Travel Tips

If you have read our previous pages, you will know that our decision to move to Italy was rather unexpected, unplanned, and, the best decision of our married life. (except for our boys)

We discussed the pros, and the cons, discussed them a second, third, forth time, gradually eliminating all the 'cons', because they tended to cloud our judgement.

We even consulted our guru, our trusty Canadian nickel, counting on the odds that continous flipping of this coin would eventually give us the answer we wanted. I'm not suggesting that the results were, shall I say, altered, because that would defeat the purpose of this unbiased 'opinion' that we so badly sought.

Anyway, over lunch one day, we were in the process of adding up all the 'heads' indicated on the three sheets of foolscap (legal sized paper), and comparing them to the 'tails' side (note the Beaver) of our hastily designed ledger. The tally was something like 764 to 763, or 764 to 282, who can recall specifics this long after the fact? The point is, the tie breaking 'flip' was about to be exercised, between completion of the soup, and the serving of the sandwiches. Since Ma Kettle was the sandwich maker, and an accidental smear of mustard on our Canadian nickel could create a fouled 'flip', I took it upon myself to perform this last feat of wisdom.

A fine, fine flip if I say so myself. A little off center mind you, as it rolled behind our 1980's model Fridgidare. This thing weighed a ton, plus the rollers tended to roll in direct opposition to one another, so movement without a linebacker was difficult, if not impossible.

However, a flip is, as a flip does, so, since neither of us actually saw which way the 'flip' eventually landed, the official standings of our marathon flipping decision was a flop. A potential flippin' disaster, but we thought carefully, decided against playing 'scissors vs.rock', after all, this was a life altering choice we had to make. So we flipped again, and decided that which ever side the coin landed on, it would be 'a flip for Italy'.

After a quiet moment of hesitation, we removed our trembling hands away from our eyes, glanced downwards, and saw... tails.

Italy, here we come!

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Preparations

Ok, that little problem taken care of.

Now, we had the house to pack up, sell our treasures, and get on with life. No easy feat, for we had occupied our domain for over thirty years, and raised three kids, two dogs, a sweet Moluccan Cockatoo, and a tomato patch on this rectangular piece of property.

I was still trying to gather all my tools from previous years, scattered about the yard after numerous attempts by my oldest to fine tune his trusty BMX. I no longer had the benefit of procrastination, I had to get moving. Tomorrow I would lower the wheels on my mower another notch, and do a further sweep. I was positive my Craftsman Wrench set would have survived the past few seasons unscathed. I thought I should pay additional attention to the area that was defoliated recently around my son's Skidoo (with the fuel leak), beside the newly deceased Cedar.

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Yard sales, and more yard sales...

Never found my Craftsman wrenches, but chipped my lawn mower blade on some type of molten mass near the containment area. However, did find a screw cap which I used to replace the mysterious missing cap on the upturned empty gas can. A real bonus...

Our old house gave sighs of relief as we conveyed box after box of necessary purchases collected over the years, up or down the stairs (why were stairs always part of the equation), and out onto our driveway. Each Friday afternoon was spent driving about town, stapling yard sale notices onto street posts or pinning them to bulletin boards.

We had very carefully indicated on the notices our Start time for the following morning. For the second yard sale, we highlighted "No early birds please", as people showed up every Saturday morning at the crack of dawn.

So much work, compounded by the fact that you had to carry the unsold stuff back into the house afterwards. People are rude, expect bags, and present $50 bills if purchasing a 25 cent novel, and ask for a warranty card as they buy the old 8-track player.

We had hoards of people show up, picking through our stuff, making faces at what once stood proudly under our stairs gathering dust, and murmuring to one another prior to bartering for a lawn ornament or an antique hair dryer.

Ma Kettle caught one guy pushing our wheel barrow out the yard overflowing with stuff neither of us had sold him. Brazen S.O.B. He tried to take advantage of us while we were high fiving each other over the disposal of the two boxes of imitation brick so popular in the early seventies.

We hated having yard sales. It rained more often than not, the mosquitos seemed to enjoy a good bargain, people stole, switched price tags, asked us to save something for them and never came back, and kids dropped stuff and mom just walked away. They bring out the worst in people, let me tell you.

A real good tip, if you see something you like while out shopping, don't buy it that day. Sleep on it, and if still interested, return the next day to make your purchase. You'll be amazed at how a little inconvenience will earn you big savings in the long run. Also, you really don't need most of your crap in your basement. Start now, turn your little gems into instant cash. Don't wait until the chore is overwhelming.

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Packing...

Oh boy, Ma Kettle found my 'ONLY' flaw. I can't pack worth a darnation. I'm told to empty my drawer, I turn it upside down and dump it. My attitude is, I'm going to have to sort through the contents eventually, cuz' I won't remember what treasures I've stowed away, so I might just as well remove any errant dust bunnies then, rather than waste my time and do it twice. Makes perfect sense to any male readers I'm sure, but, Ma Kettle wanted it done her way...and I obey in order to maintain peace. (once again, male readers understand)

My job was carrying all the goodies, which Ma had labouriously packed away in perfectly labeled cartons, out to our Durango for transfer into storage. This excavation of all our earthly possessions took over a month, with an occasional detour down memory lane. The difficulty came when trying to decide what was absolutely necessary, what could go in our yard sales, what was garbage, but meanwhile eyeballing the space remaining in our storage locker. A real trade off, made much easier when I was out of sight and Ma exercised her good judgement. I have (or had) a pair of flight boots from my enrollment in the military, perfectly good (patch was holding), but they were often accidently placed in the refuse pile. Luckily I was able to retrieve them each time.

I made countless runs to the dump, an expensive proposition as we were lining the municipalities coffers with a charge of $2 per bag. We couldn't even pay for each deposit we made directly to the custodian, we had to purchase 'dump cards' from the local grocery store and each bag would be deducted from the card value. Each load in my Durango would require two cards. Such a waste (no pun intended).

Since we became such good customers, the dump guy began to take little strolls in the opposite direction when he saw me coming. In no way do I feel he was derelect in his duty. He just displayed the courtesy that Canadians are known world wide for. Plus he saved us a buck or two.

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Ma Kettle went on to Italy ahead of me...

Selling your house is a very disturbing chore. You always think it is worth more than it is, and the realtor doesn't care one because for him/her, it's worth a shot. If it sells, more money in their pocket, if it doesn't, he/she will convince you to lower your expectations (and price).

No thought is put into the hope you develope each time there is a showing, or the heartbreak when a perspective buyer doesn't share your enthusiasm.

The 'low ball' offers a realtor is required to bring to you, the explanation being that the buyer would have to strip the wall paper you just put up, or remove the original woodwork you painstakingly renewed last summer because they want new tile installed, or question your stupidity in not installing the new bathroom where 'they' think it should have gone. All these things reduce their offers, and you get madder and madder.

The real upset comes when you have been up most of the night sorting and cleaning, and you've finally just laid down, and a phone call comes because someone wants a walk-thru within the hour. It doesn't matter that you insisted to the realtor that 24 hours notice was expected prior to a showing. You're anxious. You want it sold. You want it over with.

Ma Kettle had gone ahead to Italy before me, and I had last minute chores to complete before I could leave Canada. We had a four bedroom house, complete with furnishings to finish clearing, my friends had all mysteriously came down with a long term illness, my boys were living in Calgary, so basically, the move was mine entirely.

I was running out of time, because my flight for Italy departed in three weeks hence. I kept packing, and moving our 'keepers' into storage, and continued to prepare the house for viewing, which seemed to be a twice daily occurance.

I had house cleaning down to a science, and found that by dragging the vacumn behind me, the nap would remain in the upright position. I would then slip out the back door, stash the vacumn in the Durango, and hang my bath towels over the front bucket seat. The house was always in pristine condition when the 'gawkers' came for a viewing. It became a game for my own amusement to count the footprints of my vistorsafterwards, therefore allowing me to determine the size and quantity of prospective buyers. You see, In Canada, you are requested to make yourself scarce when the house is shown. I assume it allows for easier condemnation of your home. Hey, I enjoyed my little game, and learned the fundamentals of tracking in case our paths were to lead us to Africa some day.

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sold, sold, sold...hee,hee,hee

Six days remaining...

Panic was setting in. I was due to leave Canada in six days, and still no sale. We did have contigency plans, a renter was standing by the sidlines and anxious to step in if no sale was completed. He wanted it furnished, which was OK, but we weren't excited about renting our home. I had spent the last year renovating in order to increase the value, and who knew what damages could occur with a tenant.

Five days left, and by the end of that day (Friday), miracles of miracles, an offer was presented. I made a counter offer, done deal.

House sold, now the furniture. Talk about easy, by midnight that same Friday, most of the furniture was gone, cash in hand. Saturday morning the early birds showed up, more sold, everything gone by Sunday evening. Or so I thought. Monday morning, more people on the front deck, holding my garbage cans, wanting a price. Hee, hee, hee. Come on in, more in the basement. Brooms, chests, mops, pails, you name it, It was like a Christmas in reverse. Everything gone. What a relief. I was beat...

I felt such an overpowering sense of loss, mixed with great joy, and even had developed some loathing for our home and furnishings. I walked through the house after the realtor left, almost in a daze, and recalled certain incidents that had occured while the kids were growing up, visualized their faces walking out Christmas morning, staring at the circle of presents beneath the tree, remembered the special moments when we gathered about the table for Thanksgiving dinner ... memories, they can never be erased. It was hard though, the house was like the box we kept our joy in. Now it was gone.

Moral of the story, guys, we need our wives. They hold us together and give us the strength to do what they want us to do. Never leave home without one, and never let them leave home without you.