The Extraction

"Next time," I told Kid 2, on Saturday, as we finished moving her into her new apartment, "find some strong friends."

I was talking about the next time that she moved. I was getting too old to help her and this move left me utterly drained of energy. DW and I were supposed to paddle the Barron Canyon, the next day, but I awoke with a migraine and aching muscles.

It took a couple of days to recover from that move.

We knew that the house that Kid 2 and four of her friends had rented had small bedrooms. Some looked as though they were closets. But Kid 2 and her friends had signed the lease anyway, and it wasn't our business to say anything.

But by Monday, the roommates found a few problems with the place and learned that some of the rooms didn't stand up to building code. Some were actually in violation. So, they made the decision to break the lease.

The real-estate company that advertised the unit was understanding, and said that they would refund the roommates, but the landlord was furious. By late Tuesday, she gave everybody less than 24 hours to vacate the residence.

This put Kid 2 in panic mode. She was one of the principal people involved with finding the place. She was the one who negotiated to have the utilities included and for a reduction in the asking rent. She even was able to be allowed the keys one week before the actual lease began, on November first.

Kid 2 had nowhere to go. She had furniture to move and nowhere to put it. She and her cat were about to be homeless.

As DW and I were just crawling into bed, we received the phone call. There were tears. There was panic. While DW tried to calm our daughter, telling her everything would be okay, I was online, looking for a way to make it okay.

Without hesitation, we told Kid 2 that we'd be in Toronto as soon as we could.

Miraculously, I was able to secure a moving truck and a storage locker. It was big enough for Kid 2 and two of her roommates, all who had moved in on the weekend. The other two roommates were scheduled to move over this weekend.

By 1:00, we had made plans and somewhat calmed our daughter. She had secured a way to vacate the apartment and had a place to store her things. Now, all that was left was to find a new apartment for her and her friends, and to find a place where she could stay until she could move into the new place.

"We have to let you go so that we can get some rest," DW told her on the phone. "Everything is going to be okay. We love you. We're here for you." They ended the call and I turned out the light, burying my face in my pillow.

But I couldn't sleep. I was worried. I was worried how my kid was going to cope. I was worried that she'd be unable to find a place. We've always told her that if things got tough, she could always come back home. She'd always be welcome.

Kid 2 is determined. She often lacks faith in herself but she is determined. She has a couple of day jobs, plus she performs in various bands, as a drummer, throughout Toronto. She wants to make it on her own, even though she still needs mom and dad from time to time.

My alarm went off at 5. If I was lucky, I got three hours of sleep. But I hopped straight out of bed. A cool shower woke me up. Once dressed, I woke up DW, who prepared us some food and lots of liquid (we weren't going to starve and dehydrate ourselves like we had done on Saturday) while I packed things we'd need in the car.

An electric drill. Extra boxes and bins. Gloves.

By 6, we were on the road and arrived at the U-Haul depot by 10:45. By 11:30, I had the truck and was on my way to the apartment I had just filled four days earlier.

Everybody worked hard to fill the truck. It turned out to be a bad day for my lungs, so I didn't push myself. And we ate and drank at proper intervals, so we didn't run out of energy.

With the truck loaded, the roommates had a 2 pm appointment at an apartment that was only a 10-minute walk from this spot. DW and I took care of Kid 2's cat, Lily, and made sure that no one had missed anything while the ladies went to the appointment.

DW and I were able to really check out the emptied apartment, and some of the rooms were unbelievably small. One didn't even have a window. We already knew that there was only one common place, indoors—the kitchen—but there was a large balcony off the kitchen and a huge patio on the roof, with a great view towards downtown Toronto.

One of the best things about the place is its rooftop view.

But who wants to be cooped up in a tiny room, in winter, with no other reasonable place to hang out? I was glad that Kid 2 was getting out of here.

More than an hour after Kid 2 and her friends left for their apartment, we got good news: the apartment they went to see was perfect. It had five large bedrooms, a living room, big kitchen, and a studio, in which they could keep their instruments (all of them are musicians). And, the studio was sound-proofed, as the former tenant used to teach music lessons there.

And, best of all, the rent was less than the current spot. The ladies needed to apply for the place and wait to see if they could get it, so they were prepared to keep looking.

DW and I waited for them to sign the application paperwork (one of the roommates' mother was there to make sure that everything with the lease was good), and when they returned, we closed up the old apartment and drove to the storage facility.

By 7:00, the storage locker was full, the truck was returned, and Kid 2 had two suitcases that she'd be living out of for at least a month. She was worried about what she would do with Lily, but DW and I said that we could bring her home, to stay with us until it was time to move again.

As we drove from the rental spot to one of Kid 2's friends, who could put her up for a couple of nights, our daughter thanked us for all of our help.

"Of course," I said, "we'll always be there for you. But you should be proud of yourself. Yes, this was a harrowing ordeal that was extremely stressful, but look how you've managed. Look at what you've accomplished. You're a stronger person than you realize. You've come through this so far and you'll continue to get through it."

Her phone chimed, and she screamed. She started bawling her eyes out, and when I looked in the back seat, she was shaking uncontrollably. "Oh my god!" she screamed.

My heart sank. If this was another crisis, I wondered if she could take it tonight. She was already physically and emotionally exhausted.

"We got the place!" She started crying even more.

"That's right, let it all out," I said. I knew they were tears of joy. I knew that the stress that was crushing her was lifted enough to let her breathe.

She opened a video group chat with her roommates, who were all just as relieved. They all praised each other, saying that if they could get through this ordeal and feel good about how each of them stayed strong, that it was a great start to their relationship. Though some were good friends and others were mutual friends, this was a great bonding moment.

We dropped Kid 2 at her friends house just before 8. She had a cooler full of frozen vegetables, pierogies, with juice and yogurt, among other items. "Make sure you get those in a fridge and freezer," we said, "and eat." She had eaten a ham and cheese sandwich on the car ride to the Annex, as DW made sure there was lots of chances to eat, but we know that when Kid 2 is stressed, she skips meals.

"I love you," she told both of us as we hugged and said goodbye. We told her to keep us in the loop over the next month, with her living situation. This friend could only keep her until the weekend. Another friend offered her a couch after that, but we didn't know for how long. I have a sister who lives in Toronto and DW has a high-school friend who lives off the Danforth, but they're a bit far from where Kid 2 works.

We'll figure it out.

DW and I didn't pull into our garage until after nearly 1:30 in the morning. We had to pull off the 401, near Brockville, and find a quiet, dark spot where we could nap for about 20 minutes. I was fading behind the wheel and DW said that there was no way she could drive.

I don't remember my head hitting my pillow as we finally got to bed, around 2.

Oh, and that thing I wrote on Monday about knowing my limits? Yes, I do know my limits and know that I exceeded them on Wednesday. It just goes to show what I'm willing to do to see that my kids are safe and not left in a lurch.

I want to thank all of those who lent their support, online, while we went through this emergency move, which I've started referring to as the extraction. I feel so lucky to know that people have my back.

Anyone feel like helping with the move in December? I can really use that kind of support!

Happy Friday!

Understanding Limits

I'm getting too old for this.

It wasn't that long ago when a round trip to the Greater Toronto Area (GTA) was no problem. When Kid 1 was attending Sheridan College, in Oakville, I would often drive down to pick her up and bring her home for holidays. On those days, I would leave home after breakfast and drive the four-and-a-half hours to her campus, pick her up, and drive home.

I'd only stop for gas and a quick bite. Almost always, I'd call her just when I was about five minutes away, telling Kid 1 to head outside of her residence. I'd pull up, she'd hop in, and I would head back to Ottawa.

Essentially, it was a 10-hour day of driving.

In her final year, we gave her our Honda CR-V to take for the semester, so that she could drive herself. It was less stain on me and gave her more experience behind the wheel.

And like me, she likes to drive.

With Kid 2 at University of Toronto, I'd make similar trips but she was more determined to stay in the city. And when she did come to visit, she'd often take the train.

By then, I was starting to feel the wear and tear on my body, sitting behind the wheel for so long.

The longest trip was last year, when Kid 2 was moving to a new apartment, and her friends bailed on her at the last minute for helping her move. Most importantly, her friend with access to a van had something come up and Kid 2 had no way to get her things transported.

So I reserved a U-Haul truck, in Toronto, for the moving day. On the day of her move, I left home shortly before 6 a.m., drove straight to the U-Haul lot, picked up the truck, and went to Kid 2's apartment. I had only stopped for gas, in Napanee, and grabbed an A&W breakfast sandwich, and ate it on the go.

By the time I reached Kid 2's place, it was almost 11. It took about 45 minutes at U-Haul to get my reserved vehicle because I apparently arrived at the busiest time of the morning, and there was a long line ahead of me.

Luckily, one of Kid 2's stronger friends showed up to help move the heaviest of her furniture out, but had an appointment that he had to get to, so my kid and I loaded the rest of the truck ourselves. At her new place, she and I unloaded all of the contents of the truck, except for the three heaviest pieces: her dresser, a shelving unit, and her mattress.

Luckily, her friend's appointment was short and he was able to arrive and help us with those pieces. His help was really appreciated, as Kid 2 was moving to the third floor of a house, where the stairways and hallways were very narrow.

By the time we had her stuff unloaded, her bed assembled, and things put mostly into place, I was drenched in sweat, breathing heavily (this was before my lung issues), and exhausted. But we weren't done yet.

I still had to return the truck, which I had only rented for four hours, and that time was almost up. I put some gas in it, returned it, and reclaimed my own car before returning to Kid 2's place. There was still one more thing to do.

I took Kid 2 to a grocery store and told her to load up a shopping cart. While we were there, we realized that neither of us had eaten or had any liquid during the entire move. I wanted to take her somewhere for dinner, but the day was wearing on and I still had to drive home.

She picked up a frozen pizza and an energy drink, and said she'd just make herself dinner when she got back to her apartment. I grabbed an energy drink, too, and called it at that.

I dropped her at her new home, gave her a hug, and jumped back in the car. By the time I got home, it was around midnight. On the trip home, I only had a five-minute stop for fuel at the same station where I had refueled on the drive down, but this time I didn't also stop for food. I just wanted to get home.

I knew I couldn't do that again, this weekend, when Kid 2 was moving yet again.

This time, DW came with me. This time, we were going to drive down one day, stay overnight, move Kid 2, and then drive home. This time, I wasn't going to burn myself out in one day.

My lungs really show their limitations when I climb stairs. And, on Saturday, according to my smart watch, I climbed 67 flights. I walked almost nine kilometres.

But at least, I got a good night's sleep between driving to Toronto and starting the move.

Still, it was exhausting. Once again, Kid 2 didn't have any friends to help, not even her friend who gave us an hour, last time, to move the heavy things. But with DW there, I at least had someone to help.

As we placed the last bit of our daughters' belongings into her new place (a second-floor apartment, also with narrow stairs and corridors), I told DW that I had reached my limit. My body was too old for this. The next time our kid moves, we're hiring muscle.

The view from Kid 2's new rooftop patio. Not too shabby.

Even though we took many breaks and kept the truck almost two hours longer than I had rented it for, I was exhausted after the move. This time, though, we ate lunch.

DW and I pulled into our garage at 10:00 on Saturday night and we were both exhausted. Because Kid 2's new place had central heating and air conditioning, and her closet doors were mirrored, she no longer needed the portable AC unit that we provided over the summer nor her stand-up mirror, so we threw them in the back of our Niro. But once home, we were too tired to unload them.

That would have to happen in the morning.

We had foolishly made plans to join some friends, on Sunday, to return to Barron Canyon, in Algonquin Provincial Park, for one last (very last) paddle of the season. As we drove home, on Saturday night, we questioned the wisdom of such a big paddle the day after a big move and long drive, but we agreed that we could still do it.

We went straight to bed when we got in the house and set our alarms for 5 a.m. the next morning.

My brain might not yet understand my limitations but my body does. When my alarm went off, I got out of bed and went to the bathroom. And within a minute, I realized that my head was splitting. I took a couple of extra-strength Advil capsules, but as I was washing them down, I knew I had a full-blown migraine.

I crawled back into bed, breathing heavily. I also started shivering uncontrollably, so DW notified our friends that I was out of commission.

I suffered for about an hour, until I passed out, and slept until a little after 10. I still didn't get out of bed until about noon, and my body was in pain from head to toe: headache, sore joints, and muscle pain.

I'm not young anymore. Maybe, young at heart, but my body has taught me that it has limits. And it has taught me that I must listen to and obey those limits.

I spent most of yesterday recovering. I may also need some of today. Luckily, I work from home and from behind a desk.

I won't be burning myself out any time soon.

Great Neighbours

Our first house was originally going to be a five-year home: 10 years, max, if we had good neighbours.

Twenty-four years later, we're still in the same place.

We almost moved about a year and a half ago. A friend was selling his house and DW was in love with the place, but in the end we decided to stay put. We had recently become mortgage-free and I have my eye on retirement, in the next few years, so the prospect of taking out a sizable mortgage for this house didn't make a lot of sense.

One afternoon, last summer, as DW and I were relaxing on our front porch, chatting with our neighbours, who were relaxing on their front porch, I let slip that we had almost bought my friend's house, and their jaws dropped.

"No way!" said one.

"You are not allowed to move unless there's a house, next to it, that we can move into," said the other.

Yeah, they're great neighbours.

More than anything else, our neighbours are the reason that we've remained in our first and only house. There are people on our street that we've known since we've first moved in, who are more like friends than co-residents of our street. We've had good neighbours who used to live on either side of us but have moved away, only to be replaced by equally good neighbours.

We've had neighbours keep an eye on our house, even taking the time to remove snow from our driveway, unasked, when we've been traveling. One neighbour, who didn't know we were away, was concerned for me when he noticed that a day had gone by since snow fell and I wasn't out to clear the driveway. He knew how I liked to keep my driveway a particular way, right after a storm, and so he checked in and was out with his snowblower when no one came to the door.

Yup, great neighbours.

It's important to have people around you who keep an eye on you and your home, who you can count on to be there in times of need. I've really thought of this importance over the past few days, after some horror befell our neighbourhood, last Friday.

DW and I work from home, so we're able to see if anything happens on our street during the day, as well as at night. And on Friday afternoon, as I was at my desk, on the main floor next to our front window, DW called down to me from the study.

"Did you see black smoke blow past the window?" she asked.

I have my back to the window so I don't even notice when a courier has delivered a package to our front steps. My phone notifies me when our doorbell camera spots someone but it doesn't tell me that there's smoke overhead.

We both stepped outside and looked down our street, only to see a thick plume of black smoke rising above the rooflines at the end of our street. As we watched, we heard loud pops, like gunfire, and DW got jittery.

"That's a car on fire," I suspected, aloud. "That explains the black smoke, and the noises were likely the gas tank rupturing and the tires exploding." I started walking down our street, toward the smoke.

DW was still nervous but we made our way toward the fire. In the distance, we could hear approaching fire trucks and we could see that some police SUVs were already on scene.

Our street ends at another side street from the main road in our 'hood. And once we reached the end of our street, the smoke had changed from black to grey. One fire engine was already parked in the front of the house and at least two others were close by. A ladder truck, parked across the street from the fire, was beginning to raise the boom, to which a hose was attached.

The garage of the house was completely gone; the house, blanketed in the dense, fog-like smoke. The house next to it, closer to us, also had smoke coming from under the roof. In a matter of moments, it was clear that it, too, was on fire.

More people were coming out to witness the horror. I recognized a lot of my neighbours and we all murmured that we hoped that no one was inside, that anybody who was at home had got out safely. We later learned that there had been five pets in the first house, and all had been rescued.

As flames broke through the roof of the second house, I captured a short video. But not wanting to stay long, DW and I made our way back to our own home, where our three cats were safe.

At the end of my work day, I walked down to our mailbox but also returned to the fire scene, where only one fire truck was left, the fire fighters tidying its hoses and preparing to leave. Some police units were still there but they, too, were readying to leave.

The fires were extinguished, there was nothing left to take care of.

The residents of the second house to catch fire were allowed into their home. Apart from one side of the house and parts of the roof, the house seemed intact, though I could only imagine the smoke damage and the flooding from having water doused on the roof, making its way everywhere.

The residents had packed up what they could and were passing them to their neighbours who lived on the other side, away from the burned-out first house. Neighbours helping neighbours through a nightmare situation.

Great neighbours.

Over the weekend, DW and I were able to chat with our neighbours about the fire. We were all grateful that we knew that, had we experienced the same misfortune as the folks around the corner, we had people that we could rely on to have our backs to help each other in times of need.

How could we have possibly considered moving, the other year. This might have been our five-year home, initially, but it's now our forever home. I can't imagine living next to better neighbours.

(I'm still looking to move to Portugal after I retire, but that's going to be a tough decision.)

If I Had 10 Million Dollars

... I would buy you a house.

Last week, as DW and I were walking through a residential street in Cabbagetown, Toronto, we admired how this neighbourhood reminded us of an upscale version of the Glebe, in Ottawa. (Most of the Glebe is pretty upscale to a lot of Ottawa neighbourhoods, so that tells you just how posh the Cabbagetown homes were.)

We stopped in front of one house, on Carlton Street, which had a for-sale sign in its lovely garden.

"If you had 10 million dollars," DW said, "would you want to live here?"

"You'd pretty much need all of that 10 million for a house in this 'hood," I joked, "but no, I wouldn't want to live in Toronto."

"But you have a daughter who lives in Toronto," DW continued, "we'd be able to see her perform whenever we wanted to." Kid 2 is a drummer who is currently in three different bands. She also does the occasional session work.

"We also have a daughter who lives in Ottawa," was my retort. Mind you, she is currently living at home and we don't know how long she'll stay there, or where she'll go when she's ready to move on. "Besides," I added, "I'm moving to Porto after I retire. Why would I move anywhere else?"

I've been telling DW, ever since we returned from Portugal, a year ago, that I loved the country so much that I am seriously considering liquidating all of our assets and getting a small but comfortable place in Porto. I've also said that I'd like her to join me, but whether she comes or not, that's where I'll be.

So no, if I had $10,000,000, I would not move to Cabbagetown or anywhere else in Toronto. I'd just have a good nest egg when I moved to Portugal, which would be even sooner.

I don't know why she even bothered asking me if I'd live in Stratford, while we were there. But it certainly wouldn't take as much money.

The Storm

When the ice storm of 1998 hit Eastern Ontario, DW and I were safely on the other side of the planet, in Chŏnju, South Korea. With this Southeast Asian country in the throws of its own economic storm, we battled something else, entirely.

At least we were safe.

We returned to Canada a few weeks later, after power had been restored to Ottawa and the only evidence of the devastation was seen in the broken stumps of trees, their branches and top halves long cleared away. Our family and friends, who were directly affected by that far-reaching storm, were safe and sound, warm and dry.

But even the intensity of that storm, 24 years in the past, couldn't match the intensity of the derecho that travelled from Windsor to West Québec in a single afternoon. Anyone who experienced the full brunt of the storm—the high winds and funnel clouds, the torrential rain, and the nearly golf-ball-sized hail—will remember where she or he was when it seemingly came out of nowhere.

The storm was five days ago but I can only talk about it now because my neighbourhood was without electricity for nearly four days. Our house had no Internet. We salvaged what we could pack into coolers and take to family that had power, but a lot of food became spoiled.

I will never forget where DW, Kid 2 (and her cat), and I were when the news of the storm came. We were on Highway 401, between Ajax and Pickering, on the outskirts of the Greater Toronto Area, heading toward downtown Toronto. We were moving our daughter to her new apartment.

Not much earlier than that, I had commented that we were heading toward some showers and that I hoped it wouldn't be raining while we were unpacking the U-Haul that we were towing. I didn't want any of Kid 2's possessions to get wet.

But as we left Ajax and entered Pickering, our smartphones sounded the alarm that indicated an impending storm and to seek shelter. Driving on the biggest and busiest highways in Canada, what could we do but keep an eye out? And ahead of us, the sky looked dark and fierce.

I remember seeing a man on a Harley-Davidson motorcycle pass us. Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, I predicted that he was going to get a soaking.

Understatement.

By the time we reached Scarborough, a few minutes later, the storm was upon us and there was nowhere to go.

It started as a torrent of water, moving horizontally and dousing our windshield. Even on high power, it was hard to see. But almost immediately following, large hail began pelting our car. The sound was deafening and startled Kid 2 awake (she was napping in the back seat). Lily, her cat, who had also been napping next to her, dove onto the floor and tried to crawl under DW's seat.

I feared that our windshield would shatter at any moment. DW eventually captured some of it on her phone, after the worst was over.

Hazard lights on, speed greatly reduced, I looked for a place to pull over. We were close to an exit for collector lanes so I took it, as did several other cars, many that pulled over onto the shoulder.

Visibility was down to about 10 metres or so and I could see the wind was coming from several directions. I could see the water, which had accumulated on the road, was being blown back up in the air. Our CR-V was rocking from side to side and I could see that the U-Haul trailer was being pushed around.

I seriously feared that the trailer would be tipped over. In a later conversation, when I returned the rental to a U-Haul depot, the agent who helped me remove the trailer asked where I was when the storm hit. When I told him where we were, he asked, "Was the trailer empty?"

"If it had been," I told him, "you and I would be having a much different conversation."

Once in the collector lane, I saw a few vehicles stopped under an overpass and I joined them. But only briefly. There was still a high volume of automobiles moving, and some were driving erratically, that I worried that a large truck might drive into us. Whether that was sound reasoning or not, I decided that it would be better to keep moving than to be a sitting duck. I could see that the hail had stopped but the rain was still coming down steadily.

Out from the underpass, the rain wasn't so bad. I still had the wipers at full speed but I could see much better. We left the collector lane and returned to the express lane.

At the next underpass, we caught up to the motorcyclist, who had taken shelter. He was soaked, as I had predicted, and his bare arms were bright red. He was looking to be in some pain and would, no doubt, have welts and bruises later that day.

The rain came and went in intensity, and we worried that the hail might return, so we decided to get off the 401. DW found an IKEA near the exit and we parked in its garage while we weighed our options. DW and Kid 2 went into the store for a washroom break and to search for another set of bedsheets, while I comforted Lily.

I called Kid 1 and warned her to keep an eye on the weather. She was at home and alone with our other three cats. I also warned my Ottawa Twitter friends of what we had just experienced, for them to secure belongings, put cars in garages, and prepare for what was to come.

By the time DW and Kid 2 returned, the rain was light and the sky was no longer ominous.

We arrived at Kid 2's apartment with little incident and unpacked the trailer under rainless clouds. Miraculously, not a scratch nor dent was inflicted upon our Honda.

The devastation wreaked on Ottawa wouldn't be apparent until Sunday evening, when we returned home and saw the closed streets, felled trees, and darkened traffic lights. Our neighbourhood seemed to have minimal damage, save for no electricity.

I would be remiss if I didn't recognize and thank the people who reached out to me and my family to offer freezer and fridge space, a hot shower, food, a place to set up my work computer, with Internet, and to charge devices. It's heartwarming to see our community come together in times of crisis.

Thank you!

How did you fare? Where were you when the storm hit?

If you live outside the affected region or in another country, did you know about this storm? How did you hear about it? How did your local media present it.

Wherever you are, stay safe. If you're still without power, let me know how I can help.

This was the storm of all storms. I don't think anyone will forget where they were when it hit.

Flying the Coop

It had to happen eventually but time creeps up and suddenly springs something on you for which you're not quite ready.

When I was growing up and living with my parents, both of my sisters moved out when they were 17. It was a bit of a shock and my parents weren't quite keen on the idea, especially since they were still finishing school and were moving in with their boyfriends. It was tougher the first time, with my older sister, but I'm sure it still stung when my younger sister did the same thing, a few years later.

I stayed at home until I was 24. I moved back home, for a year, when I was convalescing from my first foot surgery. When I was 26, I moved out for good.

Last fall, when both our kids moved to residence at their respective universities, DW and I became empty-nesters. Sure, the house was still open to our kids, who returned for the holidays, and we love having them home. But we had quickly become used to having our place to ourselves, and as much as we loved being around our kids, we looked forward to the quiet to which we had become accustomed.

Kid 2 sees that as me wanting to get rid of her and her sister, but she's got it wrong. And I'm sure there are times when she wishes to be away from us. I get it. She wants to spread her wings and fly.

DW and I wish her smooth sailing and we couldn't be more proud of her.

This weekend, we packed up Kid 2's possessions and moved her to an apartment in Toronto. She is sharing a large place with three other people who seem to be really good people. The apartment is in a neighbourhood that is close to venues where Kid 2 performs (she's a jazz drummer). She has access to public transit to get her to campus in the fall, when she resumes studies.

Kid 2's life, packed up in a 4x8 U-Haul trailer.

It's hard for us to see her go. She'll be a starving artist, having to play gigs to stay afloat (and likely, a part-time job to supplement income). She can be headstrong and delicate at the same time, so DW and I will be worried the whole time she's away.

Of course, she always has a place to land, should living in Toronto become too much to handle. It's not an easy nor inexpensive city in which to live.

On the sidelines, we'll be rooting for her and reminding her that we have her back. DW and I will make time to head down to Toronto to catch her shows. She has an aunt who also lives in Toronto, not too far away, and in the fall, her sister will also return to the GTA.

Time has really thrown DW and me a curveball. Our kids are growing up and flying away. Retirement is coming into sight.

This is the most bittersweet time of life.

Empty Nesters

Note: this post was written last week, before I got sick with a flu-like bug (I've been tested for COVID, and it was negative) or what might even be a case of Lyme disease. Yesterday, because I was still ill and getting worse, I made the decision to stay behind so that my kids wouldn't be stuck in a vehicle for five hours with me and my germs as they were embarking on a new school year. Only DW accompanied them to the Greater Toronto Area (GTA).

I have so few recent family portraits. My kids, now 20 and 18, are so reluctant to posing for a photo that I've all but given up. The last family snapshot was taken almost a year ago, as we dropped our elder child off at her school in the GTA.

Today, however, we're dropping both kids off at their respective institutions of higher learning. Both are in the GTA, which makes the trip easier for DW and myself, and we're glad that they're no more than a half hour or so, by GO Train, from one another.

Today, we drop our younger child at her dorm; tomorrow, our elder kid is scheduled to check back in to her residence building. DW and I plan to stick around the GTA, visiting friends and ensuring our kids are settled in, before heading back home.

Just the two of us.

It will be strange, being at home without the kids, especially since our younger one was mostly confined to the house during the height of the pandemic.

Both kids have stated that they will probably not come home for Thanksgiving, in October, and may not even come home for their respective reading weeks, in November. So DW and I are contemplating finding a place to stay, in Toronto, over the Thanksgiving weekend, and dining out in the GTA with our kids.

The impact of being empty nesters won't likely sink in for a few more days, after we return home. It'll be quieter in the house—we've had both girls home since April—and dinners will be smaller.

DW and I will have only ourselves to turn to for keeping the house clean (heck, it'll probably stay cleaner for longer!).

One thing is certain: we'll miss our girls dearly.

Bye Bye Love

Today's a day, no doubt, that will be filled with tears. My first-born child is leaving the nest, moving to another city.

DW and I are so proud of our daughter, who is about to begin a four-year degree program that she's been dreaming about taking for a couple of years, when she attended an open house at the institute. As she put it, this is her destiny.^*

We've nervous, too. Not just because she's going to be in another city, far from the care of her loving parents. Because we are still in a global pandemic and because our province is headed toward another spike in the number of COVID-19 cases, we wish she was still in the safety of her home.

Mind you, with our younger daughter about to return to high school, our eldest daughter is likely safer where she will be. She's in residence, not sharing a room, and her classes are all online. Her risk of exposure is lower than her sister's, or mine, or DW's.

My kid is anxious to get a start on this new chapter in her life. It's an important milestone. And today, as DW and I help our first-born move across the province, I can't help but think: my baby's all grown up.

Yes, there will be tears today. I'll try to keep from bawling my eyes out.

* For her privacy, naturally, I'm purposely not naming the city or school she's attending.