My cousin Mark and I have been dreaming out loud as we worked on a house project for a wealthy retiree.
When I moved to River Dog, I was shocked at how few places there were for a family to rent. Amazingly, the need is there but nobody seems to be doing much about it. Most of the former low-end apartments have been bought up and are now being turned into condos. Kick the poor out, move in the rich. Same story, different town.
I asked around with the Reach Out crowd where they or their friends lived and how much they were paying. It was easy to investigate as they all knew we were homeless ourselves at the time.
Most of the folks lived in run down shacks on the various reserves surrounding River Dog. The government gave them the reserve houses somehow. But the ones in town were paying around $750 a month for a crapped out single wide mobile home in the hood (two streets over from where I now live).
$750! We ain't in the fair mo' city no mo'. Some of that is just Canada, with its higher cost of living. But then some of that is supply and demand. In River Dog there's much demand and little supply.
Mark and I were dreaming about buying one or two of the numerous empty town lots for sale and building a decent apartment building, like a quad-plex or an eight-plex if double storied. All two-bedroom, maybe some three, etc
This is real do-able. I am sure my father in-law would love to invest in something like that. So I think the money is there. But I'd need to have some plans drawn up by an architect, get a bunch of bids and numbers together, etc. I'd like to charge fair and realistic rent while making the entire project paid off in 5-7 years. I assume that's possible. We'll see.
Other ideas were to get our feet wet and build our capitol up by flipping a house or two. Those possibilities were limited in River Dog. We might have to do that in the nearby Capitol City.
It's fun to dream. Especially when the dreams seem so realistic. And it could help out the locals with a fair shot at housing.
Rumor has it that our new next door neighbor (to the right of us) had lost her husband/boyfriend to suicide. I'm told she has some teen aged boys that sometimes live with her, or at least I've only caught a glimpse of one of them.
This is what we're up against. Suicide has a strong presence amongst the first nations people. There is such a level of hopelessness that you can actually see it - on people's appearance, people's houses, their cars. Just dreary hopelessness.
It's weird because this neighbor has the worst looking, most depressing house of the block. It's just like our former neighbors to the right of us back in the fair mo' city, The Sanfords. Except The Sanfords were full of life somehow, in a disfunctional sort of way.
It has been difficult to meet any neighbors. And we've been here a week. This seems wrong. But the locals are so stoic or jackasses or whatever.
Creator, please give us some ideas or inroads.
Earlier this week my family moved into our new house. We are now settled in the new undisclosed neighborhood we call home in River Dog.
That first night was rough. I have gone through a sea of emotions that can only be attributed to culture shock and general change. But I get better each day.
I feel very lonely though. Yes, I have my wife, our kids, even her cousins like Mark & Trina. But I have no friend. Maybe someday.
The culture for Canada in general is quite different from the southern US. Back home, if a person as much as stared at me for more than a second that gave me open rights to say hi. Maybe start a conversation. Not here though. People are more stoic or something. Or maybe assholes. I'm still figuring it out.
Seven years ago when we moved into our first undisclosed location we had neighbors practically coming over to meet us, kids hanging around, and friendly smiles. Here, my wife and I have barely seen who lives on either side of us. The neighbors across the street are best friends with Mark & Trina. But we've hardly seen them too.
I'm not in the fair mo' city anymore, that's for sure.
We are here in River Dog for good. Closing on our house should be Monday with moving and etc to follow. This is it: the moment we've been waiting for since crossing the border almost three months ago.
Some of the culture shock I deal with revolves around being in an extremely small town. Everybody knows everyone. Almost literally.
Keeping one's mouth shut is probably the best practice anywhere in life. But living in River Dog it is essential. If I blow up at the local government run insurance outlet (as I most certainly deserve to, so I think) word would get around that I was a difficult ass or something.
I am also shocked to learn that most of the Reach Out crowd knows the guy who we are buying the house from. I probably shouldn't tell them what a sneak he is as he didn't disclose some vital legal info on the property until after my end of the deal was signed and paid for. (Closing in Canada involves the buyer doing all the legal work 10-14 days in advance of possession).
I suppose a better discipline would be to not have an evil heart towards anybody. But keeping my mouth shut is a good start. Maybe nothing will haunt me.
Two of the major characters in our lives within this new assignment are Trina and her husband Mark.
Trina is the second cousin of my wife. I first met her and Mark at our wedding in The Big City almost twelve years ago. They took photos for us and became our official wedding photographers. We kept up with each other ever since.
Trina and Mark are both school teachers by trade. She: mostly high school English and writing, but also music and maybe some drama. He: used to have a "store front" school aiding the local troubled youth until the district did away with that. Now he teaches shop and whatever else they give him. He is excellent with rowdy kids.
They are both very talented and creative people. Trina is a published author and attends various writing seminars throughout the province and such. Mark is a fair builder. This summer we have worked on a house project together.
They both have backgrounds within our church heritage and they have a love for the creator. They fell in love with the poor during a five year teaching assignment in a remote northern Saskatchewan community...so remote there are no roads to get there. One must fly in. Although I think there is a dirt road to that place now.
They have both been very active in the local Reach Out joint. And they have been instrumental in our transition period (living with them) as well as our overall being here.
I really look forward to how the creator will use the four of us within this poverty context of Small town Canada. I think we are learning to listen. Together.
Our last weekend in The Big City was relaxing. I took the day off (Saturday) from my work-a-holic in-law's to run errands and hang out with my family.
We went to a city park where there was a play ground and water jets that shot out of both the cement and little statues for kids to run through.
I was sitting there watching my three kids in the distance, my wife napping next to me, wondering why everything looked so "perfect". The whole vibe was upper middle class. Nice shade trees. Manicured grass. High-end playground equipment. Yuppie-looking supermodel moms in high dollar sun dresses pushing BMW strollers.
This was slightly off from the environment I was use to in our former TX assignment. Where were the panhandlers? Why was there no graffiti on the playground equipment? What about the foul-mouthed kids perched on top of the monkey bars swearing at everything walking by? What is this place?
Then suddenly this native-looking guy strolls through scoping out everybody. "Here comes the panhandling!" I thought. Finally, some REAL action.
I watched this guy pull up on a park bench next to one of the moms and start talking. She seemed fine with him, even smiling and laughing. Like maybe they knew each other.
Then twenty minutes later he stalked us out. And my wife says, "I met this guy last week here with my sister. And my sister has met him before".
His name was Telly. Or maybe Kelly. He had a speech impediment. Telly was a 17-year old mentally handicapped kid who lived around the block from the park. "Isn't this a great day?" he kept asking enthusiastically.
Telly would go on and on about his excitement over some local parade and carnival happening next week. He'd ask what our favorite parts would be. His was the fireworks. Then he'd get up to hit the button for the kid's water sprayers so they could keep playing. He rambled on a few more minutes before leaving to help push some kids on the swings.
Here's a young man with the mentality of a five-year old. Happy as can be about everything. And an upcoming parade.
And I have the gall to wonder what Jesus meant by "to enter the kingdom, you must be like this guy".
If it wasn't for the saving grace of busting concrete out of a wall for new window installation or crawling around a muddy trench drilling holes into cement, I would have a tough time with the culture adjustments.
I am ashamed to admit that. I had hoped I'd be tougher.
Things are not that bad. And I trust the creator laid before me these brutal manual labor jobs for family members in order to survive the limbo/culture shock adjustment. Overall I am faring well.
But one thing about Canada that is really hard for me to grasp: here, you truly ARE what your employment is.
It's not that career or job isn't an idol in the US or the rest of the world. But in Canada it just seems more so. Every form I've filled out or interview I've endured involving immigration, auto registration bullshit, bank account set ups, or house buying all asks "who am I" as a means of saying "your employment?"
We barely got a mortgage due to my lack of being employed. Self employment isn't worth shit here unless you've built up a huge business over time. Thankfully there was one bank who'd work with us. And I have an established father-in-law in the Big City willing to co-sign, etc.
All of this is part of the culture in the US too. But in Canada, you really are a nobody if you're a secret agent.
Humbling. A nobody. Seems like something I should embrace...
Our limbo period will end (or begin to end) two weeks from this writing. We are scheduled to close on a house very much akin to the old undisclosed neighborhood we called home in west Texas.
I am appalled at housing prices here but maybe I'll get over it.
Meanwhile there is little to report as I spend almost all of my time doing construction or remodel work with a cousin in River Dog or in-laws in The Big City. We are currently in The Big City for what plans to be our last stay of the limbo period.
And for those interested in dealings of the past, Ben Kenobi is en route the the Fair Mo' City as of this minute. A trusted agent who has diligently replace my duties with Kenobi is in the process of transporting him to a new care home from the one in Waco. Ben was really unhappy in Waco. So it goes.
But new reports and adventures to come soon. Stay tuned...
My cousin Mark and I have been dreaming out loud as we worked on a house project for a wealthy retiree.
