That Transport Is Honking At Us
My father arrived the morning of the 22nd promptly. Early, actually. He's always early.
I had been at Brown Owl's the night before for a fantastic dinner, a long overdue visit, and the breaking out of the single malt. Which, in retrospect, was what made that Sunday morning not necessarily painful, but, ahem, still rather drunk; and smelling of spirits. To high heaven.
It's 9am.
"Hi, Dad."
But I was functional; and surprisingly organized. We got all my belongings loaded, stacked and snug in the back of the trailer: the bed, the books, the shelves, the sofa and the table; all in about half an hour. Tarped it. Tied it. Off we went.
On the 401, a corner of the tarp in the trailer started to flap up in the wind.
"Oh, look. I wonder if that's going to be a--"
My father went dead silent, and quickly pulled over to the shoulder of the highway.
The wind had got under the covering, and then presumably under the dining room table, which then took it like a sail, and launched it up and out, directly into four lanes of 120km an hour traffic; and brought the couch with it.
Of all the disasters that could have occurred (say, like, the hardwood table coming through a front windshield, like a blade, and killing someone), none did, but it was certianly an experience, walking up the shoulder of one of Canada's largest freeways on a Sunday morning, only to dodge oncoming traffic and pull two large pieces of furniture from its middle lanes. I'm not sure what it says (if anything) about my decision to leave my current life and start a different one; or, if I have learned some sort of lesson concerning material possessions, perhaps the importance of rechecking your bungee cords; but I am quite sure that I have used up a good portion of my allotted luck for the next long while.
Lets hope my plane doesn't crash into the Pacific.
8 days and counting.
I had been at Brown Owl's the night before for a fantastic dinner, a long overdue visit, and the breaking out of the single malt. Which, in retrospect, was what made that Sunday morning not necessarily painful, but, ahem, still rather drunk; and smelling of spirits. To high heaven.
It's 9am.
"Hi, Dad."
But I was functional; and surprisingly organized. We got all my belongings loaded, stacked and snug in the back of the trailer: the bed, the books, the shelves, the sofa and the table; all in about half an hour. Tarped it. Tied it. Off we went.
On the 401, a corner of the tarp in the trailer started to flap up in the wind.
"Oh, look. I wonder if that's going to be a--"
My father went dead silent, and quickly pulled over to the shoulder of the highway.
The wind had got under the covering, and then presumably under the dining room table, which then took it like a sail, and launched it up and out, directly into four lanes of 120km an hour traffic; and brought the couch with it.
Of all the disasters that could have occurred (say, like, the hardwood table coming through a front windshield, like a blade, and killing someone), none did, but it was certianly an experience, walking up the shoulder of one of Canada's largest freeways on a Sunday morning, only to dodge oncoming traffic and pull two large pieces of furniture from its middle lanes. I'm not sure what it says (if anything) about my decision to leave my current life and start a different one; or, if I have learned some sort of lesson concerning material possessions, perhaps the importance of rechecking your bungee cords; but I am quite sure that I have used up a good portion of my allotted luck for the next long while.
Lets hope my plane doesn't crash into the Pacific.
8 days and counting.
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