Last fall, we went to a party for Merv. A retirement party.
The girls hung out on the patio. "So, what's the plan, Bernice".
"It's time for us to move on" I said.
"Move on?"
"Yep, we're going to just sell everything, get into the car and head for parts unknown. We should have done this long ago. And time's running out. If we don't do it now, we won't have the health or energy to unload a 30 year old house and get it ready for sale."
We spend the summer sorting, junking, repairing. Our tentative time frame is to put everything on the market in the fall when the leaves are gold and everything looks good.
But when we start with the realtors, they say "You should be sub-dividing. You're going to leave a lot of money on the table."
The sub-division takes forever. Measurements, maps, surveys. With a lot of waiting in between.
It's the winter of our discontent.
Spring comes. Finally, we're getting closer.
But the assessor doesn't like our house. "Well, I suppose it would be easy to just dry wall it".
The realtor doesn't like our house. "European cupboards? Hmmm, no one has seen these for awhile."
We gather with him at the kitchen counter. "See this number, Merv? This is the most you can get for your house."
Merv tries to hang tough. "Damn it all" he says "this is a special house. I know it is! It's worth more than that."
And I'm whining in the background. "Everyone who has walked into our house has loved it."
But still. We watch BNN. We're caught up in the "recession" scenario that is coming from all sides. And it's gloom and doom. The realtors tell us that not much is moving. We think "Omigod - no one is going to even show up." And we want to get out of here. It's become too difficult to maintain and it's no fun anymore.
So Merv goes part way with the realtor. "Okay, Merv, we'll start there but you'll have to come down in price. No one will pay that".
As he drives away, he posts a sign at our road.
For the next 3 days, every vehicle in the neighborhood comes to a screeching halt when they see this sign. The phone starts ringing "What's the deal? We didn't know you guys were serious about selling."
On the 4th day, people start coming to see the house. The realtors don't want us around. We're supposed to leave the premises. There seems to be a lot of
appointments and we're scurrying around frantically cleaning up the house over and over again.
The second couple who looks at the house puts a bid on it! They're from Fort McMurray. Had been looking for 2 months. "There was not one thing about this house that I didn't like" she told the realtor.
It's a good sized bid, but we hang back. The realtor suggests we come in with a counter bid, very close to the asking price. They go for it. Suddenly our house is sold, and we don't know whether we're happy or sad.
Then two days later, 2 other couples put in bids! One of them is $5000 over the asking price. Our realtor seems dumbfounded. "I've never seen anything like this" he says.
The couple who bid more than the asking price buy the next parcel of land. They bid low, and we say we want the asking price. They go for it. They will build a house on this land and have already been tramping about in the forest checking possible building sites. They're from close here, and we are glad this has happened.
We ask another one of the realtors why there has been so much interest in our house when she has a list of farm stuff that no one is paying any attention to. She said "You priced your property correctly. That's why there's so much interest."
And we thought "Correctly"? For whom? The realtor? - or us?
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Help!
This may be my only link to the world.
We have really lousy internet service - country folk often do.
And for the last few days, we can not email anyone. We sometimes can receive mail, but we cannot send it. My "outbox" is filled with un-mailed letters.
So, I am posting this little piece as a test to see if it will load into my blog.
But the thing is - if I can't get in touch with anyone, and they don't know where the blog is -
well, you get my meaning.
As luck would have it - there aren't that many people in the world who care whether they are in touch with me - or I am in touch with them.
So goes it.
We have really lousy internet service - country folk often do.
And for the last few days, we can not email anyone. We sometimes can receive mail, but we cannot send it. My "outbox" is filled with un-mailed letters.
So, I am posting this little piece as a test to see if it will load into my blog.
But the thing is - if I can't get in touch with anyone, and they don't know where the blog is -
well, you get my meaning.
As luck would have it - there aren't that many people in the world who care whether they are in touch with me - or I am in touch with them.
So goes it.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Writing
I just read about this guy who was trying to write a huge novel - a story that would cover everything he'd ever wanted to say.
He got bogged down. And one day, he started a brand new page and didn't stop until he had 15 pages done.
"He saved the file under the name "X," and didn't tell his editor, agent, or even his wife that he had started a new project. He said, "I didn't stop to think about what I was doing … or what the critics would think of it, and sweetest of all, I didn't give a single thought to what I was trying to say. I just wrote." Almost two months later, he gave his wife more than 100 pages to read, and she started laughing out loud while she was reading, so he knew that it was good. He finished it in seven months."
He didn't give a single thought to what he was trying to say. What a sweet moment that must be. I think I'll try that. I have a feeling I might be good at it.
Sometimes he'll say to me "So, what are your plans for the day?"
"I don't have any" I'll answer.
15 minutes later, I'm working at the spot of something on the carpet that's been bugging me. Then the carpet in the hallway at the front door. The glass on the door is dirty. I end up cleaning all the windows on the east side of the landing.
Well, you get my meaning. This is how I function.
I don't give a single thought to what I might do that day.
Maybe if we manage this kind of "free flow" writing - maybe if we have fun with it - it gets easy, the way it's supposed to be.
He got bogged down. And one day, he started a brand new page and didn't stop until he had 15 pages done.
"He saved the file under the name "X," and didn't tell his editor, agent, or even his wife that he had started a new project. He said, "I didn't stop to think about what I was doing … or what the critics would think of it, and sweetest of all, I didn't give a single thought to what I was trying to say. I just wrote." Almost two months later, he gave his wife more than 100 pages to read, and she started laughing out loud while she was reading, so he knew that it was good. He finished it in seven months."
He didn't give a single thought to what he was trying to say. What a sweet moment that must be. I think I'll try that. I have a feeling I might be good at it.
Sometimes he'll say to me "So, what are your plans for the day?"
"I don't have any" I'll answer.
15 minutes later, I'm working at the spot of something on the carpet that's been bugging me. Then the carpet in the hallway at the front door. The glass on the door is dirty. I end up cleaning all the windows on the east side of the landing.
Well, you get my meaning. This is how I function.
I don't give a single thought to what I might do that day.
Maybe if we manage this kind of "free flow" writing - maybe if we have fun with it - it gets easy, the way it's supposed to be.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Home on the Range
Early Sunday morning. I tumble out of bed and head for the bathroom. The day looks great from the window. Lots of sunshine.
Hold on. What’s that down at the end of the road? Just a deer, a big one - not an unusual sight out here. But something is not right. He looks strangely awkward. His head is lowered – and he seems hurt.
“Merv, come and look. Look at that deer. No, further up. Way at the end of the road. What’s wrong with him?”
“Yeah, I see what you mean. Wait. There’s something else.”
“I see them! Coyotes! He’s surrounded by coyotes!” They are exactly the same color as the field and very difficult to see from this distance.
“We need the binoculars” says Merv. He goes downstairs.
“There’s five of them” he says “they’re taking turns lunging at him. He’s putting his head down and kicking with his front leg. The coyotes are wary. Wounded or not, this guy must pack quite a punch when he connects.”
When I get the glasses, I’m stunned. “The deer looks hurt. It’s his hind leg. His leg is bleeding. Do you think the coyotes did that? Or are they after him because he’s been injured somehow?”
“Dunno. Let me see again.” He’s quiet as he looks through the glasses. “This is not good. He’s not going to win this one”.
“I can’t watch. He’s going to get mauled to death, and we’ll have to watch five coyotes tearing him apart”.
“What if I drive the truck down there” Merv says. “That should scare them away”.
I watch with the glasses, and the coyotes keep making staggered attacks, seem to know exactly what the other guy is doing. Don’t seem to notice the noisy opening of the garage door. But as the truck moves closer, heads start to turn, and finally every animal runs. The coyotes head across the hay field to the north. The deer runs with a limp in the opposite direction, up the hill and into the trees.
“I wonder how long they were attacking him” says Merv when he gets back. “The field looks as if it could have been quite awhile. He’s not moving very well, poor guy.”
The coyotes stay in the field! – sitting, standing, moving a bit here and there. It’s weird. Lots of coyotes cross our fields all the time. Usually alone, though. They may stop to dive for the odd mouse in the winter – stop to sniff at the scent of something in the wind. But that’s it. They always keep moving. What are they waiting for? How come they’re not heading in the direction of the deer?
We’re away for most of the afternoon, and don’t see them when we return.
A few days later I’m closing up the house to head for town. One of the dogs is sitting in the front yard. There’s something odd looking lying at her feet.
“What have you been into now, Tango?” I tease her.
As I get closer, I suddenly know instantly. It’s the leg of a deer.
Hold on. What’s that down at the end of the road? Just a deer, a big one - not an unusual sight out here. But something is not right. He looks strangely awkward. His head is lowered – and he seems hurt.
“Merv, come and look. Look at that deer. No, further up. Way at the end of the road. What’s wrong with him?”
“Yeah, I see what you mean. Wait. There’s something else.”
“I see them! Coyotes! He’s surrounded by coyotes!” They are exactly the same color as the field and very difficult to see from this distance.
“We need the binoculars” says Merv. He goes downstairs.
“There’s five of them” he says “they’re taking turns lunging at him. He’s putting his head down and kicking with his front leg. The coyotes are wary. Wounded or not, this guy must pack quite a punch when he connects.”
When I get the glasses, I’m stunned. “The deer looks hurt. It’s his hind leg. His leg is bleeding. Do you think the coyotes did that? Or are they after him because he’s been injured somehow?”
“Dunno. Let me see again.” He’s quiet as he looks through the glasses. “This is not good. He’s not going to win this one”.
“I can’t watch. He’s going to get mauled to death, and we’ll have to watch five coyotes tearing him apart”.
“What if I drive the truck down there” Merv says. “That should scare them away”.
I watch with the glasses, and the coyotes keep making staggered attacks, seem to know exactly what the other guy is doing. Don’t seem to notice the noisy opening of the garage door. But as the truck moves closer, heads start to turn, and finally every animal runs. The coyotes head across the hay field to the north. The deer runs with a limp in the opposite direction, up the hill and into the trees.
“I wonder how long they were attacking him” says Merv when he gets back. “The field looks as if it could have been quite awhile. He’s not moving very well, poor guy.”
The coyotes stay in the field! – sitting, standing, moving a bit here and there. It’s weird. Lots of coyotes cross our fields all the time. Usually alone, though. They may stop to dive for the odd mouse in the winter – stop to sniff at the scent of something in the wind. But that’s it. They always keep moving. What are they waiting for? How come they’re not heading in the direction of the deer?
We’re away for most of the afternoon, and don’t see them when we return.
A few days later I’m closing up the house to head for town. One of the dogs is sitting in the front yard. There’s something odd looking lying at her feet.
“What have you been into now, Tango?” I tease her.
As I get closer, I suddenly know instantly. It’s the leg of a deer.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Poor little squirrel!
"Come quick" he said.
I ran to the window. A poor little squirrel. Too close to a porcupine. He must have had about 12 huge quills in his tiny body. But he was still trying to eat the seeds on our deck floor. Having trouble moving around. He looked absolutely grotesque. "Will he die?"
"Dunno. He will work away at the things and try to pull them out. Then they will fester, get softer and if he hasn't died by then, I suppose they would come out more easily, and then maybe the festers heal".
Two days later, he was back. He'd managed to pull out quite a few! And although he still looked bedraggled and thin and grumpy, he was still alive and feeding on the sunflower seeds as best he could.
I was thrilled, and I don't even like squirrels.
In fact, we sometimes shoot them around here. They get into the bird feeder and generally cause a ruckus. But here I am pulling for the little guy and hoping that he cheats death and lives to tell his grandchildren the whole gruesome tale.
Wild things don't stand on ceremony. They don't pity. They don't ponder consequences or have second thoughts. And the code is always the same.
It's only when we humans try to "do things our way" that things get out of whack.
My little squirrel? I'll be watching for him. And when I'm falling asleep tonight, I'll be thinking - Hang in there! Don't give up! You can make it.
Update: I saw the little guy a few days later. Half of the quills were gone. The rest were shorter. He was wounded looking. He seemed to be limping.
Update: A week later we spotted him at the edge of the forest. He still looks tentative and weak.
I ran to the window. A poor little squirrel. Too close to a porcupine. He must have had about 12 huge quills in his tiny body. But he was still trying to eat the seeds on our deck floor. Having trouble moving around. He looked absolutely grotesque. "Will he die?"
"Dunno. He will work away at the things and try to pull them out. Then they will fester, get softer and if he hasn't died by then, I suppose they would come out more easily, and then maybe the festers heal".
Two days later, he was back. He'd managed to pull out quite a few! And although he still looked bedraggled and thin and grumpy, he was still alive and feeding on the sunflower seeds as best he could.
I was thrilled, and I don't even like squirrels.
In fact, we sometimes shoot them around here. They get into the bird feeder and generally cause a ruckus. But here I am pulling for the little guy and hoping that he cheats death and lives to tell his grandchildren the whole gruesome tale.
Wild things don't stand on ceremony. They don't pity. They don't ponder consequences or have second thoughts. And the code is always the same.
It's only when we humans try to "do things our way" that things get out of whack.
My little squirrel? I'll be watching for him. And when I'm falling asleep tonight, I'll be thinking - Hang in there! Don't give up! You can make it.
Update: I saw the little guy a few days later. Half of the quills were gone. The rest were shorter. He was wounded looking. He seemed to be limping.
Update: A week later we spotted him at the edge of the forest. He still looks tentative and weak.
Monday, April 27, 2009
"It will steal your soul"
So perceptive for a young person.
It was on Facebook. My granddaughter pondered doing those quiz things that the kids do. And a friend of hers answered "Don't start. It will steal your soul".
It seemed to strike a chord - as if she were talking to me.
Crossword puzzles. The Saturday Globe and Mail. Not an easy one. But I plow into it every week. With morning coffee. On the frig door. During commercials. At bedtime. It's a likeable challenge, but it comes with frustrations and feelings of inadequacy. And for what? Surely my time could be better spent.
Sudoku. I have a sister than can do the really hard Sudoku games. I feel myself getting hooked - found a good website the other day. They always make it sound like a piece of cake. "You still working on that?" he says. "Well, I thought I had it licked, and then it slapped me back down like a piece of meat!" Kind of like the game of golf I could have said to him.
A girlfriend loves bridge. Get the software, she was told. Play on the computer.
"Are you kidding!" she answered, "I would be playing it all the time!"
She knew. She knew instinctively that for some of us, it can steal your soul.
It was on Facebook. My granddaughter pondered doing those quiz things that the kids do. And a friend of hers answered "Don't start. It will steal your soul".
It seemed to strike a chord - as if she were talking to me.
Crossword puzzles. The Saturday Globe and Mail. Not an easy one. But I plow into it every week. With morning coffee. On the frig door. During commercials. At bedtime. It's a likeable challenge, but it comes with frustrations and feelings of inadequacy. And for what? Surely my time could be better spent.
Sudoku. I have a sister than can do the really hard Sudoku games. I feel myself getting hooked - found a good website the other day. They always make it sound like a piece of cake. "You still working on that?" he says. "Well, I thought I had it licked, and then it slapped me back down like a piece of meat!" Kind of like the game of golf I could have said to him.
A girlfriend loves bridge. Get the software, she was told. Play on the computer.
"Are you kidding!" she answered, "I would be playing it all the time!"
She knew. She knew instinctively that for some of us, it can steal your soul.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
The Queen and Michelle
Can you believe it? Michelle Obama putting her arm around the Queen of England?
I thought I would have a heart attack! It was so "familiar" and "American" somehow. the long long arm just about ready to caress the Queen's back. A collective gasp all around the world.
And the difference in size was like a comedy routine. Michelle way up there. And poor Queenie way down there.
And yet. And yet. "Don't talk before she does" "Don't reach to shake her hand"
Don't you think this is all a bit archaic? Queen or not. Shouldn't we be beyond this silliness? Haven't we grown out of the whole "bowing" thing - and all it represents?
Americans love royalty, I've heard. They love the Queen thing.
At any rate - Michelle seemed determined to get real friendly with Elizabeth while she had the chance.
I wonder if she winced a bit when she saw the re-runs.
I thought I would have a heart attack! It was so "familiar" and "American" somehow. the long long arm just about ready to caress the Queen's back. A collective gasp all around the world.
And the difference in size was like a comedy routine. Michelle way up there. And poor Queenie way down there.
And yet. And yet. "Don't talk before she does" "Don't reach to shake her hand"
Don't you think this is all a bit archaic? Queen or not. Shouldn't we be beyond this silliness? Haven't we grown out of the whole "bowing" thing - and all it represents?
Americans love royalty, I've heard. They love the Queen thing.
At any rate - Michelle seemed determined to get real friendly with Elizabeth while she had the chance.
I wonder if she winced a bit when she saw the re-runs.
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