2022 Annual Year-End Card

 

Option- or right-click to download full-size version of card.

 

Folding the printed version once in each direction should create a traditional card.

The NeverEnding Storage

Decades ago, Paul Hawken discussed the idea of weight as a measure of value. He compared heavy, Detroit-steel automobiles from the '50s and '60s to the lighter, more-efficient cars that were becoming popular in the '70s. While intellectually understanding the argument back then, it became viscerally true this past year as Chris and I moved from Vancouver to Gabriola to finally settle in Victoria. There is renewed respect for things that are heavy (and stairs, mustn't forget stairs). Well, the term settle may be optimistic. While Chris has been living in our capital city since October, my final move wasn't until the middle of December. Spoiler alert: New address is below.

 

One Step at a Time

 

The move(s), which has been termed The Long Haul, began in the spring with multiple items boxed and hauled down to our garage in Vancouver. Our generous neighbor, David, quickly learned to avoid using the back stairs or pretend to be engrossed in anything other than acknowledging my all-too-frequent cries of, "Oh, David, might you have a moment to help me move something (not spoken, but understood to be heavy and cumbersome) down the stairs?"

 

Darn that Law of Conservation of Matter. An ever-emptying apartment directly correlates to an ever-filling garage. Which physicists proclaim that work is only done in a vertical plane? Even with a street-level garage, there was still the not-insignificant matter (far too much matter, IMHO) of transferring all of these items out of Vancouver.

 

When a wonderful friend and/or relative, who (for security purposes will only be referred to as T*m) entrusted me with his Subaru wagon, I began an extended series of round trips transporting carloads of items to Victoria. Should I be embarrassed that it wasn't until after several voyages that I realized the crisp salutes from BC Ferries personnel were not directed to me personally but were signs of respect to a car with veteran's plates? Although I never considered taking advantage of the free-parking perk, I really should have declined the offer to dine at the Captain's table. Cajoled into recounting some of my military exploits, and armed with a grammar-teaching background, it was surprisingly easy to transpose into first person the plot of The Guns of Navarone.

 

Provided with only the valet key, I (and anyone in my vicinity) grew tired of the loud alarm whenever I unlocked the car. Ever resourceful, and not shy about approaching other members of the fellowship of Subaru drivers, I merrily joined the rueful laughter from other Subarites when asked if they knew how to unlock their vehicles without tripping the alarm. Not only is T*m an ex-RAF fighter pilot, his second career was working on vague, top-secret, space projects. This realization prevented me from taking too much liberty with air-conditioning and/or radio settings. It just seemed prudent to assume that adjusting certain combinations of dashboard controls might inadvertently trigger launch codes, initiate coups against small governments, or crash (at-that-time) soaring cryptocurrencies. Hmm, in retrospect, "Oops,"�and "Apologies to those who took a bath,"�might be in order.

 

Reflections on Genuflections (Past and Present)

 

A good omen is when the orthopedic surgeon's first words on the introductory Zoom chat are, "Excuse me, young man, can you ask your father to join us?" Realizing his mistake, he apparently added to my chart, "Presents young for his age."

 

In the summer of 1978 (referred to by Naderites as The Dark Ages of Optional Seatbelts), a car crash sent me to hospital with a banged-up leg. The diagnosis was a torn ACL and other, knee-hicular damage. At the time, best medical practice was to just leave things as they were, while a physiotherapist showed me how to build up the quads to compensate for the missing ligament. Momentary dreams of following in Joe Namath's hobbled footsteps were dashed as I was also told to expect arthritis down the road. I did get older, and darned if those folks in white coats weren't correct.

 

This past spring, noticeably less-springy walks deteriorated into decidedly lame attempts to lurch from one location to another. One day, while walking home through a popular park, a dog abandoned its family and, barking and snarling, charged at me. I froze, faced the dog, and shouted, "Get off the couch!" loudly enough to turn heads from all corners and species. The rampaging dog froze, looked guiltily towards its owners and trotted back to its picnic blanket. I'm pretty sure that even neighbourhood dogs lounging in their own homes jumped off their respective couches.

 

In a park full of people of all ages and sizes, why did that dog try to attack just me? In retrospect, rather than going temporarily feral, I think it was just doing its Darwinian duty, culling the infirm from the herd.

 

Praise modern medicine. After removing a bone chip that had been acting as a grit 3 inside my rock-tumbler of a knee for forty years, I can (once again) walk through parks without fear of being triaged into the best leave 'em behind group.

 

Take a Bow

 

Part of the ritual of becoming a Canadian includes swearing (or attesting) an oath to the Queen. After her passing this year, I considered my obligation concluded and put myself on the market, seeking bids from various monarchs, potentates, and sovereigns for my avowed fealty. Unfortunately, dreams of being awarded a minor fiefdom cooled after word got out that I no longer kowtow as well as before.

 

Wasn't There Something about a Golden Parachute?

I've been waiting (literally decades) to be able to say this. Recently woke up with a strange compulsion to sit in a tree, cut the soles off my shoes and learn to play the flute. Oh, yeah, I am now unemployed retired. This past week, my (now-former) colleagues hosted an intervention retirement party to ensure that I won't be coming back after the winter break. For anyone who is wondering: No, this is not an early retirement. In fact, some may think it several years overdue.

 

Chris is already planning trips for us. We also look forward to spending lots of time together in our new home in Victoria. She's not so sure about the finally-learning-to-play-that-banjo-that's-been-dogging-me-since-high-school part. Hmm, depending on how the banjo works out, Chris may be also be considering some solo travel in 2023.

 

Boxing Day Re-Packaged

 

Good traditions are not only timeless, they also hold significance for folks at many different stages. This year Boxing Day takes on a new meaning as Chris and I will still be unpacking and re-discovering parts of our lives from months ago. "Oh, so that's where those formerly-most-important-things-in-the-world-but-we've-somehow-managed-to-do-without items ended up." We also look forward to welcoming you all to our new island home. Come to Victoria.

 

Once again, our best wishes for the holidays and the year ahead.

 

Chris and Todd

 

Right! Like I'm going to put a home address on the Internet. Folks can always reach me by e-mail (found at the bottom of the page).

copyright 2022 by Todd Strong