Movin' On - Car Pickup

"Sir, I have some good news for you. Your car has arrived from Japan, and is ready to meet you."
Part of the "Movin' On" format - a black on black convertible! Two old people who have driven one of the larger SUV's for several years - this is going to be one of the bigger adjustments to be made. "Have we shot ourselves in the foot?"
It also requires a trip back to Alberta for a short spell. A break from house hunting, except for another inspection tomorrow morning.
"We're getting closer" he said at breakfast. "We just have to check out that other unit - could be what we're looking for".
"Do you think our real estate agent figures we find something wrong with everything? Seems to me that we're telling him to get the papers ready one minute, and the next we're backing out. He'll be glad to have a break from us."
So here's the deal. This car can barely manage 2 sets of golf clubs, we're told, and I think the luggage has to go in the back seat. We are going to have to re-adjust our way of travel by giant steps. "Travel light" sounds easy.
We re-assessed this morning. Left our home on June 26th so it's been about 2 months. I think our brains have just assumed that we're on a longish holiday, and that everything will be back to normal soon. We never talk about the farm. We never talk about the future except in very general terms. We get up every morning, and take the day as it presents itself.
"You don't have a home?!" people say. "That must feel very strange. What a brave thing to do!"
Mmmmmmm. If I had known it was a "brave thing to do", I probably wouldn't have had the courage to do it.
In any case, realtors tell us it's much easier to shop for a house when you're finished with the last one.
"We show them lots of stuff, and then find out that they have to go back and sell their house first. The way you're doing it makes a lot more sense."
At any rate, after trying to adjust to new computers - we're now going to have to adjust to another vehicle - a much much smaller vehicle at that. It should make for interesting conversations to say the least.
"You're taking that in the car? Where on earth are you going to put it?"
"Look, we can pack 2 outfits, that's it, so let's get with the program and stop whining".
Ah, togetherness -

Movin' On - Down on the beach

A fine day. We head for the beach.
Big. Big. The beach here is really big. We're told it's better than California beaches. The tide is more benign or something and the sand remains clean and soft.
Seems like half the town and all of the tourists have bought into this. Hundreds. Kids with their shovels and kites and frisbies. Moms and Dads with their coolers and umbrellas. Oldsters with canes and wheelchairs. Grey heads in convertibles and fancy hats.
Big cement picnic tables.
"Look, see that family packing up? Let's see how long it takes".
The last plate is packed away. The last hat is donned. The last mouth is wiped. And suddenly, as if out of nowhere, a huge family appears. Lawn chairs and blankets get smacked down right close to the picnic table. One little camera gets put in the centre and it's theirs! Such is the politics of the beach.
People watching is my lifeblood. I can get more joy out of this pastime than anyone. And here - on this beach - it's one giddy sensation after the other. No newspaper for me. No poetry or Ipod or sand castles. Snapping the odd photo is about as far as I go. I decide I need the "long shot" of the beach with the town behind. Light is right. Angle requires a bit of a walk. Away we go getting sand in the sandles - (where are the crocs and the flip-flops when you need 'em).
We try this and that - but it's not what I'm keen about, and we plop back down again to finish the coffee.
"Look at the Dad - isn't he something! And the little boy - he's a treasure".
"Wow - the sweet young things! We've gotta do this more often", he says.
An elderly man with 2 canes. Youngish woman - tanned and blond. He's struggling to walk. They settle onto a bench. Stay for a half hour there. Talking a bit and smiling. He's loving it. When they get up to leave, he's hesitant. Takes a few steps, and then stands for a minute. She is quiet beside him, not saying anything. Just there. Then he goes on again.
2 crows hang around in a small tree. Every time a piece of food appears, they watch closely talking back and forth.
The huge tree trunks that have found their way here - many of them make a perfect bench - gnarled and weather beaten in dramatically beautiful designs - probably painted a million times. Nature has a way of outclassing us all when it comes to originality.
How easy it is here. How easy in this little town to spend a day with your family at the beach.
The ocean calls to us in some way. The ocean and the sand. The sun and the breeze.

Movin' On - Yah - but where?

Okay. We've been looking at stuff. A lot of stuff. We've been confused by the amount of real estate that's out here. But after a while, we've decided that for what we "respond to", there's a limited amount of choices.
So we make a major move and put in an official "Bid" on a house we like. We feel it's a good bid - a "market value" bid based on our studies of comparatives.
She doesn't like it. She thinks it's way too low, and she wants what she asked for to start with.
We object.
Silence.
Then she says she'll vacate the house a month earlier than we asked! We ask the realtor - "what does this mean? Is she saying she'll bust her ass to get out of her house as long as we'll pay her what she wants?"
He's not sure.
In the meantime, we meet a completely new place - a downtown Parksville place - a cosy, elegant, little spot that would suit us perfectly. Not grand. Not fancy. Not on a golf course. Not in a rain forest. But brand spanking new, at an exceptional price, and just as sweet as can be.
So this is where we are.
Our new realtor has other sights to see tomorrow.
Stay tuned.

Movin' On - Ferry living

It's part of the territory. If you live on an island, you take ferries all the time.
There's a lot of difference between taking a big ferry and taking a little ferry. A ton of difference.
Follow the signs to the little ferry, and eventually you find yourself in a lineup of cars, trucks, vans, semi's, everything. Lots of doors are open, people are wandering up and down the road looking for a coffee, getting some exercise, checkin' the lay of the land.
"Hey, do you think we'll get on? How many units can this ferry take?"
"Ya know - it seems to me it always takes more than it looks like it will take. You'll be surprised".
Sometimes, there's a little parking lot where you line up. And there might be a frisbee game going on. Or a group of boys doing soccer moves with a tiny ball instead of a soccer ball, showing off their shoulder shots, knee shots, back of the foot shots. The girls all hang together and giggle and screech and chase each other, their hair whirling about them, and their flip flops trying to keep up with frantic dashes to nowhere.
After we board the ferry, we're lined up so tight, the side mirrors have to be turned in so people can get past.
The big ferry journey is all business. Huge departure lots, huge ferries.
"Thank you, sir. You'll be in line 47".
Once again, windows go down, newspapers appear, the whole family heads for the coffee shop or the lunch shop, or the handicraft place that sells earrings and key rings, picture holders and ceramic mugs. Conversations develop over dogs, politics, taxes, and Obama. The vehicle lines get filled up, new lines start and when the huge ferry appears, everyone slowly heads back to their car. Loading is precise. A casual wave of a hand is enough - somehow everyone knows where they should go. It's a testament to the human spirit that we have managed to do this so well with so few mix-ups.
We park, we lock the car, head for the decks upstairs and if the weather is fine, we line up on the railing and soak up the lush scenes before us. If a large fish dispsy doodles for a nano second, the gasps of delight are just as much fun as the spectacle. We are prisoners of sorts here on this huge vessel, but we're laid back and ready for a sail on the open seas.
Children have invaded travel these days. They are everywhere. Shouting, laughing, bouncing, whining - same as us, really - but they do it all so much better. And if you're able to just sit and watch the shenanigans as they develop, even more fun.
Yes, it's part of the territory. If you're gonna live on an island, get the Ferry Schedule on the frig right now!

Movin' On - making music

"Hey, I've got a gig in your town - on Sunday. We're playin' the Blues".
It's just what we need. Something completely off the wall, loud, raucous, uninhibited.
We could hear them from the parking lot. They were just warming up, and there were mixers to be adjusted, guitars to be fiddled with, and keyboards to be turned up. All the usual back-ing and forth-ing that a group of normally ordinary guys do when making music.
Music is a life force. The human species was meant to do music. We are born with the automatic response to all things musical. Play a loud chord in a roomful of people. Every head will turn to find out where the sound came from.
What the audience has to realize when these guys are entertaining them is that they're entertaining themselves. They're having the best time of anyone in the room. They're having the best time they've have all day. They play up a storm and we're all rockin' to the beat.
They play the blues, they play jazz, they play rock and roll. New musicians arrive, invited to share in the evening. You can tell they've been thinking about this moment of glory with anticipation. They don't disappoint.
Our keyboard player joins us with a hug, and we laugh about the incongruity of us being in this town together - him from the bigger city, and us staying here - just down the street. We're thrilled with how he pounds out the tunes, his fingers flying over the keys, his feet pounding out the beat. What could be more thrilling, we think, than to be able to do this - to be able to make music on the fly, not a sheet of music to be seen anywhere all evening long.
That's why we love musicians. They do what we all long to do. They make music.

Movin' On - day at a time

We're told that we should live life a day at a time. Live for the moment. Don't mess with past or future - it just adds layers to an otherwise pure moment. I think there's a lot of truth to this.
It's what we've been trying to do. We've left our past behind us. Our future is uncertain.
In large part, we've been quite successful. We've been astonished at how quickly and easily we've "erased" our home from our thoughts, how seldom we think of it, or talk about it. My brother said "Well, right now you are not thinking of it, but that doesn't mean you won't in the future". I wonder about that. I think he might be right.
Sometimes it feels that we are living a scene after scene existence that simply develops on its own, has no beginning or end, and will go on forever - rootless.
We are starting to long for closure.
We're resenting the make-do meals, the laundry adventures, the "suitcase as a chest of drawers" scenarios.
Yesterday, we looked at yet more possible homes. We're starting to get them mixed up, the realtor is starting to drop comments like "I was surprised that you wanted to see this one - it doesn't fill your criteria somehow". He gives us sheafs and sheafs of paper outlines for each property. The pictures seem to bear no relationship to the actual product. I start taking pics of my own, but I need to put a person in the shot, or I can't remember where we were either. Web sites do a pretty good job, but in every re-production class, the real thing can surprise. Reality is the final arbiter. What you see is what you get.
In some ways, we feel we are making progress. We keep shoring each other up. "Remember, we said we wouldn't rush into this - let's just be patient, and one of these days, we'll walk in a door, and know immediately that this will work for us".
This came close to happening yesterday.
So maybe the end is near.

Movin' On - Advice

I've discovered that real estate agents know their stuff. And let's face it. Who hears more stories of re-location than them? They ask one question and we pour out our frustrations, and wish lists, and "if only"s. The real estate agent as psychologist is not that big a stretch.
House hunting around here can keep you hopping. There are "for Sale" signs everywhere. (If this is "La La Land", how come everyone is getting out?) So there's seldom a "Show Home Viewing" sign that we don't check out. There's usually 2 bodies minding the store. One of them asks a few questions, and I get the feeling that they have us pegged in 5 minutes flat. And in most cases, they won't hesitate to ignore the place we're standing in and start suggesting locales, homes, and prices that they think might fit our profile. It's quite impressive and says a lot for their profession.
Yesterday was a perfect case in point. This beachfront resort was mostly not there. Lots of diggings for start-ups, maps and lay-outs, and fingers pointing towards the ocean. "Oh, you need something right away - this isn't the place for you - have you tried that golf resort up in the mountains? You would love that. Just a minute, I'll show you on my computer - ". She asks the name of our agent, writes down the addresses of the places, gives us her card, and wishes us well in our quest.
At another such visit, the real estate guy said "you know, if you like to golf, you're in the wrong spot. The best golf is further north, the prices are lower there, and there's more choices."
We also hear "from Alberta? welcome to you! We love you guys. You keep us all afloat very nicely. How can we help you today?"
We don't feel like we're moving quickly enough in our search. But brains have a way of storing away a lot more things than we're aware of. So we're not going to cut out any more golf than we have to.