Tag Archives: moving

Limbo Land

Posted in Finding Home, Life, Travel by

I have that limbo song in my head just thinking about this post. Every limbo boy and girl, all around the limbo world, gonna do the limbo rock all around the limbo clock! You can thank Chubby Checkers for those awesome lyrics.

We have moved out of our Vanier apartment. Good bye massive kitchen, good bye clouds of smoke and screaming neighbours. Good bye Snack Shack, good bye walking to Bridgehead, Good bye lovely neighbourhood! While I will miss the neighbourhood – we really came to love it (with spring here, folks are beginning to venture outside again. It’s gossip on the street all spring & summer long!).

Dagmar Goodbye

We are out.

I did like it there to be honest. It was our home, and it was HUGE.

Anyhow, limbo land. I called DR Canada about whether I’m able to get onto this big important study, and have not heard back. Not really surprised. We have an appointment with him on April 20th to find out more. So, I’m okay not hearing back. I keep waiting to buy that ticket to Hungary, but may as well embrace the stillness for the brief moment that it lasts.

The move this past Sunday went very well. There were some moments of panic. Firstly, we couldn’t get the queen box spring mattress into the truck bed. So, my little brother strapped it on top of the truck and we drove at 20 km/hour to my friend’s house in the neighbourhood where we are storing our furniture for the summer. But then, the darn tootin’ box spring wouldn’t fit into their basement! My little bro gave me a jolt of panic when he said: Do you have any backup storage? Can you arrange that right now?

To which I replied: Augh!

That was pretty much his prediction over and over throughout the entire day: You will need more storage.

Actually, we did need more storage. But thankfully my friend’s lovely neighbour popped up outta nowhere (okay, from next door) and offered to house our mattresses IN HER BASEMENT! This is what I mean about Vanier having some truly lovely people. We don’t even know this lady, and she lent us space in her home. I guess the world in general is full of lovely people.

With my Dad’s truck not getting the job done fast enough, (and my entire family present, slowly losing their patience with job of moving boxes one vehicle at a time) little bro had another idea: he’d rent us a MOVING vehicle/truck! While we all thought he was away picking up some tools, he was actually out renting a moving truck. Smart guy. Once he arrived the boxes were loaded in, and off they went. It was a good idea, I’ll admit it. I’m also quite glad I didn’t  need to arrange it.

Days prior to the big move, we were dealing with the big PACK. Honestly it was driving Zsolt and I crazy sorting through so many things, packing boxes, sorting closets, cleaning spaces, sorting charity . . . packing just takes forever and it turns everything upside down. We were losing our minds in the mess, and our apartment turned into a strange maze where you navigated between stacks of cardboard boxes.

Now we are in my parents basement again, soaking up the calm spring rays of sunshine, and clean smoke-free air. I feel as if we’ve come full circle from the time we first arrive in Canada. Except, you know, it’s not at all the same, and we won’t be here for long. I’m still itching to buy that ticket to Hungary. I suppose I’ll just have to wait till April 20th to learn what type of schedule will be happening. Fingers crossed for the study. I like that option & I want that option.

And that is all. Excuse me while I go listen, again, to that limbo land song.

Suitcase Time Machine

Posted in Finding Home, Life, Travel by

I’m packing my suitcase for Hungary. We don’t have a ticket, and I’m still totally unsure when we are leaving – or how long we’re going for, but nevertheless, I’m packing my suitcase.

Easter Monday in the Brunelle Samson household is really all about packing. Actually, we’re finishing with the packing of this apartment. Today involved Zsolt pulling apart the living room with his old PHD papers, contracts from England, left over visa applications, books and video games and more video games.

I’ve been in the bedroom, emptying the closet and dresser of every single bit of clothing I own. One piece after another, I folded the shirts and tank tops and socks and sweater and trousers and scarves, and stacked them on my grandmother’s old sofa (for which I’d made a dark blue slip cover, and now feel sentimental about giving away).

moving

Onto the bed I opened our burnt orange suitcase. This will be my case for the entire summer of displacement and –hopefully- escape.

Hanging from the curtain rod in my bedroom are a thick collection of dresses. Summer dresses, autumn dresses, cocktail dresses, gala dresses. I take the coral baby-dress from the rod and lay it in my burnt orange suitcase. The strap is broken, and I’m hoping Zsolt’s mother won’t mind sewing it since my kit is packed away. I can picture myself by the lake Balaton, wearing this little bit of coral nothingness, and feeling just like I felt almost a decade ago when I first found that slice of Hungarian paradise. I will pack this dress, Anna will sew the strap, and it can be like old times again.

There is the wine purple Karan Millen dress that I wear to nearly ever formal occasion ever. This is not a dress anyone would need at Lake Balaton in Hungary. But I slide it into the suitcase nevertheless, in hopes that somehow we’ll be able to take the boat between England and Halifax. I wore this exact same dress on the Queen Mary while we sailed to Canada (via New York) about two years ago. We were excited for Zsolt’s new job, and thrilled with the glamour of the cruise ship. It was a highlight in a life full of wonderful moments. So maybe, if I pack the dress, we can live it again.

There is this raggedy dark blue tube top folded and resting on top of the pile of clothes for consideration (do I put it in the suitcase, or put it into the cardboard box for storage in my friend’ basement?). I concoct some possible outfit in my head, and slip it into the suitcase. Maybe if I pair it with my high-waist black skirt… maybe I can get away with wearing it again. And even better, maybe my husband will notice. This is tube top I wore one fantastic night in Nice while out at a nightclub with a group of Hungarians. I’d had some light mesh shirt over it for most of the evening, but when we ended up in a club’s crowded basement sweating and dancing like crazy, I’d headed to the ladies to cool down. Off came the mesh top, up went my hair into a high ponytail, and on went the vibrant blue headband that matched the sleeveless top. Walking out of the ladies, I passed that cute Hun I liked. He did a double take and said, ‘woah.’ . . . he liked me.

summer

So, I’m here packing my suitcase for a trip that isn’t planned, and reliving memories imprinted into my clothing. And I stopped just now to write this blog post, because I didn’t even realize what I was doing until about 10 minutes ago. I’m taking action. I’m doing something to make this all real, and to have another summer, hopefully with a few new piece thrown into the wardrobe, to make all kinds of new memories.

The suitcase is now nearly full. It’s packed for Hungary. And whenever we get there, it’s going to be a damn good time.

Slowly saying goodbye

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Finding Home, Life, Love, Writing by

Ah the pain! I just wrote a page long posting in Word, only to absent-mindedly close the entire program (not saved) and lose my work. Blarg! Who says “blarg” anyhow? I think it’s a female. Maybe Felicia Day from the Guild? I don’t know.


Anyhow, this post was all about writing letters. Basically moving home (moving countries) means a lot of ties must be severed. In the past two weeks I’ve written some very final notices. Work involved a gushing letter – professional yet personal – of resignation that took a few drafts to achieve. Ever since a bad experience leaving a big employer (“pass me your vest and get out”), where I gave a thank you card and felt like an ass for the effort – I have hesitated in expressing too much gratitude.

But then, when people provide incredible support shouldn’t gratitude be shown? Yes, it should.

Therefore I started off my resignation letter like this:

“Many thanks for the opportunity. Should you have any queries, please do not hesitate to contact me. Kind regards, Catherine Brunelle”

And finished it like this

“You’re all so awesome, this place is awesome, our job is awesome. Everything’s awesome! And I’m going to miss every last bit of it. Hugs, Catherine”

Well, that may be an exaggeration – but you get the gist.

And then yesterday I wrote a letter to our landlady [if you want a good example of how to be a landlord, she’s it. Responsive yet distant. A very good combination in the world of accommodation.] and let her know we’re moving. Final month in Southampton: May. Beautiful sunny May when the roses bloom and smell like perfume. May, the month I felt my bump. May, the month my life changed. It’ll be post-cancer one year when we finally leave the UK.

. . . maybe we’ll come back, because apparently anything can happen . . . but for now, Canada and Hungary are waiting with open arms (of our parents).

So that’s the start of the letters. Next will come the papers for shipping, the agreements for money transfers, the ending of contracts and all thae inevitable red tape of life. Over the past four years we’ve settled in. Now it’s time to squirm out.

There you go – post about moving, take two. The ball is rolling and it’s only a matter of time.