Taking the plunge

This past week, we took the HUGE leap of faith once again when we closed the deal on our new condo in Wasaga Beach. In case you've missed it, we've been renting a condo in our adopted city of Guelph following the last leap of faith that saw us move communities after 30+ years in Barrie. With so little experience in the housing game, we really don't have a lot to compare it to, but here's the low-down on the week's events!

It began with yet another drive from Guelph to Barrie following what we hoped was the last 4:45 am alarm. I did a supply day at Barrie North then we dashed to the bank to purchase a ridiculous-sized bank draft to take to the lawyer's for the balance of our new condo. Finally sitting in the seat across the desk from our lawyer Doug Hill, we tested our will as we signed our lives away on forms like "No, we're not terrorists", "No, that's not my debt despite the same name", "Yes, our lawyer can do this or that", and all of the legal mumbo-jumbo with transferring the deed of real estate. 

Following the lawyer, we pointed toward the setting sun for our final viewing of the condo prior to Wednesday's final proceedings. Arriving a few minutes early ... as is our habit ... we affirmed our Canadian blood by grabbing a Tim Horton's coffee before heading the the beach for a snack while relishing in the gloriousness of our new adopted community. Although we've visited Wasaga regularly during our marriage thanks to Joyce's love of the sand between her toes, this time felt oddly different since we would soon be "hanging our hat" in this little gem of a community. Our viewing was short 'n sweet and all appeared to be in order, unless you count the clutter of moving a put-off, but we had faith that things would be sorted and clean by the time we got the keys.

I don't mind admitting that the drive back to Guelph felt a little odd. 

We'll call Tuesday launch preparations, what with more packing and a trip to Home Depot to purchase paint and application materials since we knew that we were not a fan of the previous owner's decoration choices. I accept that all goods and services have increased in price thanks to the pandemic, but the sticker shock of nearly $400.00 worth of redecorating tools was still a slap in the face.

June 15th will hold a small place in our marriage lineage as we packed up the RAV to the ceiling and headed for "the Beach" in anticipation of the closing of our little nest-egg. When we met with the lawyer two days prior, we were assured that all was in place and we should receive a call signifying our success around 2:00 pm, so being us, we were waiting at the condo complex by 1:30. When we purchased our first home 31 years previous, it was "old school" for the keys ... you had to retrieve them from the lawyer ... but with improvements in technology (???) we were to retrieve the keys from a lockbox at the site. We waited in the RAV for a while, mildly peeved as 2:00 came, then 2:30, then 3:00, and as we discussed a variety of ownership issues, we finally deciding to unload while we waited. Our new building is a little different since the access to the front door is from an outdoor walkway, and that proved to be the perfect wrinkle as we piled part of our lives outside our door. 

3:30 came and went ... 4:00 too ... our brows were definitely furrowed.

One benefit of sitting atop your possessions in the hallway was meeting our next-door neighbour, a lovely lady named Phyllis. As we got acquainted, we discussed a variety of condo-related topics, and she was able to answer a number of questions that we had about the building and its rules. As the minutes continued to tick by, I'd finally had enough and placed a call to the lawyer's office to find out what had transpired to delay proceedings, but the gruff, "We'll call you soon" response did little to soften my angst. 

At last, the call came through at 4:45, we accessed the lockbox, and opened the door to our future.

Now, I must tell you that when we agreed to the purchase we were well aware that some minor renovations were in order. The swinging door revealed that our faith in our fellow humans was justified as we were greeted by a clutter free visage. After moving our stuff inside, the cleaning process quickly ensued as we readied for the transformation. Neither of us were enthralled by the looming night's rest and a date with our daughter's high-end air mattress, but "beggars can't be choosers" and we were soon making our best attempt. A long while ago in our marriage, we were waterbed lovers, and the air mattress conjured up the less lovable of those deeply recessed memories. Our fitful slumber was interrupted by a piercing shrill at 1:30 am as a first-night fire alarm awoke the building, providing us with a middle of the night Meet 'n Greet thanks to a faulty sensor tripped by the high humidity. Our new place faces east-west so the 5:30 am early morning light shook the slumber out of our eyes as we accepted our renovation fate.

The rest of the week was a whirlwind of patching, priming, trimming, and rolling as holes were repaired, edges were taped, drop clothes were spread and we were elbow deep in the muck of painting. Can you feel my distain? I am fine with doing the deed, love the fruits of the labour, but it's not on my list of likes, that's for sure. As the transformation slowly proceeded, we found ourselves questioning our colour choices, but slowly and surely, the changes solidified into a very pleasing vista. 

Joyce is a trooper!

I had accepted a supply day for the Friday about two months ago, reasoning that the extra income would offset the costs of redecorating, so in my absence on Friday, she forged ahead without me. That day at North featured the re-establishment of the annual Athletic Banquet following its pandemic-imposed absence. I had agreed to take photos of the award winners, and as partial thanks, I was gifted a leftover pizza to spare the stovetop efforts for the night, a treat that Joyce was quite appreciative of after a day bent at the waist or on the knees doing all of the fine detail trimming.

As the fading sun of Saturday slowly sank into the horizon, we were cruising the backroads of Clearview, Dufferin and Wellington counties, back to Guelph one last time (well, as residents anyway, since KP + his GF still live there), pleased with ourselves for the work we put in, and ready for the big move this coming week.

Like Sheryl Crowe famously warbled, "A change will do you good!"

Big moments and Butter Tarts

Whew! What a week! Almost more than my retired hind end can handle ... almost!

The week started off retirement-ly with a couple of us-days as we readied ourselves for the looming change of moving with de-cluttering, downsizing, debating what goes + what goes out, boxing up our lives, and the occasional recreational walk or ride. There have been weeks where I was willing to take on supply work but the notifications of potential jobs were eerily silent, but as it always happens when you mentally block off a part, my phone was screaming like a Banshee with offers aplenty. I realized on a lovely ride around my adopted city that my rides there were numbered and that left me feeling a little sad.

We were eager for the dawning of Wednesday with the Sr Boys' Rugby GBSSA game scheduled at North CI that afternoon, partly because it's rugby and who doesn't love that, but mostly because my buddies Mike Alcombrack, Adam Claus, Burke Erwin, and Alex Griffin were chomping at the bit to cap off a brilliant season of development and growth with a championship. I had the RAV packed, the camera charged, and my eagerness barely in check as we pointed northeast for the commute ... again ... back to Barrie. I'm stoked to report that while most definitely a nail-biter thanks to some inspired play on behalf of dreaded rival Innisdale, my adopted Vikings pulled out a literal last second win when the scrum half hit the penalty kick with no time left on the referee's clock to win 13-12. Although in my very biased opinion, North could have had the game won multiple times thanks to a nasty case of the "dropsies", the huge crowd of rugby fans definitely got their money's worth with an Uber-exciting game! When I sat down that night to edit the photos I took, I was surprised to see I had over 700 shots to choose from, albeit a host of which were the celebratory variety as the kids strutted their stuff lofting the GBSSA plaque and SCAA banner. 

Wednesday was topped of with another heart-warmer as a few of the retired old farts, myself included, met at the Queen's Hotel patio for a bevy and a chat. This is something that has been happening regularly for years prior to my own retirement, but went digital during the pandemic. While the newness of Zoom was exciting, I have to say that getting back to the face to face sharing of a "meal" is really what charges our human batteries. If you're reading this, and you're a retired Central teacher, feel free to join us to commiserate on the first Wednesday of each month.

Thursday was the first of 3 supply days with HPE + Geo for a friend at North. I had done a couple of days earlier in the semester already so I felt a small pang of familiarity with the kids, and I'm happy to pass on that the day was a pleasurable experience. Although the day started out wet, the clearing skies created a cloudless glorious afternoon for the walk down to the waterfront to my mother's condo since Joyce was working with her "adopted" little ones and had the car. 

Friday's spectacular dawn, complete with a colour show that would shame a peacock, signalled that the day could be a cracker weather-wise, bringing a wide grin to my face both because I could get the kids outside to break up the monotony of a June Friday and that my Aunt Merle's Celebration of Life was scheduled for the midday. The morning's HPE class was an entertaining affair as 3 of us organized a "Fun Friday" on the field that prompted 80+ student's giggles and laughter. When the lunch bell rang, I dashed over to Union Cemetery for Merle's internment, and was supremely grateful for the opportunity to reconnect with my extended family. The celebration was gratifying because, as I wrote in this post (CLICK), my childhood was spent in the company of my cousins and holds great significance to me. Merle was cremated meaning that we could honour her wishes of a small vial of her being put into my father's niche, per her wishes, thanks to the love she felt from his support over their lives. To have my father's niche open, with his burial urn in full view, I held a couple of sobs in check as I remembered them both fondly. With Covid almost in the rearview mirror, my cousins and I (+ our now adult children) vowed that we would arrange a time this summer to rekindle our former close ties. A win-win for me, if I'm honest.

The coup de grace for Friday was the news that North's Girls' Rugby brilliantly played the David role by slaying the Goliath that was the previously unbeaten Nantry side to win the GBSSA title 7-5 and making it a two-fer for the Vikings. Although working prevented me from capturing the moments with my Nikon because the game was an early start down in Alcona, I was none the less stoked to receive the text sharing the great news! 

Saturday's early rising was thanks to my plans to share the BT~175km with a bunch of like-minded acquaintances as we peddled our way around the Simcoe Country Rail Trail, a 160km route that circumvents the northern portions of Simcoe using the old CPR lines. Much of the trail is crushed gravel, but there are portions in the northern-most part that are paved, and others that are packed earth resulting in the occasional mud bath as spray from the tires spares no one. The BT part stands for Butter Tart, a Kryptonite of many a cyclist, with one of our waypoints that day being the annual Midland Butter Tart festival. One of the group lives in Perkensfield and his adorable wife met us at Farm2Door, a quaint little shop and Butter Tart stop, with water-refills and watermelon, the perfect companion to the megalodonic tarts offered there. 

Even though I consider myself as more than a casual cyclist, riding "the Loop" is a daunting task that proves a challenge each time I attempt it. My kilomterage of late buoyed my abilities and I felt pretty capable throughout, so much so that I chose to top off the 160km with a ride to Angus to meet Joyce who had spent the day with our daughter. Since my Garmin's battery died near the DeCast plant on the 30th sideroad, the total kilometres were a guess, but I'm confident that ~175 is close. The afternoon's rain showers meant that I had brought some of the trail out to Maddi's with me, her garden hose handling the muck admirably. 

The pink tees proudly displayed here ... although I do much better behind the camera since you can barely see me holding my trusty steed aloft in the background ... are thanks to the fundraising prowess of Cycle Simcoe and available to anyone who requests one after completing the Rail Trail.

As I sit in front of my laptop on a wet Sunday morning, recounting the week's events and planning for the coming week's excitement as we take possession of our new-to-us condo on Wednesday, I have to admit that despite the jammed calendar, this past week was filled with smile-worthy moments that left my heart full of happiness and joy. 

As the Tragically Hip once crooned, "wait and see what tomorrow brings!"

All it takes is $$$

Blyth, ON, is an idyllic, quaint little village about 85 km northwest of Waterloo, 100 km north of London, or 130 km southwest of Owen Sound, depending on which Ontario landmark makes the most sense to you. I would tell you that it's only 20 east of Goderich, but that's likely only a place you've heard of, and not somewhere you'd know. According to Wikipedia, "Blyth is a village in North Huron, Huron County, Ontario, Canada, at the intersection of Huron County Road 4 and Huron County Road 25. Blyth is also 24 km inland from Lake Huron. Despite its small size (pop ~ 1000), Blyth has a significant national presence. The village attracts hundreds of thousands of visitors annually to its world-renowned theatre, destination craft brewery and large municipal campground. As well, Blyth has several prominent employers creating job opportunities not found in many rural regions of Canada."

First settled in 1851, Blyth was not known by that moniker until the good ol' Canada Post's blunder in 1856 when it named the village after the British land surveyor Henry Blyth, for a reason I could not uncover, but it was "put on the map" by the establishment of a CPR stop on the line from Goderich to Guelph. Incorporated in 1877, Blyth is a rural Canadian success story. "The village has been recognized as a model for Canadian rural communities who incorporate arts and culture to diversify community economy to move beyond solely an agriculture-based model." or so says Wikipedia.

Why tell you all of this about a place prototypically rural?

It's that wee tidbit about the CPR rail line that led to my introduction to Blyth, when I recently visited this sleepy little hamlet at the behest of my friend Dave Byers, for a midday retirement lunch at the Cowbell Brewing Company, the classically styled but modernly outfitted microbrewery that is one of midwest Ontario's hidden little gems.

Dave and I are cyclists and that day was our discovery of the G2G ... the Guelph to Goderich Trail.

As cyclists, we choose to ride our bikes really, really far to justify eating delicious foods and drinking well crafted beers, and microbreweries are some of the finest places to do just that. According to Dave, a relative cornucopia of knowledge, Cowbell Brewery exists thanks to the business acumen of Grant Sparlings who founded Sparlings Propane back in 1951 and grew the value into a multi-million dollar venture. As Dave tells it, on his passing, old man Sparlings bequeathed what is believed to be 20 million to his grandchildren with the only stipulation being that they had to create a business in Blyth. Obviously blessed with vision, the result of that challenge is Cowbell Brewery, a microbrewery, a restaurant, a community partner, and a thriving business. I cannot do the building justice with photos, so simply didn't try. Even the photo-map above is a mishmash of a couple of poorly executed iPhone photos in an attempt to give you an idea of the treasures the building holds.

Since we had just hopped off the bikes after a 56 km ride from our starting locale of Millbank, a hamlet in the heart of Mennonite Country, we opted for an outdoor table on the side patio in hopes that the subtle zephyr would carry away the muskiness of our efforts, and keeping all things Covid in mind, it was the perfect choice. The fare of the day turned out to be a sharing of tacos and pizza, topped with a sample of Cowbell's finest efforts. The tacos came with beautifully seasoned shredded chicken, fresh toppings and a wonderful aioli, with my half standing absolutely no chance against the hunger the morning's ride had developed. The pizza was a simple pepperoni masterpiece on a handmade crust with a hint of a basil and oregano, lathered in a delicious marinara that perfectly complimented the generous sized chunks (not slices) of pepperoni. 

The only negative of the entire day came on the ride back when the forecasted rains made a fierce, albeit short, appearance tilting trees, drenching us to the skin, and making the trail ride an adventurous undertaking as visibility was cut to a few metres. As quickly as it arrived, it left, and the rest of the trek was as pleasant as you'd like.

The brilliance was capped by a return visit to Millbank's famous AnnaMae's Bakery for an encore of handmade apple fritters (round one was a couple of weeks ago on another ride with Dave) so sugary sweet, the risk of an instant cavity was profoundly real. I even became the dinner hero when I spied a freezer with turkey pot pie beside a shepherd's pie ... both made the trip back to Guelph ... landing me a loving hug and a peck on the cheek from my bestie. It was a small price to pay for stranding her in the condo for the day while I rode through some of Ontario's finest sights.

As my friend Kevin Simms, the guy who got me into cycling, once told me, "We ride so much so that our wives won't have to wipe our bums when we're 80!" Yes Kevin, cycling is about the tremendous health benefits, but it's also about the friendships made and enhanced through the shared efforts of a 112 km ride on a quiet Monday of retirement. 

Oh, and it's also about beers, sweets, and adventures.

Just sayin'!

Education is really about THE PEOPLE!

It'll come as not surprise to anyone who knows me that I'm a MASSIVE fan of teaching, but as I've pointed out in a number of posts in the past, I'm not in love with education right now. Having made that bold statement, I really must admit that reason NUMERO UNO for choosing teaching was the opportunity to meet, befriend, guide, influence, and assist the widest variety of people possible before St Peter rings his bell for me. Accomplishing all of those things with young people is obviously paramount to the role, but it also applies directly to those I've shared "combat in the trenches". 

This week featured another great moment in my personal history with that.

My time at Barrie Central was golden, of that there's no doubt, but where BCC featured more social consumption activities off campus, my adventures at Barrie North have been more activity based, not the least of which was the annual year-end golf night. Well, as Julie Andrews once crooned, "... somewhere in my wicked childhood, I must have done something good ..." since I was invited to add my "maturity" to the shenanigans as a member of Team Retired (+wannabe) featuring Peter Glass, Ron Andrews, and myself holding up the retired portion, and Burke Erwin longing for inclusion to our clan.

Making the trip up from Guelph for such a red-carpet affair would be easy to justify, at least in my mind, but I was able to swing a few supply days in financial support of said activity, completely satisfying all imposed conditions of being on a fixed income (says I with a mischievous grin). 

The Annual BNC Golf Night is a traditional romp through the fields of Simoro for 9 holes of inconsistent golf, social banter, wisecracks, and boisterous laughter lubricated by the offerings of the drink cart. Being a thoughtful chap, I planned ahead by securing a lift from the honourable Mike Alcombrack to the course, and arranging for my adorable bride to retrieve her giggly mess of a spouse afterward. Far be it from me to over-indulge, but was a safe bet that the legal limit would be surpassed since the lubrication really does make the experience more pronounced.

I've written on a number of occasions about my relationship with Ron (the dapper gentleman on the far right), so regular readers will be well aware of our wide assortment of shared experiences, and will not be in the least bit surprised at our intentions to add to the legacy. As one of my dearest, most cherished friends, he occupies the top rung on my ladder of buds.

Pete Glass (bearing his trademark grin and Viking's green) was a guy that I had know of for a really long time, but really didn't get to know until my days spent inside the walls of Barrie North. One profound memory I have was the huge smile and welcoming attitude as he extended a hand to me on my first week there, and I'm thrilled to admit that it simply improved from that point forward as we toiled away on the frontlines of our personal war against ignorance. Quick with a quip or a compliment, Pete possesses a keen sense of humour, a great propensity for keeping his composure, a humongous heart, and a genuine interest in helping people. Listening to his stories from the first year of retirement, life is all good in Glass-Land. Life being what it is, I am convinced that the closure of Central that prompted my move to North was preordained to allow a friendship with the "Glassman" to flourish.

Burke Erwin (far left and handsome) is an enigma ... meant in the most positive of ways! An ex-varsity football stud who teaches English and drama yet can make a guitar wail like a Banshee, "Burkee" is the possessor of a warm and engaging personality combined with unbridled generosity. As a firm believer in the power of a positive attitude, he is continually upbeat with a "glass is half-full" outlook on life. The students at North are VERY familiar and appreciative of Burke's "hidden" talents as he fronts the teacher band Paper Jam that performs in the school cafe at lunch on most Fridays. I can confidently say he has become a really good chum.

TOURNAMENT SYNOPSIS:

Set into the familiar Scramble Format, our quadrumvirate weebled and wobbled our way around the course displaying flashes of brilliance bookended by periods of incompetence, but as we rounded the halfway point of a 9 hole journey, the rust was wearing off and we rediscovered our mojo. In the end, even though we knew a 4 or 5 under would be needed to secure the unofficial championship, we managed a respectable 2 under thanks largely to the putter magic of Burke who drain a few radar-focused long-rangers to score some birdies.

The delicious post-match BBQ meal fresh in our bellies, we were called to the prize table, and spying a slightly hidden gem, I walked home with a 15 pack of golfballs and a huge smile on my clock. As erratic as I am with a club, replenishing the supply is paramount to another afternoon of shenanigans on the links. 

Many thanks to (1) Mary Ellen Tupling's otherworldly background organization skills, (2) funny frontman Scott Laurin's acerbic tongue and booming baritone at the prize table, and (3) the friendly and accommodating staff at Simoro GC. The night was as memorable as it was entertaining.

Shout out to my beloved bride for agreeing to retrieve her giggly hubby in the waning light of the day.