Happy Anniversary!

One year ago today, we arrived in this part of the world to take up our new life. Because we wouldn't have possession of our home for two days, we took up temporary residence at a nearby Holiday Inn. Zephyr was getting to be an old pro at motel living by that time -- her biggest source of angst every night was which queen size bed she would sleep on.

That being said, she hadn't been entirely happy since seeing the only home she could remember dismantled before her eyes. We hired a local moving company in Calgary, owned by a man named "Archie". Archie came well recommended, but I couldn't help having second thoughts when I first saw him. He looked like a pirate -- bent, grizzled, and probably blind in one eye ( I didn't inquire). He sounded a bit like a pirate too. I mean, he didn't say: "Ar harh matey!" or anything like that, but he spoke in a bit of a garble, and I often found myself nodding and smiling at him like some demented doll, having had no idea what it was he had just said, and not quite sure which eye was looking at me.....

For all my misgivings, Archie lived up to his reputation, and our belongings arrived safely and on time at the other end.

Zephyr proved to be an admirable travelling companion. She either slept, or quietly looked out the window. She and I drove in the SUV: I in the the driver's seat and Zeph in the very back, a space she had all to herself. Ian drove the truck. Among his travelling companions were the most valuable of our cases of wine, which we had amassed over the previous three years as members of a wine club. The outside temperature was a cause for concern to us, both for Zeph and the wine. Luckily it wasn't too hot that July.


My son had compiled three discs of music for me, and I listened to them pretty much constantly for the whole trip. Whenever I play them now I'm reminded of the magical feeling I had throughout the journey: I was finally escaping a place that had held me for 30 years. A place that, while great in many ways, had never, ever felt like home to me. It was, truly, like bustin' out of prison (not that I've ever been in prison, but you know, you can imagine....)

Quick aside: This country is amazing. Beautiful. Everyone should drive it once. I've done the bulk of it twice now and I hope I never have to do it again. It's very, very big.







Really, really, really big.....







So we arrived at our final destination tired yet keyed up. The move, which had begun months before with the first emptying of a closet, wasn't over yet.

Tomorrow: First night in the new home, or "Is that a cat in our bedroom?"

About Zephyr

The subject of the title of this blog deserves at least one post all to herself.


I'm sure most dog owners could write a book about their dog, and I'm probably no exception. Most of us are tiresomely like new parents when it comes to our furry companions -- we exclaim and marvel over every new trick and cute behaviour.

I'll really try not to do that.


Zephyr was born on March 21, 2007, one of eight in the litter. I think she was fourth or fifth, I can't remember. And it doesn't matter, suffice it to say she was a middle puppy. Wire-haired Pointing Griffons are not a common breed: I read on one web site devoted to them that only 100 to 125 puppies are born in North America every year. That's not a lot, when you consider that one of the women dragonboaters I know has two Golden Retrievers, and between them they will have produced nearly 30 puppies in the last two years alone! Griffons originated in France about a hundred years ago, and are classified as "versatile hunting dogs".


Little puppies are cute:



This is Zephyr on May 17, relaxing with her 'Dad' in her new home in Calgary. Ian and I had driven to Edmonton the night before, and picked Zeph up the next morning from the cargo terminal at Edmonton International Airport. The breeder was shipping some puppies to buyers in the United States, and told us it would be easy to put our puppy on a plane to Calgary, but we couldn't bear to think of the little thing all alone in a big plane. (From that moment on we've been held emotional hostages by this dog.)



The picture is instructive, because from the first Zephyr has been a "touchy-feely" kind of dog. She always wants to be in physical contact -- even if it's just a foot touching one of our feet. I've never known a dog quite like her.


OK. Fast forward. She's two and a bit now, a big, lean, long-legged, happy dog. She's bright, eager to please, easily crushed, and has a great sense of humour (her idea of a good game is to grab hold of a bath robe tie and pull -- hard). She learns fast. She needs a lot of exercise, but is quiet in the house. She will bark at strangers, but then go and find a teddy bear to present to them: it doesn't inspire confidence in us in terms of her protecting the house against burglers.


Here's how she looks now:



In another post: How Zephyr moved to Ontario and learned to fish.

Still no time

OK I told you in the last post: I have no time to do this. However, since I actually enjoy writing, I'm going to make time.

I wonder how you do that? Make time? I know how to make amends, make up, make do, make a face. But the idea of making time is really alluring. To create time. Wow! I could make my fortune (there I go again... making stuff).

I can see it now: 15 minutes of time could go for $100; an hour for $300 (bulk discount there). Am I charging too little?

I could sell different kinds of time: of course happy time would probably be the most popular so I could charge a premium for that. Starving artists might buy (or give me a painting for) some dinner time; writers might pay me for some angst time; cheating spouses for some hidden time.

My small piece of fantasy time is drawing to a close. The dinner time routine starts.

Next time I really will talk about life with Zephyr.

Dear God there's no time!

I've heard people say that when you retire you have no time, and I've always snickered to myself: "Ha!" I say, "What do they know about no time? They're not working. They've got all day for goodness sake!".

Well, this morning I started my day at 6 a.m. with an hour's paddle in Lake Ontario. Wonderful. Beautiful morning. Swans, loons, lake a saphire blue. A quick breakfast with my fellow paddlers, then home to sort out the painter and make him some coffee ( I arrived exactly one minute before he did). Quickly check my email; put a load in the washing machine; hop in the shower (Good. I don't have to wash my hair -- I'm getting it done later). Then to work. I'm only working three hours today, but I don't even seem to be able to do that. First the painter wants to talk to me about the master bedroom. Are we sure about the colour? (No, I'm not sure at all -- every colour I've put on the walls in this house has been a surprise. Sometimes a very bad one.)

Sit down again. The phone rings. It's my friend calling from Calgary to talk to me about a job she's applying for. Can she use me as a reference? Of course she can! And then on to the house she's buying, the new boyfriend. All good news, and wonderful to talk to her. But.... there's that spreadsheet I started yesterday and wanted to finish today.....

OK. I'm back at it. Oooops! I forgot to fill out my leave form for today. Might as well fill one out for Wednesday morning too.

Now. The spreadsheet. Hmmmm. OK. Why is Zephyr barking? Oh. Ian's home and wants to tell me about his schedule for the day. Can he pick up anything? No. That's fine. Quick kiss. "Have a good time!" Zephyr and Ian disappear.

I need a cup of coffee. Damn! It's almost time for me to leave for my hair appointment. I give up.

It's a beautiful half-hour drive, except I'm behind schedule and I can't seem to rid myself of people in front of me driving 10 km below the speed limit. Ten minutes late. I'm never late. Oh well.

Hair's done and I'm pleased. Off to the bread store. The most fabulous wood-fired-oven bread. A chive and onion scone for lunch -- eaten in the car. A stop at the market for fresh local berries; a stop at the grocery store for pizza fixings and lotto tickets (I live in hope), and then home.

Put everything away. Sort the wash I put on this morning into things that don't have to be ironed and things that do. Everything does except a pair of socks. Note to self: call someone to come and fix the dryer.

It's 3 o'clock. Do I:

1. Call my mother to tell her her birthday card arrived (one day late but she was so uspset that it didn't arrive on my birthday)
2. Iron all those clothes
3. Check my email
4. Walk Zephyr (early, but a great stress reliever)
5. Write in my blog


I chose 1. then 5. As you can see. And now I'm going to go for a walk in the woods with my dog, and add to my already remarkable number of mosquito bites.

I have lots of things to write about. When am I going to find the time??? I must be retired.

Ah, technology....

So I start a blog and not two days later we lose our internet service. Wednesday night everthing's working fine. Thursday morning -- zip, de nada, nothing.

We called our service provider and they did their best from wherever they were - Moncton perhaps? Or maybe somewhere farther afield. But to no avail. So they told us they'd initiate a work order and then it would be up to their contracted technicians in the area to get to us. Maybe tomorrow; maybe not till Monday or Tuesday.

We're not in Calgary now.

So it was a quiet weekend. For the first 48 hours or so there were reflexive jerks toward one computer or another to look something up or to check email, but we soon settled down and forgot about it. I'm surprised it was that easy.

But I'm happier to be back.