We've been at our new assignment for little over a year now. And we've been in our house and neighborhood for almost a year.
I know full and well that our time in the fair mother city (previous assignment) had ended. And that was reinforced last November when I made an unexpected trip back to Texas to sell my truck.
But I was reading this news report yesterday on how currently the fair mother city ranks SEVENTH in the US for the worst housing markets. Assuming any of that info is accurate, it is difficult to sell property based on the projected population growth in the next five years AND the devaluation in property recently.
I was in a world of house flipping back then. My last project sold in March 2010 after receiving an offer within a month of listing. Plus I sold my own home without listing it and with no hassles.
I would have to say the creator was protecting me in getting me out of there before the market changed.
Unfortunately, two friends on our old street are having a difficult time selling their houses now. One of them is Obi-Wan's old house, having been remodeled by my old jedi-master.
Help them lord, as you've helped me.
Things in River Dog seem to be going real well. We recently passed the one year anniversary of our border crossing. That was a milestone of some sort and I finally feel somewhat settled in this new arena. Somewhat.
My wife has made a few inroads with "real people" or people outside the middle class, system-living norm. I'll need to report on some of our relationships with our new friends at a later entry.
One of the things that kept us from jumping up and down about being in Canada was the close proximity to my wife's family. Yes, we live in the same town as two of her cousins and their families. But I primarily mean her parents in The Big City about three hours away. And by that I primarily mean her mom.
My mother-in-law has always acted threatened that we don't live by the system of this world. We don't have real careers, we don't have pension programs set up, we don't have health care programs set up (other than what Canada already doles out).
I guess right now my wife is a little discouraged by a phone conversation with her mother today. Funny how her mother never brings this stuff up with me. Probably because she knows better.
I'm sure there's nothing wrong or sinful by living with those systems. But for our life, we have never felt right about them to date. And the Creator has continued to care for us. So it goes.
Thank you god.
It's hard not to feel like an android these days. I like my boss, and my job is OK. But I constantly question how I got "here".
Most kids don't dream of doing drywall mudding when they're 40. Neither did I. But it's where I am now. So, I'm trying to ride this wave until the creator says go.
So like usual, I am waiting. I think.
What the hell am I waiting for? I don't know. A move of god? To write a rock opera? - because I'm going to do that someday. I need a band though.
I am liking my new job. Bill, my boss, is a seemingly simple and quiet guy. It's just he and I. No other work crew. No politics. No nonsense. And thank god almighty, no micro-managing. He just leaves me alone to do what I'm paid to do. And if I was to ever screw something up, I can't imagine him blowing a gasket over anything. I couldn't have asked for anything better.
Well, the work has so far been pretty life draining and monotonous. Mostly drywall mudding in various basements across Saskatchewan farmland. IE: the middle of nowhere. That can make me wonder just HOW I got here in life, what's the meaning of the universe, and etc.
I just crank up the ipod and get lost in mud.
I'm sure, as always, this period is yet another piece of the puzzle of life. Another step in the journey.
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One of the cool things about living in Saskatchewan is the amount of people you meet from across the globe. At one of the job sights I met Hans. He was a resident farmhand from Switzerland. Wow. I don't think I've ever met anyone from that place. He said it was crowded there. Which is one of the reasons he's now in the Canadian prairie.
Turns out Hans is a believer in the creator. Believers are harder to find here than back in Texas. He had some good testimony to share and so forth. But our conversation turned toward the awkward "where do YOU go to church?", which I've always hated.
I gave my half-assed answer of trying to become part of the ReachOut community. It's the truth. But dismal looking in reality. So it goes.
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My son is best friends with a girl in his class who's father is a local pastor of a high church denomination. Our kids became involved with their church in a two month after school deal that was a kin to a vacation bible school gig. It ended with a program where they sang during their Wednesday night service accompanied with a meal. So we attended.
The meal was a little strange as no one came to mingle with us, the guests, etc. No offense was taken on our part. But this was shockingly different from Texas churches where everyone is on you, the visitor, like Oprah on a baked ham.
But the pastor sat with us and actually encouraged me from a truthful standpoint of mission work. He knows why we're here in River Dog as our wives have become friends and co-workers with the same cleaning company. So they've talked some. He explained how a cohort of his in another town only recently broke into the native community after twenty years of ministry there.
It takes a long time to build trust with the local poverty culture.
And I pray it doesn't take us twenty years.
Today is Sunday. On Sundays I can't help but think of my old friend, catfish fry cook, and sanity barometer Obi-Wan. He was a major character from my last assignment in Texas.
We spent the better part of seven years in Obi-Wan's house every Sunday morning.
I get real emotional thinking about him. If I was an actor and had to perform a scene where I needed to cry, all I'd have to do was think about him and the seven years we spent.
Tears. On like a faucet.
And what's stupid...
He's not dead or anything. He'll be 94 at the end of this month.
And most any moment...
I could reach into my pocket, grab my cell, punch a button, and (assuming he'd answer, which he doesn't sometimes) talk to him on his cell.
But I usually don't.
It's too painful...talking to him
Somehow he always ends up talking about old times. Memories. Coming across the street and hanging out. Everything.
So to keep up with him, I usually email a trusted confidant who took over my part as volunteer care giver for Obi-Wan. Or sometimes I email some former neighbors who visit him at the care home once a week.
I'm told he has finally gotten use to the place. Not the food though. He's critical of all food made by someone other than him.
I'm afraid that one day I'm going to regret not calling him often.
I don't know how to carry on.
Damn.
I miss him.
Well, I start working with this home remodel guy tomorrow. I hope all goes well. And I pray he's a joy to work for/with. Sometimes I wish I was back in the fair mother city working with my former jedi master. Life was always a party in one way or another back then. But times have changed.
I spent a whopping four days at the local lumber yard. And both my wife and I wonder what that was about. Was it a fluke? Was it meant to be? Was I supposed to stay there and tough it out regardless of everything I felt in my spirit about that gig?
Then I remembered the dream I had a while back about getting a spiritual overview of this region. Well, this job may have lasted four days. But I got a behind the scenes close up of a very dark corner of this society.
The founder and current owner of the local lumber yard has one of the worst reputations in River Dog. More than once people who learned I worked in construction and remodeling warned me to stay away from him. The owner is a multi-millionaire who made his vast fortune from humble roots by screwing everyone he crosses, so it seems.
Another home remodel business owner whom I met with and wanted to work for (but didn't happen - another story on how the creator was protecting me) said he was screwed out of $38,000 from the lumber yard owner. This info was volunteered without his knowing I was in the running for a job with that lumber company.
Based on mass rumor, here-say, and my own hands-on job, the lumber yard owner is partnered up with several native band chiefs in various operations to screw those far northern bands out of their government funded housing materials or something. He has vast business deals in selling lumber to dry bands while slipping in crates of booze to get the sale, etc.
I don't know all the details and don't want to know. But it was my job to load the trucks that headed up north.
I got a clear overview of certain aspects of the relations between the white man and the native.
This is a dark place. Lord, guide me.
I started the job last week. It was kind of wacky. And I couldn't stop praying for a good way or reason out of it.
Well, I may have one.
A guy called me Thursday night asking if I was looking for a job. He got my name and number from his son-in-law, who was one of the contractors I called a month ago when looking for work.
This guy does mostly home reno stuff, drywall, shingling, whatever. He operates a three man crew. He has steady work year round, been in business for twenty years, and doesn't advertise as all of his work comes from word of mouth. He pays slightly better than the lumber yard pays me, and that could change after one month. The lumber yard was going to take six months for any pay increase.
And more importantly, it's the kind of work and life that I want to do.
That lumber yard job never sat right with me. There's a lot of crazy stuff going on in the background. The owner of the operation has to be one of the biggest crooks I've ever heard of. There's way too many rumors around town about that guy.
I'm supposed to let the home reno guy know by Monday night, and I could start the following Monday. So again, prayers for wisdom are appreciated.
Then I'll have to diplomatically bow out of the lumber yard gig. Which might be tricky since the manager absolutely loves me.
It won't break my heart to say bye, though.
So, if this new home reno work is meant to be, I wonder why the creator allowed me to go into this job I hated.
We've been at our new assignment for little over a year now. And we've been in our house and neighborhood for almost a year.
