Since we found out, two and a half months ago, that our visas were approved for Canada, I've tried really hard to focus on all the positive aspects: the travel, the excitement, a new adventure, an opportunity to realize our dreams, new life experiences, etc. This is something we've wanted and planned for 5 years, so of course there are many, many things to look forward to.
What I've also tried really hard to avoid is dwelling on the negative aspects of our move, which mostly boil down to leaving our wonderful friends and family, because I know we're going to miss them terribly.
While we're away, there's a lot that we'll miss out on. Like seeing our godchildren grow up and witnessing their daily triumphs. Will I know when Ella's favorite colour changes from "rainbow", and that she's now writing all her letters facing the right way? (Though I prefer her current style of writing the letter "n"). Will I know when Nommie stops stuffing her T Shirt with my socks, and when she gets her first bra?
There are pregnancies and births that we'll miss out on. New romances and engagements and weddings. Everyday events like supper club and quiz night. My father's 65th birthday and my brother's 40th. Impromptu lunches at Papachinos with the gang, and weekend braais with the family.
Especially difficult is worrying about everyone's welfare. Will our folks stay healthy while we're away? Will my 89 year old gogo stay strong into her 90s? What happens if there's a crisis and we're not there?
It's enough to make a control freak like me turn tail and give it all up just so that I can be around. Not that I have any control over everyone's welfare and happiness even when I'm in SA, but these things aren't logical.
So when these negative and worrying thoughts crowd in, I try to go back to focusing on the positives:
1. There are dozens of ways for us all to keep in touch: Facebook, email, BBM, WhatsApp, Skype, phone calls, sms, etc. I remember after high school when a friend of mine, Dimitri, moved to Greece. The only way to stay in touch then was writing and mailing letters! I especially remember when Bron and Shayne moved to Zim, and I couldn't get through on the phone for a few weeks. I got quite hysterical only to discover that elephants had knocked the lines down, and it took ages to get them up and running. Err, the lines, not the elephants. The telephone poles barely broke their stride.
2. Most of my friends and family are a bit scared of me, so they'll answer my constant stream of questions about favorite colours, morning sickness, first dates, quiz scores, etc.
3. People can come visit! We have a spare room and are prepared to travel to meet up! We're already booked to see the Broombergs in December, Don and Pierre in Vegas in March and my family in the Caribbean near the end of next year. All occasions that I'll be counting the sleeps until.
4. Some of my best friends have lived overseas for years, and the distance has actually strengthened our bond. (Love you Charmz and Craigie).
5. We are always just a plane ride away if we're needed back in SA for whatever reason. We will always, always be there for those we love... that will never change.
It's a balancing act - each day we walk a fine line between excitement and despair. All we can do is trust that it will all work out the way it's meant to, and hope that the universe will be kind.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Wednesday, 16 May 2012
Tuesday, 15 May 2012
"Work" - it's a four letter word
So far, we've dealt with the issues of where we're going to live in Toronto, getting our pets across there, what we're going to do about furniture and how we're going to deal with the transport issue.
Now we get to what we're going to do to earn an income. It really is kinda scary to quit jobs that you really love and that earn you a decent living, especially in this economy. Especially since we pretty much can't apply for work until we get there and have applied for social security numbers.
Which means that when we leave South Africa, we'll be totally and utterly, for the very first time in our lives.... *whispers the word* unemployed.
Argh! If that isn't enough to give a control freak Capricorn an ulcer attack, then I don't know what is! I've been employed since I was 16 years old and in Std 9 for God's sake. I had two jobs at that point: I was waitressing at the Spur some nights, and working at Woolies over weekends. Being independent has always been extremely important to me, which is why I even left studying full time, so I could work and finish my degrees part time. Which has now come back to bite me in the wazoo.
Good old UNISA is not recognized as an acceptable institution by the Canadians, so as far as they're concerned, I have finished high school and that's it! Stephen is sorted because his degrees were done at Wits and then last year, he qualified for his CIMA which is internationally recognized.
So while he'll probably get work as a Management Accountant/Financial Manager, I'll need to re-evaluate what I'm qualified to do.
Hmmm, here's the list:
1. Waitress
2. Barmaid - though not in a wine bar as I'll get fired for drinking all the stock
3. Someone who stalks dogs to get urine samples (have a lot of experience in that)
4. A professional Scrabble/Words with Friends/Draw Something player
5. Dog walker (though I think I need more qualifications for that!)
6. Person who puts food in the microwave to heat it
7. Someone who takes on everyone else's shit, and then lies awake at night worrying about their problems on their behalf
8. A Guinea pig for research into ulcer medication
9. A stripper in a club for blind men
10. An advisor for the "Build a Papachinos in Toronto" project. I'm an expert on Papachinos. Tracey and Ethan can vouch for me!
Eish, I might remain unemployed for a while *gulp*
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Thursday, 10 May 2012
Goodbye car, my old friend
Another big decision that we've had to make with the big move is whether or not to buy cars.
Now, as most of you know, South African culture is big on cars. We'll get into our cars to drive to a park to go walking. Or get into our cars to drive 200m to our local shopping centre. Hell, sometimes we just get into our cars and sit there without going anywhere because we love them so much.
It's very scary, but the only time you'll see white, middle-class South Africans walking anywhere without wondering if they've been hijacked is if they have their dogs with them as props to indicate that they do indeed have cars, they're just not using them right then. I've even seen people walking their dogs while they're driving and the dogs are running behind their cars. Seriously.
So, considering forgoing a car is a big deal for a South African. I mean, what's a boot for if not to fill up with Woolies' meals and wine? If I don't have a car, I won't have a boot and thus I'll have to carry all my Woolies' meals and wine? Gasp!
But that's exactly what we've decided to do. Forgo the cars.
What's the point of going on an adventure and wanting to experience all new things if you're going to cling to the old ways of doing things?
So no cars will mean that we'll have to use public transport. Now the last time I used public transport in South Africa, was 18 years ago when I was at varsity and I had to catch the bus to RAU every day. Not at all a fun commute when you suffer from car sickness, and the bus driver seems hell bent on seeing how much he can make the bus rock and sway without actually tipping it over. The fact that I was generally hung over during these trips didn't help. Early morning lectures would find me pale and sickly in the bathrooms which would explain my awful varsity marks. (Thanks again Delia for taking all those notes for me! I wouldn't have gotten my degree without you!).
Luckily Toronto has a decent Transit system, although if you ask any of them, they'll say it's kak. Okay, they won't say "kak" because they don't know "kak" but they'll say the Canadian equivalent. But to a South African, a city that has buses, trams, subways and trains is really jacked.
And huge bonus? They allow dogs on public transport! This is gonna get interesting ;-)
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Now, as most of you know, South African culture is big on cars. We'll get into our cars to drive to a park to go walking. Or get into our cars to drive 200m to our local shopping centre. Hell, sometimes we just get into our cars and sit there without going anywhere because we love them so much.
It's very scary, but the only time you'll see white, middle-class South Africans walking anywhere without wondering if they've been hijacked is if they have their dogs with them as props to indicate that they do indeed have cars, they're just not using them right then. I've even seen people walking their dogs while they're driving and the dogs are running behind their cars. Seriously.
So, considering forgoing a car is a big deal for a South African. I mean, what's a boot for if not to fill up with Woolies' meals and wine? If I don't have a car, I won't have a boot and thus I'll have to carry all my Woolies' meals and wine? Gasp!
But that's exactly what we've decided to do. Forgo the cars.
What's the point of going on an adventure and wanting to experience all new things if you're going to cling to the old ways of doing things?
So no cars will mean that we'll have to use public transport. Now the last time I used public transport in South Africa, was 18 years ago when I was at varsity and I had to catch the bus to RAU every day. Not at all a fun commute when you suffer from car sickness, and the bus driver seems hell bent on seeing how much he can make the bus rock and sway without actually tipping it over. The fact that I was generally hung over during these trips didn't help. Early morning lectures would find me pale and sickly in the bathrooms which would explain my awful varsity marks. (Thanks again Delia for taking all those notes for me! I wouldn't have gotten my degree without you!).
Luckily Toronto has a decent Transit system, although if you ask any of them, they'll say it's kak. Okay, they won't say "kak" because they don't know "kak" but they'll say the Canadian equivalent. But to a South African, a city that has buses, trams, subways and trains is really jacked.
And huge bonus? They allow dogs on public transport! This is gonna get interesting ;-)
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Friday, 4 May 2012
Relocating the zoo
One of the major bonuses of moving to Canada is that there is no quarantine for your pets. A lot of countries make you put your furry babies in quarantine for up to 7 months, and I'm sorry, but how could you banish these faces for that long?
Note: If you don't think my pets are cute as sin, zip your lip or just lie. White lies are easy and socially acceptable. After all, I've told a lot of parents that their bald, cone-head, forcep-delivery, jaundiced babies are adorable.
So part of the whole preparation phase includes getting all 4 of our pets' injections up to date etc, which is what I spent this morning doing.
This is how it went:
Was wildly optimistic and loaded 2 cats and 2 dogs into the car and pulled off.
Within 2 seconds, ended up with a cat wrapped around my face with its claws embedded in my skull, and a Golden Retriever on my lap.
Reversed and decided optimism was wildly overrated. Popped a few Gavascon, offloaded the 2 cats, and headed to the vet with just the pooches.
It's hard to drive with a 26kg dog on your lap licking your face with the kind of enthusiasm only a puppy can maintain for such a task, but not impossible.
Got to the vet in one piece.
Opened the door and the dogs bounded out, ready for a walk. The bounding lasted thirty seconds until they realized they were at the vet, after which they rolled over, played dead and refused to budge.
Dobby, the Daschund, is 12kgs, so she's easy to carry. Muggle, the large golden one, is not. You can't even drag her when she puts her mind to being contrary.
So with a lot of grunting, groaning, pleading, sweating, pushing, pulling, threatening and swearing, I finally managed to get them inside. Where Muggle made straight for the treats, where she polished off a large amount of the really expensive ones before I could get to her. Revenge is sweet apparently.
An hour later, I was back home to drop off the pooches, pop more Gavascon, load up the kitties (this time in cages), and head out again. Note to self : always take your iPod when traveling with cats, so you don't need to listen to the blood-curdling hissing and yowling. It's like listening to the soundtrack of a particularly violent Kung Fu movie.
When I got back to the vet, I noticed the receptionist checking out my frothing white mouth, wondering if I didn't need a rabies shot. I had to explain about the Gavascon overdose.
Three hours later, covered in scratches, drool and fur (and a lot worse for wear), I'm home with 4 pets who have vaccinations and are ready for the jet setter lifestyle. Is it too early for a vase of wine?
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Note: If you don't think my pets are cute as sin, zip your lip or just lie. White lies are easy and socially acceptable. After all, I've told a lot of parents that their bald, cone-head, forcep-delivery, jaundiced babies are adorable.
So part of the whole preparation phase includes getting all 4 of our pets' injections up to date etc, which is what I spent this morning doing.
This is how it went:
Was wildly optimistic and loaded 2 cats and 2 dogs into the car and pulled off.
Within 2 seconds, ended up with a cat wrapped around my face with its claws embedded in my skull, and a Golden Retriever on my lap.
Reversed and decided optimism was wildly overrated. Popped a few Gavascon, offloaded the 2 cats, and headed to the vet with just the pooches.
It's hard to drive with a 26kg dog on your lap licking your face with the kind of enthusiasm only a puppy can maintain for such a task, but not impossible.
Got to the vet in one piece.
Opened the door and the dogs bounded out, ready for a walk. The bounding lasted thirty seconds until they realized they were at the vet, after which they rolled over, played dead and refused to budge.
Dobby, the Daschund, is 12kgs, so she's easy to carry. Muggle, the large golden one, is not. You can't even drag her when she puts her mind to being contrary.
So with a lot of grunting, groaning, pleading, sweating, pushing, pulling, threatening and swearing, I finally managed to get them inside. Where Muggle made straight for the treats, where she polished off a large amount of the really expensive ones before I could get to her. Revenge is sweet apparently.
An hour later, I was back home to drop off the pooches, pop more Gavascon, load up the kitties (this time in cages), and head out again. Note to self : always take your iPod when traveling with cats, so you don't need to listen to the blood-curdling hissing and yowling. It's like listening to the soundtrack of a particularly violent Kung Fu movie.
When I got back to the vet, I noticed the receptionist checking out my frothing white mouth, wondering if I didn't need a rabies shot. I had to explain about the Gavascon overdose.
Three hours later, covered in scratches, drool and fur (and a lot worse for wear), I'm home with 4 pets who have vaccinations and are ready for the jet setter lifestyle. Is it too early for a vase of wine?
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Tuesday, 24 April 2012
Battle of the sexes
This is a post continued from the previous one (because I'm apparently very long winded and waffle a lot), so catch up on that one before reading this.
Right, so assembling IKEA furniture is the perfect arena for the battle of the sexes. When confronted with a box full of parts to put together, penis possessors regress back to their cave-dwelling days, and grab the following in descending rank of importance:
1. Their crotches
2. A beer
3. The remote control (can't put shit together without watching a sporting event at the same time)
4. Their tools (which are still shiny and new, having never been used, even though they NEEDED to have them ten years ago)
Notice that grabbing the instructions to read through them does not feature on their list of priorities.
Which is probably why IKEA did a study and discovered that women are much better at putting their furniture together than men are. Probably because, when confronted with the same task, women will grab:
1. The instructions
2. A bottle of wine (hey, we're good at doing shit, but that doesn't mean we don't get thirsty)
3. The tools. The difference here is that we don't waste an hour looking for them like men do. We just know where shit is.
4. The iPad/computer to look up YouTube videos instructing us further how to best assemble the bed/couch/wine rack.
5. Cell phones so they can contact the store/friends/their fathers to get further assistance. And yes, Dads are men and should fall into the "useless" category, but our Dads are from a different generation of real men who went to the army and stuff. They know how to do manly things. And iron.
So, put a man and a woman together in a room, give them stuff to assemble, throw in some alcohol, and make it a competition (because each of them has a point to prove), and you probably have the makings of a good reality show. Pity the Gladiators didn't have IKEA in ancient Rome - the arena would have been jam-packed with blood-thirsty spectators ready to watch a husband and wife attack each other with screwdrivers.
Which is why, after much thought, we've decided to pay extra for the IKEA assembly service where they do everything for you, and you sit on the newly assembled couch, sipping beers and yelling encouragement.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Right, so assembling IKEA furniture is the perfect arena for the battle of the sexes. When confronted with a box full of parts to put together, penis possessors regress back to their cave-dwelling days, and grab the following in descending rank of importance:
1. Their crotches
2. A beer
3. The remote control (can't put shit together without watching a sporting event at the same time)
4. Their tools (which are still shiny and new, having never been used, even though they NEEDED to have them ten years ago)
Notice that grabbing the instructions to read through them does not feature on their list of priorities.
Which is probably why IKEA did a study and discovered that women are much better at putting their furniture together than men are. Probably because, when confronted with the same task, women will grab:
1. The instructions
2. A bottle of wine (hey, we're good at doing shit, but that doesn't mean we don't get thirsty)
3. The tools. The difference here is that we don't waste an hour looking for them like men do. We just know where shit is.
4. The iPad/computer to look up YouTube videos instructing us further how to best assemble the bed/couch/wine rack.
5. Cell phones so they can contact the store/friends/their fathers to get further assistance. And yes, Dads are men and should fall into the "useless" category, but our Dads are from a different generation of real men who went to the army and stuff. They know how to do manly things. And iron.
So, put a man and a woman together in a room, give them stuff to assemble, throw in some alcohol, and make it a competition (because each of them has a point to prove), and you probably have the makings of a good reality show. Pity the Gladiators didn't have IKEA in ancient Rome - the arena would have been jam-packed with blood-thirsty spectators ready to watch a husband and wife attack each other with screwdrivers.
Which is why, after much thought, we've decided to pay extra for the IKEA assembly service where they do everything for you, and you sit on the newly assembled couch, sipping beers and yelling encouragement.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Monday, 23 April 2012
When all else fails, follow the instructions
So. We’ve decided to sell everything and start all over again on the other side, which is not necessarily a bad thing. Furnishing your home from scratch allows you to learn from your past decorating mistakes, and so the second time around, you know that:
· You should sit in a chair before you buy it. A chair that looks like a work of art, is likely to be as comfortable as reclining in a termite mound. While naked. And covered in syrup. Which some of you might find appealing, but we do not.
· An oversized couch bought for your oversized husband to relax in (read: sleep and snore loudly in) is not likely to fit through regular doors. Ripping out window panes so you can get furniture inside is not as much fun as it sounds.
· Buying a TV cabinet to accommodate a boxy TV is a stupid thing to do two months before large flat-screen TVs come out. Always consult psychics or ‘Stuff’ magazine before you shop, so you know the life-span of your technology.
· It’s hard to play ping pong on a pool table when you decide you messed up, and would have preferred a table tennis set-up to a snooker one. Hard, but not impossible. Especially when you get extra points for sinking the ping pong ball into the corner pocket.
And since we’re not millionaires, refurnishing means we have to go the IKEA route.
Now, for some people, saying “IKEA” is like that scene in The Lion King when the hyenas say “Mufasa” and shiver with fear. So for those people, I’ll say it again: “IKEA”. If you find yourself trembling, chances are: you’ve put together some IKEA furniture. Which, if you’re a man, means that you’ve spent a fair amount of time sleeping in the spare bedroom.
And the reason for that is that men don’t follow instructions. They believe they know better than those IKEA folks, and were born instinctively knowing how to assemble furniture. Ha!
It reminds me of that scene from Friends, when Ross discovers his wife is a lesbian and has to move out and find a new apartment:
Ross: (squatting and reading the instructions) I'm supposed to attach a brackety thing to the side things, using a bunch of these little worm guys. I have no brackety thing, I see no worm guys whatsoever and- I cannot feel my legs.
To be continued....
Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
· You should sit in a chair before you buy it. A chair that looks like a work of art, is likely to be as comfortable as reclining in a termite mound. While naked. And covered in syrup. Which some of you might find appealing, but we do not.
· An oversized couch bought for your oversized husband to relax in (read: sleep and snore loudly in) is not likely to fit through regular doors. Ripping out window panes so you can get furniture inside is not as much fun as it sounds.
· Buying a TV cabinet to accommodate a boxy TV is a stupid thing to do two months before large flat-screen TVs come out. Always consult psychics or ‘Stuff’ magazine before you shop, so you know the life-span of your technology.
· It’s hard to play ping pong on a pool table when you decide you messed up, and would have preferred a table tennis set-up to a snooker one. Hard, but not impossible. Especially when you get extra points for sinking the ping pong ball into the corner pocket.
And since we’re not millionaires, refurnishing means we have to go the IKEA route.
Now, for some people, saying “IKEA” is like that scene in The Lion King when the hyenas say “Mufasa” and shiver with fear. So for those people, I’ll say it again: “IKEA”. If you find yourself trembling, chances are: you’ve put together some IKEA furniture. Which, if you’re a man, means that you’ve spent a fair amount of time sleeping in the spare bedroom.
And the reason for that is that men don’t follow instructions. They believe they know better than those IKEA folks, and were born instinctively knowing how to assemble furniture. Ha!
It reminds me of that scene from Friends, when Ross discovers his wife is a lesbian and has to move out and find a new apartment:
Ross: (squatting and reading the instructions) I'm supposed to attach a brackety thing to the side things, using a bunch of these little worm guys. I have no brackety thing, I see no worm guys whatsoever and- I cannot feel my legs.
To be continued....
Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Tuesday, 10 April 2012
Baggage and other things that drag you down
Yay! We found a place to live! An apartment that isn't a tiny shit hole with pimps as neighbours. Well, we could have pimps for neighbours - you never know - but they'll at least be high class pimps who like animals. We're further north of downtown Toronto than what we initially wanted (10kms to be precise) but compromises must be made for the zoo. Very few places would accept 2 dogs and 2 cats, and we're on the ground floor which means the cats can run amok. Also, Poodle doesn't have to get dressed at 5 am to get Muggle down 10 flights so she can take her morning tinkle in the snow.
I think the Canadian estate agent person now thinks all South Africans are psychopaths because I told her we needed a 2 bedroom place, so our cats could have their own room. *blush* I apologize to all South
Africans for creating this impression. Feel free to call the Canadians up and tell them that it's just Poodle and me who are a few olives short of a martini.
So now that we have a place to stay, we need to turn our attention to furnishing it. When you move 14 610 kms across the world, should you pile all your crap into a big container and schlep it there with you? Or should you sell the lot of it, pack only 2 suitcases each, and start again on the other side?
Tricky, tricky.
You don't want to end up living like a student again. We're on the wrong side of our thirties, so this just won't do:
At the same time, I don't know if you've ever noticed how much absolute junk you can collect in 15 years. I've found things that I never knew we had shoved at the back of cupboards (mostly drunken party guests who never got around to leaving). One whole drawer in the kitchen is filled with peelers, pizza slicing thingies and ice cream scoopers... that I swear I've never seen before! How did they get there? Is there some kind of kitchen utensil exchange program happening in the world that I don't know about? A secret society of gadgets and thingies that take a gap year off after school to travel the world and see other people's cupboards? That would explain why I never have enough teaspoons.
So, we did some research and got a quote on a container to ship all our crap to Canada. We got the quote, vomited a lot at the price, and then decided it would be a very cathartic experience to free ourselves of all the baggage in our lives, and start all over again.
So we'll be setting off with just 2 suitcases each. Oh, and 4 pets. But they won't go in the suitcases, don't worry.
I think the Canadian estate agent person now thinks all South Africans are psychopaths because I told her we needed a 2 bedroom place, so our cats could have their own room. *blush* I apologize to all South
Africans for creating this impression. Feel free to call the Canadians up and tell them that it's just Poodle and me who are a few olives short of a martini.
So now that we have a place to stay, we need to turn our attention to furnishing it. When you move 14 610 kms across the world, should you pile all your crap into a big container and schlep it there with you? Or should you sell the lot of it, pack only 2 suitcases each, and start again on the other side?
Tricky, tricky.
You don't want to end up living like a student again. We're on the wrong side of our thirties, so this just won't do:
At the same time, I don't know if you've ever noticed how much absolute junk you can collect in 15 years. I've found things that I never knew we had shoved at the back of cupboards (mostly drunken party guests who never got around to leaving). One whole drawer in the kitchen is filled with peelers, pizza slicing thingies and ice cream scoopers... that I swear I've never seen before! How did they get there? Is there some kind of kitchen utensil exchange program happening in the world that I don't know about? A secret society of gadgets and thingies that take a gap year off after school to travel the world and see other people's cupboards? That would explain why I never have enough teaspoons.
So, we did some research and got a quote on a container to ship all our crap to Canada. We got the quote, vomited a lot at the price, and then decided it would be a very cathartic experience to free ourselves of all the baggage in our lives, and start all over again.
So we'll be setting off with just 2 suitcases each. Oh, and 4 pets. But they won't go in the suitcases, don't worry.
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