Movin' On -Bob Pye

Monday, June 22, 2009

It’s a neighborhood day today. Our hay farmer and his buddy come calling.
Bob and Marvin are quite the pair. They hang out together a lot. Last summer Bob had a bad spell while driving his truck. He lost consciousness, and drove right into some heavy bush. Poor Marvin tried to take the wheel, but couldn’t maneuver around Bob. Luckily, no one was hurt. Bob’s on medication now. His system makes way too much iron, so I think it’s a thyroid condition.
Bob Pye. Could a name be any more delightful?
Bob and Marvin are great hoarders. They’ve been looking our stuff over ever since they heard we were selling. Every time we’d see them, they’d mention the fencing, or the sprayer, or the tractor parts, or whatever. Basically, they were getting a reading. Had we sold them? Did we think they would sell? And if not, would we like them to take these items off our hands? “We’ll sure pick them up and clean up that east corner there".
Today it was the bricks. We’ve had a sizeable pile of bricks stacked close to the house by the tree line. I forget what we meant to do with them, it was so long ago. We had the odd doo-dad sitting on top and they were a great color against the trees.
Bob says “I could take those bricks off your hands if you want them moved”
“Sure thing, Bob, if you want ‘em”.
“Well, I would need a bit of help. I’m not too spry any more.”
“Hey, get your buddy Marvin to help you”
“Yah, but then he’d want half of them!”
Sure enough, Marvin was the first guy to arrive at 10 o’clock. 2 good looking daughters doing the heavy lifting. Seems to me they take more than half.
They are no sooner down the road, and Bob appears with his hired hand. Before you know it the job’s done.
“Look Merv, he didn’t even rake the dirt! What a pair”.
When Merv cut the grass, he picked up a brick on the mower, and was not happy.
No doubt about it. I’m going to miss those guys.

Movin' On -the last day

June 25th, 2009

We are gone tonight.
The piano guys arrive at 8 am. Take the piano apart. Load it.
“Look at the bolts on these legs. Never tightened properly. Once we get to your moving company, it’s going to be put on the floor, what they do with it we don’t know. Just moved Dr. Hegland’s piano. He got us to move it all the way to Vancouver. And we did it in good shape. Why aren’t you using local. Hey, Ginny, watch that!”

Mover arrives to load the boxes. Good looking guy. Whistles. “Oh yah, I’m doin’ fine. Just about done. You have everything packed up good. Easy job. You folks take care, eh?”

Merv is cutting the grass for the last time.
It never ends, I’m thinking. Here I am in this empty house, staring at the damp cloth in my hand. Now, let’s see. Will I need this again?

I’m depressed about my packing. Too much stuff. Should have stored more of my clothes. I feel just like the pack rat that I’m always accusing Merv of being. He’s done a lot better job.

He takes another trailer load of garbage to the Waste Treatment Plant. Will take the trailer to Innisfail and see what he can get for it.

Dale arrives to take the last stuff. He’s like a kid. “You mean you don’t want any money? You’re giving us all this?” We sit on the front step and have a beer. Merv gets back in time to join us. I’m starting to feel a little better. My lack of sleep has turned me into a zombie. Dale honks goodbye as he drives away.

We lock up. Drive around and park in front of the river. 5 golf balls for me. 5 for Merv. It’s a lot farther to the other side of the river than it seems. I have one bad shot, but the other 4 are exhilarating. We’re laughing somewhat giddily. Merv’s last shot is a doozie – Yes, right over to the other side. Bingo! We find ourselves hugging each other and half crying. It’s a gorgeous evening and I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave the river.

Movin' On - There's a time

Sunday, June 21, 2009
We sleep on the floor last night. We don’t even have bedding! Now there’s no problem with this, if you’re young. But when you’re old -
We get up earlier than usual to a rainy, windy, cold day. Breakfast tastes good. Even though we have to eat it standing up.
Packing.
It seems like we’ve spent 6 months throwing things out, sending stuff to the auctioneer, giving stuff to friends and family. We even tried eBay and Fjiji. And now in this “last strokes” phase, we still open cupboards, and drawers, and closets, and have to make yet another decision about what to do with this or that item. We take it out. Put it on a shelf or table or floor – as long as we can see it. And little by little and bit by bit we decide. But it’s endless.
Talked to a friend whose father decided he needed to move out of his house. He was 80 years old, and the daughter said it just about killed him. In fact, it did. Or certainly contributed to his death, his daughter believes. “He became anxious and stressed. He couldn’t decide what to do with many of his things. And it wore him down.” This was exactly the feeling we had – we still have the stamina and the wherewithal to get the job done. And we are SO close now to the end.
Phone calls for father’s day. Emails for father’s day and moving day and the people who bought the house called about internet connectedness, and on and on and on.
The “moving day” pics turned out pretty good.

Movin' On

Day 1
Saturday, June 20, 2009
The old house is completely empty! No chairs, no beds, no furniture at all!
To my surprise, it’s not nearly as strange as I expected. In fact, it takes me back 30 years. We stood here waiting for our furniture to arrive 30 years ago and it looks just as handsome as it did back then. No, I would say it looks way more “grown-up” and “sophisticated”.
Yes, the house is so empty, there’s not even a place to rest our weary feet. The kids rented trucks, and really did a good job of moving all the furniture out.
Lucky for us that no one wanted the deck furniture. So we have 2 deck chairs in the middle of the kitchen. You can tell they feel completely awkward being here. But my feet were killing me and I needed a chair. And we have a friend who will take the deck furniture. Kim and Dale have always looked after our house when we went away. They came over for a drink the other night, and said they would be happy to take whatever would make our exit neater, tidier, and to the point.
Jeff’s rental truck had a skylight roof – the sunlight was streaming in – we could have had a party in there! Scott’s truck was smaller and we never thought they would fit everything in – but they did.
They were both anxious to get the trucks back ASAP. It was costing them.
We will be SO happy to have internet sure environment. YourLink has been increasingly bizarre – especially on weekends.

The Bra Shop

The Bra Shop

There are 2 ways to shop for a bra.
1. The Department Store:
There are thousands of bras in the department store, and often you have to find your own. So after plowing through all the styles and getting the right size – you go to the fitting room. If you like the bra but it’s not the right size, and the lady in charge isn’t around, you have to get your clothes on again and go look yourself. And if none of your choices work – well, you get my drift. And to be honest, I often quit right there, and figure I’ll try another time.

2. The Bra Shop
If I had to choose between the luxury of a spa, and the luxury of the Bra Shop, I would choose the Bra Shop every time. Most times when you walk in, you’re the only one there. The lady welcomes me, checks my size, immediately gives me bras to try on, and scurries about finding more and more. The labels all have exotic names, the bras have stitching and ribbon and designs that you never see in department stores. And the lady does all the looking. All I do is put them on, she runs in to make an adjustment here and there, I say “yay” or “nay” and it’s done. We giggle and discuss our bra problems. She has lots of suggestions and hints. She gets me everything from sensible bras to not so sensible bras. “Oh yes” she says “your husband will love that one”. They show you other items in the store and you have fun trying stuff on. And they always have a sale rack. Yes, the Bra Shop costs more. Last time I was in I came out with the most beautiful bra I’ve ever had ($175)! But this bra will give me great joy, and will still look beautiful in 10 years. I got three other bras all on sale. All beautiful. These items will last me for a long time with proper care.

Find a Bra Shop, and life will be good.

Doing Lunch

Doing lunch is the best way to have a visit with friends. It's the right time of day, the bill is less, and the choices are way more fun.
Ron was waiting for us. We were late and he wasn't. Wendy? "Oh, she's always late. I think she works on it."
Great people to have a visit with. Wendy has an illness - shortness of breath. So she arrived panting and smiling at the same time. Ron adores her, and knows her better than she knows herself. They are taking their 2 teenaged granddaughters to Alaska with them this summer. I pray for them.
"So, you're leaving. Just like that. We've lived down the road from each other for years, and it seems we hardly saw you".
We talk about everything. Tumble over each other's sentences. Laugh at each other's foibles, and mourn the state of a mutual friend of ours. "He became abusive - to his wife by word of mouth - and to his daughter by hitting her!"
We pondered this with gloom.
Wendy has such a good memory. She could recall every conversation I've ever had with her, I think.
A stray cat turns up at their door in January. Wendy could NEVER turn away a stray anything. It's colored strangely - there's a name for it. Harlequin? At any rate, it came and still remains. The cat and the dog get along just fine as animals often do if left to their own devices.
It was a good lunch.

And so - goodbye

"Wait till you see the river!” he said as we drove along a crooked trail through the hay crop. He was enthusiastic about this venture and excited about showing it to me.

You come upon it quickly, and it takes your breath away. 150 feet straight down. For years I watched as women especially would step back and grab the kids. And even after we got to know it well, that “wow” factor never ceased to kick in.
We grew to love the river with a passion. I often thought we should have built some steps down the steep hill to the water. Maybe the new owners will want to do that.

The land belonged to a psychiatrist. We tried to buy it once, and he changed his mind. Then he became ill, and the real estate agent called us one day a couple of years later to say it was for sale again. The deal was made in one phone call.

Our first job was to clear the land from the edge of the crop line to the river embankment. It took quite a few weekends and was hard work. We cleared an enormous pile of brush and watched it burn one Sunday evening.
This gave us a clear view to the river. And we wanted to build as close to this view as possible. The county folks worried about the embankment eroding and taking our house with it. But that didn’t happen. Not a bit of it.

It was time to start building the house.
Merv is a project man. He gets the ideas, and I’m the cheerleader. It’s a good balance that has worked well for us. And I’ve learned to respect his dreams because my life has been greatly enriched by them. This dream included a log house in the forest overlooking the river, so that was the plan.

A big oil rig team appeared one weekend. They drank beer, and laughed a lot. They were ‘moonlighting’ with the rig. “Not good enough” they said on the first water test. “We have to go down further.” Soft water, really soft water is such an exquisite luxury. Skin glows. Dishes sparkle. Laundry brightens. When company came it was the first comment – “Your water- it’s so soft!”

The road builder arrived soon after. Spent hours going up and down, digging out all the black soil, and filling back in with heavy sand. It’s a long road. We’ve walked it, cross-country skied it, and dug ourselves out of it. It’s just as straight and true and solid as the day he finished it.

The house foundation team moved in next. The contractor had to be home for his wedding on the weekend of August 12th. Even so they didn’t pack up and leave until the day before.

Now we had an outer structure, and the neighbors slowed down even more as they passed by. Other workmen came to shingle the roof and build the fireplace.
Merv spent a miserable November driving here at all hours, sometimes in the middle of the night to check on the heaters in the basement. We had to completely dry the foundation so that the furnaces could be installed correctly. And as with most Novembers in Canada, it was the cruelest month of all.

With the outside framework done, we were fairly protected from the weather as winter settled in. I still remember the weekend that a big new table saw appeared on the rough floor in front of the fireplace. Merv’s Mom was a builder. There was little money back then, but she took what they did have and built the small house that her son grew up in. He still entertains us with his stories of boyhood adventures in his neighborhood. And now, taking his mother’s lead, he was going on another adventure. He was going to finish this house by himself.
And he did. Every weekend for 7 months, he and I were here at 7 o’clock on Saturday mornings. He nailed in one piece of cedar after the other while I kept a fire going in the fireplace, cleaned up, kept his supplies close at hand, and fed him. I got a bit handier with tools, and could help with some of the easier stuff.
In the meantime, we had sold our latest house and were having a bit of trouble finding a temporary place to live. Nancy and Scott had to change schools more than once – thank goodness they were made of strong stuff. There were times driving home on cold, dark Sunday nights tired and dirty – what the heck are we doing?

We moved in on the August long weekend 1979.

Scott has his own special history with this house and land. Although he ended up in broadcasting, he was very close to us as we adapted to the house, the land, and the rhythm of country living. He might decide to add some of his memories. And who knows – he might also drive past here the odd time as the years go by, just to check things out.

Christmas has been special here. Cedar glows so magically in winter when you turn on the lights at night. The walks along the frozen river on Christmas afternoons, the little ones slipping and sliding on the ice, a coyote way down the river looking over his shoulder at us.

Baseball was big in the summer with 3 acres of yard for the ball diamond. A game of 500, or a Frisbie contest. Going out to shoot a few golf balls will be the pastime that Merv and I will miss the most – by far. Bonnie started a wild water fight one summer afternoon. We still laugh about that one. And our kite. That huge kite lasted for years. It would go so high we thought it was bound for heaven.

Bonfires and weiner roasts, marshmellows and deck tennis –

30 years. It’s been such a good house. From voyages near or far, we would drive along the county road, turn the corner to our farmhouse and say “There’s our house – waiting patiently for us to come back home”.
The trees have grown so big, we can almost touch their branches from the summer kitchen. No dogs anymore to scamper down the steep hill to the river. How easily they did that. Without a doubt, this was the perfect life for a dog.

Today, the couple buying our 40 acres next door were tracking the riverside and picking possible building sites. I was out hitting golf balls and had been looking for a lost ball in the little enclosure where our dogs are buried. “They loved it out here”, I said to them, “we had 3 litters of adorable puppies, and those two dogs were such good friends of ours – loyal and true.” And suddenly I could feel myself choking up. They seemed to understand completely.

We’ve never taken this land for granted. We have never ceased to feel humble and honored to have “borrowed” this piece of Alberta for 30 years.
But it’s time. It’s time to move on. There are things to do and places to go.
And so – goodbye old friend. Goodbye.

Urination Sightings

It’s hard to find a way to approach this. So I guess, I’ll just dive right in.
Is it my imagination or are men just pulling it out of their pants and letting it fly wherever and whenever they want?
Yesterday, we were on our way to the golf course. We were heading to a country course and using a busy by-pass connecting two major cities.
And there they were - a father with two young sons perhaps 5 and 3 years old. Their truck was parked leaning sidewise just off the highway. The sons were both relieving themselves. The father was watching them with a half smile and an unmistakable posture of satisfaction. The boys were not behind the truck so as to be out of sight of passing traffic. Their backs were not to us so that we might not be sure what they were doing. No, they were almost putting on a show. Just a block away was a little turn-off surrounded by trees. We had often seen cars and trucks parked there and wondered if it were a picnic area. How easy it would have been, how sensible it would have been, for the father to drive that short block!
Or was this some sort of “how to” lesson?
This is not an isolated occurrence by any means. More and more I have noticed males doing this. It happened again just now on our way home. This happens not only on highways. But in parks, on golf courses, in parking lots. It's becoming quite the “in” thing. Has anyone else noticed this?
Does this come under the “instant gratification” malady that spawned the recession? The whole “entitlement” thing? Could be.
Oh well – at least we don’t have to worry about women doing it.

Love Story

It was an unlikely combination.
Nancy grew up in a little town in Saskatchewan when life was simple and carefree. She became a lawyer like her Dad. We lived on the same street, and went to the same school, the same church.
Bruno was an actor and a communicator. He did a talk show on radio, a cooking show, and a comedy series on TV. He was well-read, well-spoken, and could keep up with the best of them. And as Nancy was one of "the best of them", we can only imagine how lively their daily conversation would have been.
A passionate, lusty, irreverent Italian and a proper, anglo-saxon intellectual - hardly a love affair one would expect to succeed. But it did.

One of their favorite things in life was food. They knew all the chefs, knew who did the best pasta, the best lamb, the best seafood. They loved their own kitchen too, and hosted many gatherings where food was the defining feature.
They even planned to write a cookbook. They talked about it a lot - even had the publisher lined up. Bruno would pick the recipes, and Nancy would do the organizing. Together they'd decide which of their personal stories to include with each recipe. It would reflect their relationship, and signal the start of the retirement phase of their lives.
And then he died. In her arms, after breakfast one day. They had been together for 24 years.
Nancy eventually wrote the cookbook - an absolute gem of a book. Recipes, great stories of people, lots of pictures. Nancy ponders how Bruno's decisions in the kitchen reflected his whole way of living, and influenced her own take on life as time went by. As the saying goes, he "lived large" and people like that can't help but enlarge the lives of everyone around them.
Bruno Gerussi was probably best known to Canadians as the star of the "Beachcombers" TV show.
After his death, Nancy became a Supreme Court Justice in British Columbia.
Not bad for a girl from small town Saskatchewan.
Bruno would be very proud of her. We all are.

Paradise Lost

I know what you're going to say. "Who really cares?" But I can't resist.
I posted a piece the other day about Milton's Paradise Lost - you know the poem we used to study in high school about Satan and God and Jesus and Adam and Eve. At least I thought that was what it was about. I was puzzled. This Paradise Lost seemed to be about Greeks and Turks and Armenians. Then a friend pointed out that this was a new Paradise Lost just written last year - about the Armenian genocide! And it's written by a different Milton. Giles.
So here's the scenario. Giles and his publisher are sitting around the office.
"Hey Giles - I got this great idea last night. Let's call your book "Paradise Lost" - you know, like John Milton's Paradise Lost of 1667 - people will see it in the book store, and the brain will go 'I know that book - let me see - seems long ago.' And they'll reach for it."
I've read 2 reviews of this Armenian Paradise Lost. Neither review pondered the choice of title. I suppose John Milton isn't around anymore to protest. "Hey, man - you can't use that title! I got it first!" There's probably a copyright law, and Milton's title has long ago expired.
So there it is. A little thing. But a kind of fun thing.
After hearing from my friend, I rushed forth and erased the embarrassing post. But both "Paradise Lost" books will be known to me forever. The plots, I mean. The Satan/God "Paradise Lost" of 1667 and the Armenian genocide "Paradise Lost" of 2008.
I will never read either of them of course. Life is way too short.

WalMart

WalMart announced this morning that they are opening 150 stores in U.S. and hiring a lot of people.
This is without a doubt a most intriguing store. I don't go very often but every time I do, I wonder why I'm not there every week.
We went shopping for "storage" and "packing" items. We went to "Canadian Closet". They had done our pantry design and build. The items we looked at were about $25 each. It seemed a bit pricey for a plan we hadn't really nailed down, so we decided to go to WalMart. They had exactly the same items for $16.95 each. You would not believe the stuff they had in that department! They had thermal units designed for cooking a lot of stuff and then transporting it! They had small, stylish looking thermal units for holding a few beers! No clunky styrofoam stuff. These items were impressive. And for our project, they had untold possiblities. I'm sure Canadian Closet knew they had lost yet another customer to WalMart.
The clothing and food don't interest me, although I've heard that they made a fortune last winter with people buying their food there.
But to simply browse that megathon of merchandising is simply breathtaking. It's no wonder every other business man shudders at the sound of the name.
Merv could not resist the "Space Bag" where you put stuff in plastic bags and suck out the air! We'll blog further on how that little project turns out!
Until then. WalMart lives!

Attitude

Have you ever had something on your mind that really bugs you? Something that you said to someone that you're sorry for? Something that someone said to you? Something that you're scared of? Something that is awkward, sad, shameful?
Have you ever taken that thing and said to a friend or a partner - "you know, the other day ...........". And by some sort of miracle, the big thing becomes just a small thing. Just because you blurted it out -
Better still - if you've ever been able to chuckle about it with this friend. Then it completely disappears! Like magic!
In this same vein of thought, I offer the following: I think this philosophy about life is a very good one. What do you think?

“The longer I live, the more I realize the impact of attitude on life. Attitude, to me, is more important than facts. It is more important than the past, the education, the money, than circumstances, than failure, than successes, than what other people think or say or do. It is more important than appearance, giftedness or skill. It will make or break a company... a church... a home. The remarkable thing is we have a choice everyday regarding the attitude we will embrace for that day. We cannot change our past... we cannot change the fact that people will act in a certain way. We cannot change the inevitable. The only thing we can do is play on the one string we have, and that is our attitude. I am convinced that life is 10% what happens to me and 90% of how I react to it. And so it is with you... we are in charge of our Attitudes.”
Charles R. Swindoll quotes (American Writer and Clergyman)