Go East, Old Man!

One in a series of imaginative stories about our leaving the west coast of Canada

Almost fifty years ago, I heeded the call to “Go West, Young Man!” As a grad student, I headed for Canada’s west coast and spent most of the intervening years there. Life was rich and rewarding dwelling in the most naturally beautiful province in Canada.

However, as I aged, and with our two daughters now living in the States and my in-laws long since passed, I began to feel like a big fish on a hook. An irresistible pull from my large extended family was reeling me back to my hometown of Windsor, Ontario.

So, late last spring, my lovely, long-suffering wife and I decided it was time to pull up our tent pegs, load up the covered wagon, and wend our way halfway across Canada back to the place of my birth.

Oh boy, the implications of a major move like this! First task, sell our condo. That was done over one weekend. Seemed too easy. But now there was no turning back.

Our thoughts turned to practical matters. How do we ship all our earthly possessions several provinces to the East?  We invited several national moving companies to prepare estimates. They were eager to do so and here’s why. The cost to move an estimated 8000 lbs. of personal belongings is staggering - $19,000 to $26,000. Yikes!

Some serious soul-searching about our accretions was called for. How did we accumulate so much? Do we have to ship all of it?

All summer we examined each item, lifting it up and asking, “How much does this weigh and is it worth shipping? Would replacing it once we get there be a better option?” After weeks of evaluating everything, it had become a reflexive action.

One day I caught my wife eyeing me suspiciously, like she was sizing me up. As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what she was doing.

“How much do you weigh?”, she asked.

“I’m not telling YOU.” I snorted. “Why are you even asking that?”

“Because it’s costing us over $2 per pound to move our stuff across the country and I’m trying to decide if you are worth shipping or maybe I should just replace you when I get there.”

“Cut it out”, I replied. “You’re not SHIPPING me. I’m DRIVING you to Ontario.”

“I could take a bus,” she said.

Not accepting I had been beaten in this exchange, I parried with this:

“What about your shoe collection? You’ve got shoes in every closet and cubbyhole in this place. Surely, we could save enough on the shipping costs that I could replace all the power tools I had given to our sons-in-law when we moved into this condo.”

As soon as the words had come out of my mouth, I knew I had crossed a line. After 40 years of marriage, I should have learned that shoes are sacred household icons. They are chosen to go with a particular outfit.  Parting with a pair of shoes means trashing a favorite outfit. That is a horror unthinkable.

How could I be such a crass and insensitive person? And yet she stays with me. Surely, she’s on the fast-track to sainthood.

To try to make it up to her. I asked if she wanted to walk over to the mall, and maybe visit PayLess Shoes. But that was adding insult to the injury, so I slunk off by myself. As penance, I pulled out my toolbox and looked for duplicate screwdrivers and pliers that I could give away to lighten our load.

Let this be a lesson. There is no good ending for you when you tangle with a master.

I might need to borrow a screwdriver or two as I think I may have given away too many.