Tuesday, August 14, 2018

ROBBLOG #732- A Year in This Life

August 15, 2017.
The day we left Orillia, Ontario under the cover of early morning light to make the eight day trek across this wonderful country we call Canada to our new home on Vancouver Island.

Now, back up one day.

The day before, we packed up Pine Tree House our wonderful c.1882 Victorian Home on Matchedash Street, North.
L3V 4V5. I still remember the postal code!

The moving van arrived in late morning and took up the entire stretch of pavement in front of the house. Four movers helped to dis-assemble the interior.
Tables, wing chairs, cabinets, patio tables and more.

The BIG Truck in front of Pine Tree House
This was to be known as the boxes and chairs move by Great Canadian Van Lines from Coquitlam, British Columbia.

We didn't have a chesterfield or couch but we had wing chairs both static and moveable like our
Laz-Z-Boys. We had antique rockers and commode chairs. Wooden dining room chairs and arm chairs- with and without padded seats.

Then the boxes.
I dunno…
Over a hundred. Closer to two hundred maybe.
I never want to pack boxes again. At least not that many and this was post-purging.
The stuff one collects during one's life.
I couldn't believe it.
Even so, it was incredibly hard to part with "stuff"- but I did.
We did.
Well, more me but I will use the plural for the Mister was a good guide to run things past.

Boxes and Chairs
The day was sad.

We kept busy but it was sad.
Friends popped by.
There were tears.
Lots of tears as I remember.
There were hugs.
Many hugs.
Words that cut to the heart-
"We'll probably never see you again."
"It'll be so different without you living in Pine Tree House"

Then, the best goodbye of all.
I think if you go back to a blog a year ago I mentioned it.
Our lovely neighbour Louise sauntered across the street.
She was sad.
She was upset.
She stood for a second clenching her fists and sort of rocking from side to side on her heels. I had no idea what she was about to say but she did say something.
It was bombastic.
It was from the heart.
It was sincere.

She looked up into my face through reddened eyes.
Then, while a tear or two came rolling down her cheeks she said:
"Well, Fuck You!"
"Just Fuck You!"

It was the most heartfelt of goodbyes and I will never, ever forget the moment.
The look of sadness on her face.
The damp on her cheeks.
We hugged and she tottered off across the street back to tell Don- her husband, what she had said no doubt.

It was the first "Fuck You" of the rest of my life!

The Parlour at Pine Tree House