I recently received a letter from Ben Kenobi. I forgot that we had left our cousin's PO Box with him. I am happy and surprised it came as his hand writing is difficult to read, the address is long with a wacky Canadian postal code, and it was under postaged.
He wrote no less than five times how he no longer has a home to return to. He's pretty unhappy in the care home in Waco. And the thought of no longer having his own space and property is distressing him.
I was shocked that he volunteered to sell his place and move somewhere new.
I can assume some of his distress is akin to my own culture shocks and dealings with lack of home space. But thankfully, we will be in a home within three weeks. So it goes.
Steve and I live parallel lives in and around River Dog. I met Steve at a kid's playground near the waterfront one evening.
My 5-year old son, Offspring #1 (or O1), had spent a couple of days in kindergarten at River Dog Elementary. The school teachers were testing him out to see if he would do well next year to start his school career in grade one. He passed, so O1 officially skips kindergarten and enrolls this fall. On the waterfront playground, O1 recognized a kid from his class that week and began playing with him. Eventually I met this kid's parent's near by.
Steve grew up on a farm outside of River Dog. He left in the 1980's at age 18 never to return (until recently). He met a japanese gal while living in japan and married. They raised their three kids (all the same age as mine) in Taiwan until he decided to get a MBA at a school in Edmonton this fall. His family immigrated back to Canada and are currently living on the family farm until their move for his schooling this fall.
We have since run into each other at the grocery store, post office, and a school carnival. But that's typical small town antics.
Same age. Married to women of different nationalities then ourselves. Three kids in the same age range. Living with family in a limbo period in River Dog. Even discovered we both have an affection for 1960's-70's psychadelic prog rock.
I hope to have coffee with Steve when I return to River Dog this week.
After being in the new country for eight weeks I finally called an old friend, mentor, catfish nugget fry-cook and Red Fox stunt double.
Ben Kenobi moved away from the city of our last assignment the exact same month we did. He is now 93 and has been living in a care home in Waco, TX with two nieces nearby.
We bitched and laughed about adjusting to our new lives and surroundings. Me: how Canada won't let me legalize my truck and the ridiculous expenses here. Him: how the care-home workers won't let him get out of bed by himself or dress himself. He claims that he's losing strength every day by not doing basic necessities for himself anymore.
I'm thinking Ben Kenobi has the rougher deal than me.
God, bless him and keep him sane.
During this limbo period my family has been living with my wife's parents at their acreage outside of the Big City. It's been both wonderful and oppressive at the same time.
Wonderful, in that there's plenty of space and privacy, plenty of remodeling work either with my father-in-law or at my wife's sister's house, and plenty of get-away/retreat like environment.
Oppressive, in that my in-law's are steeped in mine and my wife's church heritage and religious culture. They mostly associate with other church people. And there's many unwritten rules and cultures which they seem happy to indoctrinate my small children with. Most of these have to do with keeping that damned outside of the cup polished. But I digress.
So after being in the Big City and away from the wonderful environment the creator is brewing in River Dog, I feel lonely. And stuck in a church-only world
But then I meet Wally. He's the 50-ish basement dwelling next door neighbor to my sister-in-law where I do work most of the week. He offered me coffee one day while watching me tear out a deck. How could I refuse.
Wally use to do contract work as well as trucking. He seems to be impressed with my skills. He's given me great advice when I was removing a defunct chimney flue and has even given me a pocket sized book on Canadian building codes.
He seems like an aged neo-hippie intellectual. Right up my alley. I don't think my in-laws would have ever associated with him.
Funny. The guy the church people never noticed has become my friend.
Wally is the only guy I've ever met in Canada that's reached out to me and acts like he gives a damn.
Thank you creator.
This is too early for culture shock to set in. It's only been seven weeks since our arrival.
In my thorough preparation for this move, culture shock wasn't supposed to hit until the dead of winter when the sun hasn't shown in a month and I craved spicy mexican food.
Culture shock wasn't supposed to come in the form of insane amounts of money paid to the government owned auto insurance to cover a vehicle...or any other auto related legalization.
I'm getting mildly depressed. I was hoping we wouldn't go broke before we settled in to our new house. So it goes.
It's been six or seven weeks since my immigration and thus new assignment change. No big deal.
Despite all the smart-ass talk friends back home made of Canada, and the comment my father said about this move being "the biggest mistake" I'll ever make, I'm confident we are suppose to be here in River Dog, Saskatchewan.
But opening the mail today at my new PO Box was sobering: I received my new driver's license/photo ID. It hit me to see my face on a ID that said "Saskatchewan" and not "Texas".
I guess it's settled. I'm not on a summer long holiday at the in-law's.
I'm here.
For those not in the know...
The basic gist of our new assignment has something to do with this local Reach Out ministry. It is basically a hang-out joint with coffee, clothing, and occasional lunch throughout the week. It serves the local poverty culture which in River Dog, Saskatchewan if not all of Canada, revolves around native or aboriginal people.
This is a society and culture I am still gathering info on. Gathering as in submerging myself and observing. But a few books doesn't hurt either.
Amazingly, the Reach Out is not run by any church. It was formed by an alliance of churches in town (six maybe) and is loosely affiliated with them today. The hands on operation is run by Auntie, the matriarch of one of the local native bands. She is utterly amazing. Just a simple aging woman who is related to half the town and somehow fell in love with Jesus during her life. She is an undercover agent, yet one of "them" as well. A strategic positioning by the creator in my view.
My wife's cousin Trina and her husband Mark are very associated with this group. They have been on its board in the past and so forth. These cousins have been instrumental in our being here. And when we are in River Dog during this limbo period we live with them.
I haven't had much chance to hang at Reach Out. But I suspect it could become a fair part of our lives soon.
I have been battling a mild depression for the past week. It's part culture shock, part limbo phase doldrums, and part being bent over and raped by the Canadian Register of Imported Vehicles.
My beloved black ten year old Ford pickup (formerly know as "back-n-black", currently renamed "the outlaw") cannot pass both provincial and federal inspections due to lack of air bags. It was originally equipped with airbags but a previous owner wrecked it and I bought it as is. Hey, I got a good deal.
But after $700 of trying to make this truck legal, I learned of this dead-end air bag fate. After pleading and begging for mercy to the federal outfit in charge to no avail, I have resolved to sell the outlaw back in the good ole US...where safety standards are second fiddle to getting a good deal.
The RIV wouldn't accept my request to refund the $200 inspection form fee. So it goes. I am not a victim. Time to cut my losses and move forward.
Mental note Canada: there's a Texas hornet nest in your midst.
But on a positive note: this morning we not only got a positive inspection report on the house we are buying, but we somehow managed to jump all 49 hoops and get our Sask driver's license. It's much more difficult to get a driver's license or anything related to driving in Canada than it is to receive health care or govt insurance number.
This was a huge positive note. I'll take all the encouragement I can get these days. Thank you creator.
Greetings all. I debated whether to blog ever again or not. I think I need it, personally. Join me on this ego-parade, will you?
As you may know, the family and I have recently joined the agent relocation program and have been assigned to a new place approximately 1600 miles away from our last assignment. We have been placed in River Dog, Saskatchewan - population 1900.
Since our border crossing (and my immigration) in late May, we have been in a major limbo period of our lives. And honestly, we're dealing with it well. It's getting old. But as of this writing, we are under contract for a house. And if all goes well, it looks like the creator of the universe (COTU) is placing us in a neighborhood very similar to our last assignment in the southern US: border-line poverty, lower income, blue collar etc.
With the price of houses even in small town Sask, no wonder people around here are broke. Six-figure prices my ass. Never knew how good I had it down south.
We have been traveling back and forth from River Dog and three hours away in The Big City (not to be confused with the nearby Capitol City). We stay with cousins in River Dog and with my in-laws in The Big City. And we travel based on my work opportunities and who can stand to keep us at the moment. It's getting old.
One of our main reason for being here is to join in with the local Reach Out center. It is run by an elderly native woman who I am in slight awe of. I think I really respect her. Unfortunately I haven't been able to be there much due to the limbo era, etc. More to come.
In future episodes, I'll introduce the new cast of characters such as my wife's cousins, the folks at Reach Out, the locals I've met on the street, etc.
It's good to be back in the defunct blogosphere. I think.
I recently received a letter from Ben Kenobi. I forgot that we had left our cousin's PO Box with him. I am happy and surprised it came as his hand writing is difficult to read, the address is long with a wacky Canadian postal code, and it was under postaged.
