on anyone's part, the day did end with a good story.
The end of the evening saw the five of us settling down with Heather at her dining room table, which I should mention is in this amazing log house on the banks of the Tobique river, river stone hearth and chimney rising up through the great room, the whole bit. We had settled down to play Mexican Train, a variation on dominoes that the boys and I first learned to play over New Years in Kitchener with Marc, Sherri and our teacher in this, Sherri's mom Colleen. I won't explain all of the rules of the game, but the basics is it gets to be quite long as you play many, many rounds as each round starts with one of the double tiles, and you need to work your way through all of the doubles. We were playing with the highest tile being a double twelve, so that was twelve rounds.
Anyway, it got late. Thomas, a family friend, whose family had built and lived in the house we were playing cards in, was outside doing some latenight gardening with his dog Maggie. At one point we all heard a sound from outside, something like a whine or animal cry, depending on who you ask. We promptly ignored it and continued on with the serious business of Mexican Train. Then we heard the front door. Then Maggie came running in and hid under the table we were all at. Then Thomas came running in calling for Maggie to come out, apologizing profusely for her getting in, and saying she got sprayed by a skunk. Then we smelled skunk.
Ah, symmetry.
Monday, June 30, 2014
Sunday, June 29, 2014
Charlevoix
It smells like pig. And not the yummy bacon kind, but the live, squealing, I don't know where you are but the wind is gong the right direction and thank the heavens I haven't had breakfast yet pig. Actually, it's not that bad. And it's not all of Charlevoix.
This was the smell that greeted nay, embraced us like long lost kin when we arrived at the Maison Chez Laurent yesterday. After a couple of hours driving east through beautific hills with surprise glimpses of the St. Lawrence along the way, evoking a tranquility in us all that must rival that of heaven, this air-born delight was a welcome respite. Someone really should bottle it and use it for aroma therapy.
Maison Chez Laurent is a motel located just outside Baie-St-Paul, one of the lovely towns dotting the Charlevoix region. I have not had the privilege of staying in a motel before, and I am happy to report that it has lived up to the exacting standard/bias I have formed over the years in the absence of empirical data.
The region is delightful and we spent a relaxing day discovering some of it, going as far east as Saint-Simeon to dip our toes in the St. Lawrence and clambe along the rocks, and stopping for dinner at Restaurant L'Orchidee in La Malbaie. Wonderful food, excellent service. Seafood all around for the lot of us. Go figure. What else do you eat after tracing the St Lawrence river for a day.
Previously in the day we had spent our time attempting to explore parts of the Charlevoix "Flavour Trail", a collection of artisinal and otherwise bakers, brewers, cheese makers, farms, well, you get the idea. We collected baguette, pate, squeaky cheese, smoked salmon, cider, and of course chocolate, found an excellent spot to picnic, and proceeded to polish off the lot. All of it scrumptuous.
Oh, as an aside. We all like food. It's gonna come up a fair bit. I mean, the point of this day was to go around to different places and eat, so ya, you get the idea. We like food.
I would say that the one disappointment about that part of the day was that their weren't enough places that offered samples. Following the map, available at many of the places noted on said map (go figure) we seemed to end up mostly in stores, rather than in where things actually get done. Not that things don't get done in stores but either you get my meaning or you are being deliberately obtuse and I really don't appreciate that. Actually, I do appreciate being deliberately obtuse. It can be fun.
Anyway, based on previous experience in other parts of the world (wineries in the niagara region for instance) we assumed that the places on the map would be the place where the work gets done, and that they would have a lovely little store with tasting counters offering free, or token priced samples of their wares. And in all honesty, we had hoped to spend the day gorging ourselves in this way and not have to pay for a meal or two. Alright, I can't speak for everyone else in the car, maybe that was just me.
In truth, we didn't get to a lot of them, and, had we done a bit (read "any") research before coming into the area we likely would have known where these types of places were, which ones we definitely wanted to get to, and the best way to move between them that would allow for the optimal order of epicurial experience.
That said, it was a great day filled with great experiences. I am sure along the way that some days will be more planned than others. I am very good at planning. I like it. I almost need it. And I am trying to tone down that particular behaviour. Not orchestrating each experience along the way means possibly missing something that would have been super cool. Orchestrating everything along the way means missing experiences that just "come up". Either way you experience stuff and you miss stuff. I guess the trick is to make the most of whatever you experience, and I believe we all did a good job of that in Charlevoix.
This was the smell that greeted nay, embraced us like long lost kin when we arrived at the Maison Chez Laurent yesterday. After a couple of hours driving east through beautific hills with surprise glimpses of the St. Lawrence along the way, evoking a tranquility in us all that must rival that of heaven, this air-born delight was a welcome respite. Someone really should bottle it and use it for aroma therapy.
Maison Chez Laurent is a motel located just outside Baie-St-Paul, one of the lovely towns dotting the Charlevoix region. I have not had the privilege of staying in a motel before, and I am happy to report that it has lived up to the exacting standard/bias I have formed over the years in the absence of empirical data.
The region is delightful and we spent a relaxing day discovering some of it, going as far east as Saint-Simeon to dip our toes in the St. Lawrence and clambe along the rocks, and stopping for dinner at Restaurant L'Orchidee in La Malbaie. Wonderful food, excellent service. Seafood all around for the lot of us. Go figure. What else do you eat after tracing the St Lawrence river for a day.
Previously in the day we had spent our time attempting to explore parts of the Charlevoix "Flavour Trail", a collection of artisinal and otherwise bakers, brewers, cheese makers, farms, well, you get the idea. We collected baguette, pate, squeaky cheese, smoked salmon, cider, and of course chocolate, found an excellent spot to picnic, and proceeded to polish off the lot. All of it scrumptuous.
Oh, as an aside. We all like food. It's gonna come up a fair bit. I mean, the point of this day was to go around to different places and eat, so ya, you get the idea. We like food.
I would say that the one disappointment about that part of the day was that their weren't enough places that offered samples. Following the map, available at many of the places noted on said map (go figure) we seemed to end up mostly in stores, rather than in where things actually get done. Not that things don't get done in stores but either you get my meaning or you are being deliberately obtuse and I really don't appreciate that. Actually, I do appreciate being deliberately obtuse. It can be fun.
Anyway, based on previous experience in other parts of the world (wineries in the niagara region for instance) we assumed that the places on the map would be the place where the work gets done, and that they would have a lovely little store with tasting counters offering free, or token priced samples of their wares. And in all honesty, we had hoped to spend the day gorging ourselves in this way and not have to pay for a meal or two. Alright, I can't speak for everyone else in the car, maybe that was just me.
In truth, we didn't get to a lot of them, and, had we done a bit (read "any") research before coming into the area we likely would have known where these types of places were, which ones we definitely wanted to get to, and the best way to move between them that would allow for the optimal order of epicurial experience.
That said, it was a great day filled with great experiences. I am sure along the way that some days will be more planned than others. I am very good at planning. I like it. I almost need it. And I am trying to tone down that particular behaviour. Not orchestrating each experience along the way means possibly missing something that would have been super cool. Orchestrating everything along the way means missing experiences that just "come up". Either way you experience stuff and you miss stuff. I guess the trick is to make the most of whatever you experience, and I believe we all did a good job of that in Charlevoix.
Saturday, June 28, 2014
Cloud Godzillas and the Dreaded Camels of Quebec
You would think that eight (make it closer to ten) hours along the Tran-Canada highway between Toronto and Quebec City, henceforth referred to as highway signs and people alike refer to it: Quebec, does not make for much of a first step on our trip, or that, beyond reciting the first twenty verses of "This is the Song that Never Ends", there would not be a great deal worthy of note. You may in fact be correct. I'm gonna do it anyway.
What surprised me about the trip to Quebec was how new it all got to be. I've travelled the 401 highway between Toronto and Montreal too many times to count, and, getting into the car yesterday morning with Noah, Jake, and our friends Marc and Sherri, (who do drive incidently, so this is not a case of us all sitting, saying "vrooom" and using our imaginations) I was pretty sure I wouldn't have much to say about the drive to Quebec, or at least a good portion of it. It's gorgeous though. There is so much green, and so many different greens, and the highway just seems to go on through this wonderful tunnel of colour. It's beautiful in the autumn too. But right now, green it is. And of course a big blue sky dotted with clouds. Big cumulus clouds. There Godzilla. There Jack's dog Zero. What surprised me though was actually what I saw. And no, I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Farms: yes. Towns: yes. A crap load of other cars trying to get through the tunnel under the St. Lawrence river outside Montreal: yes. Aliens: no. Dinosaurs: yes - birds are dinosaurs afterall as Marc informed me. I mistakenly believed that while birds evolved from dinosaurs that they were classified as something else. Apparently I was mistaken.
I saw alot of the stuff that has always been outside the window. The fun thing is, this time I actually noticed it, took it in, thought about it. This time the little rusted barn type building nestled down the hill just off the highway grabbed my attention and found a place in my memory. This time I experienced the space we were travelling through, And, paraphrasing many a license plate, it was beautiful. And I think that what is really neat is that, because this is the first step of a year of travel where everything outside the window is going to be new, that this familiar space I have seen so many times got a chance to be new again too. And it did not disappoint.
We arrived around 8pm and checked into our hotel Auberge du Tresor, which is ideally situated in a square right by Le Chateau Frontenac, in the heart of Vieux Quebec. Dinner was fondu, and a lesson. The lesson was: remember to ask questions. The fondu was fabulous, but of a different consistency than what I am used to. I'm used to something very smooth, while this had a bit of a grainy texture. I don't know why, but I expect it is the types of cheese used. I am used to a swiss recipe that consists primarily of gruyere, swiss and one other I never remember until I ask my Dad. I don't know what this one was. I should have asked. It can't hurt to ask. And really, if we want to learn from these experiences, then voicing a question now again is likely a good idea.
We spent the night walking the streets of the old city, hearing music, watching street performers, getting ice cream, riding the funicular, hanging from camels - actually canons, but I'm not the clearest of speakers at times - and enjoying the night.
I am, sadly, all but entirely mono-lingual. I speak very, very little french. The fact that I hesitated to write, and then looked up "un petit peu" for the correct spelling should be a testiment to that. Surrounded by the french language was honestly a little isolating. Part of that has to do with feeling apologetic for not speaking french, as I really feel I should but have not done much to resolve that. This though got me thinking about what lies ahead. If lack of language can bring on that feeling on day one of the trip while still in my own country, then I can only imagine what the rest of the year and its many destinations will bring. I'm looking forward to finding out, and I am looking forward to having to crack through that self-imposed isolation and connecting, ever-so-apologetically, with people.
What surprised me about the trip to Quebec was how new it all got to be. I've travelled the 401 highway between Toronto and Montreal too many times to count, and, getting into the car yesterday morning with Noah, Jake, and our friends Marc and Sherri, (who do drive incidently, so this is not a case of us all sitting, saying "vrooom" and using our imaginations) I was pretty sure I wouldn't have much to say about the drive to Quebec, or at least a good portion of it. It's gorgeous though. There is so much green, and so many different greens, and the highway just seems to go on through this wonderful tunnel of colour. It's beautiful in the autumn too. But right now, green it is. And of course a big blue sky dotted with clouds. Big cumulus clouds. There Godzilla. There Jack's dog Zero. What surprised me though was actually what I saw. And no, I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Farms: yes. Towns: yes. A crap load of other cars trying to get through the tunnel under the St. Lawrence river outside Montreal: yes. Aliens: no. Dinosaurs: yes - birds are dinosaurs afterall as Marc informed me. I mistakenly believed that while birds evolved from dinosaurs that they were classified as something else. Apparently I was mistaken.
I saw alot of the stuff that has always been outside the window. The fun thing is, this time I actually noticed it, took it in, thought about it. This time the little rusted barn type building nestled down the hill just off the highway grabbed my attention and found a place in my memory. This time I experienced the space we were travelling through, And, paraphrasing many a license plate, it was beautiful. And I think that what is really neat is that, because this is the first step of a year of travel where everything outside the window is going to be new, that this familiar space I have seen so many times got a chance to be new again too. And it did not disappoint.
We arrived around 8pm and checked into our hotel Auberge du Tresor, which is ideally situated in a square right by Le Chateau Frontenac, in the heart of Vieux Quebec. Dinner was fondu, and a lesson. The lesson was: remember to ask questions. The fondu was fabulous, but of a different consistency than what I am used to. I'm used to something very smooth, while this had a bit of a grainy texture. I don't know why, but I expect it is the types of cheese used. I am used to a swiss recipe that consists primarily of gruyere, swiss and one other I never remember until I ask my Dad. I don't know what this one was. I should have asked. It can't hurt to ask. And really, if we want to learn from these experiences, then voicing a question now again is likely a good idea.
We spent the night walking the streets of the old city, hearing music, watching street performers, getting ice cream, riding the funicular, hanging from camels - actually canons, but I'm not the clearest of speakers at times - and enjoying the night.
I am, sadly, all but entirely mono-lingual. I speak very, very little french. The fact that I hesitated to write, and then looked up "un petit peu" for the correct spelling should be a testiment to that. Surrounded by the french language was honestly a little isolating. Part of that has to do with feeling apologetic for not speaking french, as I really feel I should but have not done much to resolve that. This though got me thinking about what lies ahead. If lack of language can bring on that feeling on day one of the trip while still in my own country, then I can only imagine what the rest of the year and its many destinations will bring. I'm looking forward to finding out, and I am looking forward to having to crack through that self-imposed isolation and connecting, ever-so-apologetically, with people.
Thursday, June 26, 2014
Um... Where did June get to?
My last day of work was May 30th.
I left work with a plan.
That plan has failed spectacularly.
The plan was to get up each day, do some stretching, do some blogging, and then get on with all the other wonderful things that needed to get done in order to start on our trip. Purging. Packing. Visiting with friends and family.
Purge - check.
Pack - check.
Visits - check, check, several more checks, I'll get the cheque.
Stretching? Um... no. Well once, so let's just call that no.
Blogging? You're reading it.
FAIL.
Okay, sure, I got the time sensitive stuff done.
I purged.
I know of people (strange, strange people) who, when they are moving, take the opportunity to go through their belongings and get rid of stuff. I also know of people (even stranger) who have established rules, especially for kids toys, that have something old go out when something new comes in. While I applaud these people I cannot count myself amongst them. I am not a purger. I'm not a hoarder either. I keep stuff. Not too much stuff, but definitely stuff. And I don't make an effort to go through it and get rid of some things at various seemingly logical points. I like my stuff, that's why I got it in the first place. Right?
But I gave it a go this time. And I did so primarily because I A) did not want to rent out storage space, and B) did not want to bury my mother and her home in all this crap that I don't really care about. If I was going to bury her in crap, it needed to be crap that mattered. So what mattered?
Well, the approach I took to this kinda sprang from my thoughts on packing for the trip. If we could live our lives comfortably for a year out of a 40L bag, then how much do we really need to live the rest of the time?
I've already told the heart rending story of going through my books, so I won't dwell on that painful memory again. Actually, I will. It got worse. I got through all of my books, made difficult decisions, and got it down to two piles - keepers and goers. For anyone interested in the decision process it goes like this: If a book is something that has value to me as an object - say like a first edition collection of Yeats poetry or the complete works of HP Lovecraft or the copies of the Narnia books I read as a kid - then I kept it. If it was something that I will never read again, could just get for my Kobo if I wanted to, or my father has a copy of and I can just snarf from his library without him noticing, then I got rid of it. Pretty straight forward. I will say though that actually admitting to myself that I wasn't likely ever going to read Thomas Aquinas was a bit distressing. More so for my father now that he has read this I imagine.
Here's what sucked. People then started asking me for books, and just "whatever I thought they might like". So then I started going through all of the goers repeatedly with different people in mind creating multiple piles. Now, let me just say that after having made the decision to say goodbye to all of those books (about 15 boxes worth after the additional culling for friends), it wasn't fun going through them again. And again. But I did it, and they now have good homes, and that is a happy ending.
So ya, that's what happened with the books. So much for not getting into it again.
The reasoning behind not wanting storage space was simply a math one. How much would it cost to move and store and move again the contents of a three bedroom apartment? Well, my math worked out to being able to potentially refurnish an apartment for roughly the same amount when I got back. So that became the goal: keep the things that matter, get rid of everything that doesn't.
And I have to say it worked quite well. There are a couple of pieces of furniture that matter - a green couch my brother Wayne left me for example. Keeper. The IKEA bed I've had for 12 years and broke while putting on a sock one morning, and then "fixed". Goner.
Don't ask.
Something things went to friends who could use stuff, which I am really happy about. And then a lot of stuff went to Cerebral Palsy, which, like many fundraising groups, will come by your home, pick things up and then go sell it to Value Village. A very cool notion. Quick note though. Apparently while they say they take books about 80% of them end up getting tossed. I didn't learn that until the truck was loaded and I was totally out of time to find another option, and am pretty upset about it. I live in hope that my books are worthy of the shelves of Value Village, but, given my previous note on Thomas Aquinas... well, I'll remain hopeful, for the future of those books, and the future of the study of humanities in Canada. Another quick note: I saw boxes and bags getting tossed around on the truck. I didn't hear the crash of glass, but things did go squish. So not sure how much gets to it's destination intact. I hope the majority, but I'm not sure. If I were to do this again I would take everything to a drop-off centre somewhere myself, at least that way I know it got there in the number of pieces I sent it in.
It's an interesting exercise to decide what matters, what to keep. Some things in the kitchen for example were not surprising - martini glassses come to mind. Other things, more surprising. I have this wooden spoon that I just love to cook with. Had it for years, and I use it for all of my stirring. In fact, if I'm stirring multiple dishes, I'll often just rinse it off and use it for everything. And I had several wooden spoons. This one though, I simply could not part with.
Noah and Jake were far better at it. They did wonders with their toys and other belongings in short order. I could learn much from them. I expect I will. For example, if you know the right people, Lego makes an excellent form of currency.
Without going through the litany of 43 years of accumulation, thus saving us all from a suffering similar to reading the book of Chronicles, I'll conclude purging by saying that I think I've been successful. I think I got it down to the things that matter. For sure other things snuck their way in there, and they will suffer my wrath (or befuddlement) in a year or so, but ya, it got done, and it got done pretty well.
Which leads to packing.
It got packed. It got moved. Not much left to say.
Oh, tape gun thingies can be really frustrating.
Oh, and my mom is awesome. A) Because she read this far without knowing I was going to say she was awesome, and B) because the things that are keepers, well, she is the keeper of the keepers. There's a Harry Potter thing somewhere in there but I am not going to look for it.
Actually a word on moving. I don't drive. And by that I mean, I do not know how. I, surprisingly enough, do not own a vehicle. Amazing how one follows the other. That said, I am very fortunate to have a friend with a truck, and friends with a vehicle with significant interior storage space. Between these three people and two vehicles everything got moved to wherever it needed to go. And not all in one stress filling day, but casually over the course over a couple of weeks, a load here, a load there. Definitely a nice, low stress way to do it. Highly recommended.
Visits
June has been a lot of visiting. And it's been wonderful. I am blessed with amazing friends. I really am. See above for an example. I'm also the type of person who generally likes to socialize in small numbers, like less than four. Yes I can do the bigger things, and I do enjoy them, but if I want time with people then I try to make that time one on one. It's lead to a lot of socializing these past few weeks, and with each one of those, a lot of goodbyes.
A year is both a short and long period of time, so saying goodbye can be weird. You're coming back, but not for awhile. You're accessible via email, skype and such, but not in person. And sure, you may see this friend only a few times a year, but there is the comfort knowing that you can set it up, or make a plan to set it up, or something, and that it will happen in fairly short notice if you want it to. Leaving for a period though takes that option away, or at least makes it more expensive. And losing the potential of immediacy feels odd, and kinda sad. Meanwhile this voice, presumably of logic, is mumbling away about how it is only a year, get over it. Stop whining. It's a year damn it! You'll be back before you know it and before half of these people realize you left. Unless of course they are following the blog. And yes, I know that, but yes, it's still sad to say bye. Like I said, it's both a short time and a long time.
When your days consist primarily of these three activities of purging, packing, and visiting you get into, or at least I got into, a pretty funny space. Somewhat of a funk at times. That's sad funk not a Mark Wahlberg funk, though I wouldn't call that funk either, but whatever, they were a bunch of something anyway. It's all good though. Maybe I've said this before, so stop me if I have. My friend Charles described it as surfing. Oh, that reminds me of couch surfing which I definitely will write about another time.
Right.
So Charles describes it as surfing emotions. Doing things that mess with your norm and create some form of disruption can come with a variety of emotions. Some are the classic happy and excited, others are the equally classic but less longed for fear, sadness and anxiety. All are good. All are worth surfing through. We learn and benefit from each of them. June has been really good to me that way. I expect the coming year will be as well.
We leave tomorrow.
I left work with a plan.
That plan has failed spectacularly.
The plan was to get up each day, do some stretching, do some blogging, and then get on with all the other wonderful things that needed to get done in order to start on our trip. Purging. Packing. Visiting with friends and family.
Purge - check.
Pack - check.
Visits - check, check, several more checks, I'll get the cheque.
Stretching? Um... no. Well once, so let's just call that no.
Blogging? You're reading it.
FAIL.
Okay, sure, I got the time sensitive stuff done.
I purged.
I know of people (strange, strange people) who, when they are moving, take the opportunity to go through their belongings and get rid of stuff. I also know of people (even stranger) who have established rules, especially for kids toys, that have something old go out when something new comes in. While I applaud these people I cannot count myself amongst them. I am not a purger. I'm not a hoarder either. I keep stuff. Not too much stuff, but definitely stuff. And I don't make an effort to go through it and get rid of some things at various seemingly logical points. I like my stuff, that's why I got it in the first place. Right?
But I gave it a go this time. And I did so primarily because I A) did not want to rent out storage space, and B) did not want to bury my mother and her home in all this crap that I don't really care about. If I was going to bury her in crap, it needed to be crap that mattered. So what mattered?
Well, the approach I took to this kinda sprang from my thoughts on packing for the trip. If we could live our lives comfortably for a year out of a 40L bag, then how much do we really need to live the rest of the time?
I've already told the heart rending story of going through my books, so I won't dwell on that painful memory again. Actually, I will. It got worse. I got through all of my books, made difficult decisions, and got it down to two piles - keepers and goers. For anyone interested in the decision process it goes like this: If a book is something that has value to me as an object - say like a first edition collection of Yeats poetry or the complete works of HP Lovecraft or the copies of the Narnia books I read as a kid - then I kept it. If it was something that I will never read again, could just get for my Kobo if I wanted to, or my father has a copy of and I can just snarf from his library without him noticing, then I got rid of it. Pretty straight forward. I will say though that actually admitting to myself that I wasn't likely ever going to read Thomas Aquinas was a bit distressing. More so for my father now that he has read this I imagine.
Here's what sucked. People then started asking me for books, and just "whatever I thought they might like". So then I started going through all of the goers repeatedly with different people in mind creating multiple piles. Now, let me just say that after having made the decision to say goodbye to all of those books (about 15 boxes worth after the additional culling for friends), it wasn't fun going through them again. And again. But I did it, and they now have good homes, and that is a happy ending.
So ya, that's what happened with the books. So much for not getting into it again.
The reasoning behind not wanting storage space was simply a math one. How much would it cost to move and store and move again the contents of a three bedroom apartment? Well, my math worked out to being able to potentially refurnish an apartment for roughly the same amount when I got back. So that became the goal: keep the things that matter, get rid of everything that doesn't.
And I have to say it worked quite well. There are a couple of pieces of furniture that matter - a green couch my brother Wayne left me for example. Keeper. The IKEA bed I've had for 12 years and broke while putting on a sock one morning, and then "fixed". Goner.
Don't ask.
Something things went to friends who could use stuff, which I am really happy about. And then a lot of stuff went to Cerebral Palsy, which, like many fundraising groups, will come by your home, pick things up and then go sell it to Value Village. A very cool notion. Quick note though. Apparently while they say they take books about 80% of them end up getting tossed. I didn't learn that until the truck was loaded and I was totally out of time to find another option, and am pretty upset about it. I live in hope that my books are worthy of the shelves of Value Village, but, given my previous note on Thomas Aquinas... well, I'll remain hopeful, for the future of those books, and the future of the study of humanities in Canada. Another quick note: I saw boxes and bags getting tossed around on the truck. I didn't hear the crash of glass, but things did go squish. So not sure how much gets to it's destination intact. I hope the majority, but I'm not sure. If I were to do this again I would take everything to a drop-off centre somewhere myself, at least that way I know it got there in the number of pieces I sent it in.
It's an interesting exercise to decide what matters, what to keep. Some things in the kitchen for example were not surprising - martini glassses come to mind. Other things, more surprising. I have this wooden spoon that I just love to cook with. Had it for years, and I use it for all of my stirring. In fact, if I'm stirring multiple dishes, I'll often just rinse it off and use it for everything. And I had several wooden spoons. This one though, I simply could not part with.
Noah and Jake were far better at it. They did wonders with their toys and other belongings in short order. I could learn much from them. I expect I will. For example, if you know the right people, Lego makes an excellent form of currency.
Without going through the litany of 43 years of accumulation, thus saving us all from a suffering similar to reading the book of Chronicles, I'll conclude purging by saying that I think I've been successful. I think I got it down to the things that matter. For sure other things snuck their way in there, and they will suffer my wrath (or befuddlement) in a year or so, but ya, it got done, and it got done pretty well.
Which leads to packing.
It got packed. It got moved. Not much left to say.
Oh, tape gun thingies can be really frustrating.
Oh, and my mom is awesome. A) Because she read this far without knowing I was going to say she was awesome, and B) because the things that are keepers, well, she is the keeper of the keepers. There's a Harry Potter thing somewhere in there but I am not going to look for it.
Actually a word on moving. I don't drive. And by that I mean, I do not know how. I, surprisingly enough, do not own a vehicle. Amazing how one follows the other. That said, I am very fortunate to have a friend with a truck, and friends with a vehicle with significant interior storage space. Between these three people and two vehicles everything got moved to wherever it needed to go. And not all in one stress filling day, but casually over the course over a couple of weeks, a load here, a load there. Definitely a nice, low stress way to do it. Highly recommended.
Visits
June has been a lot of visiting. And it's been wonderful. I am blessed with amazing friends. I really am. See above for an example. I'm also the type of person who generally likes to socialize in small numbers, like less than four. Yes I can do the bigger things, and I do enjoy them, but if I want time with people then I try to make that time one on one. It's lead to a lot of socializing these past few weeks, and with each one of those, a lot of goodbyes.
A year is both a short and long period of time, so saying goodbye can be weird. You're coming back, but not for awhile. You're accessible via email, skype and such, but not in person. And sure, you may see this friend only a few times a year, but there is the comfort knowing that you can set it up, or make a plan to set it up, or something, and that it will happen in fairly short notice if you want it to. Leaving for a period though takes that option away, or at least makes it more expensive. And losing the potential of immediacy feels odd, and kinda sad. Meanwhile this voice, presumably of logic, is mumbling away about how it is only a year, get over it. Stop whining. It's a year damn it! You'll be back before you know it and before half of these people realize you left. Unless of course they are following the blog. And yes, I know that, but yes, it's still sad to say bye. Like I said, it's both a short time and a long time.
When your days consist primarily of these three activities of purging, packing, and visiting you get into, or at least I got into, a pretty funny space. Somewhat of a funk at times. That's sad funk not a Mark Wahlberg funk, though I wouldn't call that funk either, but whatever, they were a bunch of something anyway. It's all good though. Maybe I've said this before, so stop me if I have. My friend Charles described it as surfing. Oh, that reminds me of couch surfing which I definitely will write about another time.
Right.
So Charles describes it as surfing emotions. Doing things that mess with your norm and create some form of disruption can come with a variety of emotions. Some are the classic happy and excited, others are the equally classic but less longed for fear, sadness and anxiety. All are good. All are worth surfing through. We learn and benefit from each of them. June has been really good to me that way. I expect the coming year will be as well.
We leave tomorrow.
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