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Well, I need a new car. It was so generous of LL to lend me her car for the time being, but she’s gonna move home at some point. I’ve done my research, and I’ve narrowedit down to a Mini (fingers crossed), a Mazda CX-30, or a Subaru Crosstrek. All three dealerships are within 90 seconds of one another here in London, so off I went. I did invite my nephew to join me, but he had other plans. Fortunately (foreshadowing).

Hit MINI London first. No one was there. Not in the lot, not in the showroom, no one. Finally a guy with his his face firmly in his cellphone drifted up and when he looked at me (no questions, just looked), I said, “I want to buy a car.” ‘Buy’. Not trade-in, not look at, but buy. The sales manager (that’s who this guy was, I found out later), didn’t introduce himself, ask my name, or ask me a single question. He just pointed to each car in the showroom and identified them by name. My favourite moments were when he (a) told me that ‘a three-door car has two doors on the side and one at the back’ (because I had assumed that third door was in the floorboards?), and (b) said, “and there’s a yellow one outside.” I said “I see,” drifted towards the door, and he went back to his cell phone. He was the sales manager! I stood alone in the middle of the parking lot, absolutely baffled and incensed. BTW, never shop MINI London.

Off to Mazda, where the greeting was better (still no exchange of names), but the salesman spent the entire time telling me that every car I was looking at was expensive (what do I look like out in public? a recent escapee from an asylum? a broke gambling addict? I was wearing a nice coat and scarf and drove in in LL’s perfectly lovely Toyota Venza.) And when I asked for a test drive, he looked shocked and said I’d have to book an appointment. ?!? The showroom was full of sales people, but devoid of customers, and yet I needed to make an appointment? By now I was starting to steam.

My experience at Subaru was better, at least he told me his name and gave me a brochure. But by this time I was fit to be tied. Remember, my career was in sales training, coaching, and sales management. Maybe if my background was in nursing, or academia, or road maintenance, I wouldn’t have taken this so badly, but because sales was my livelihood, I was absolutely OTT with anger.

I got in my car (LL’s car) and sat there fuming. Then I remembered that the LandRover dealership, which had always treated me so very very well, was just 2 minutes down the road. Now, to be perfectly clear, I was not going to buy another luxury car, but at least this would end my afternoon on an up note.

Reader, I purchased one.

The day after I landed a very dear friend, her mother, and I got together for lunch at the local Kelseys. It was absolutely wonderful to see them both; I hadn’t seen MB since September 2021, and I hadn’t seen her mum since the day before lockdown started in March, 2020.

I don’t know if others do this, but when I’m looking at a menu I will check the prices, not so much to curtail my choices financially, but rather to give me a bit of an idea of the size of the meal. A $10 soup & sandwich is likely going to be less food than a $15 burger with a side. Imagine my shock when all the meals on the lunch menu at Kelseys were $19.99. $20 for lunch in a roadhouse-style restaurant — things have changed a lot in Canada since I last dined out in spring 2020.

Gas prices were higher than I remembered, although they were on par with what I’d been paying in the UK. Then I hit the grocery stores — OMG. I cannot get over the price of a head of lettuce, or a box of pasta, or lemons. Dear God, the lemons.

Well, clearly I was going to have to re-learn the cost of living in Canada, and the only way to do that was to assume the same course of action I had undertaken just before retiring: track every penny I spend for the next six months, to get a handle on what my life is going to cost from now on.

I have downloaded an expense-tracking app, Money Manager, and am now entering every single, solitary purchase. It’s actually easier to do nine years later, as so much of shopping is cashless now. But, every single penny.

*Edit (January 4, 2024): I am four days back in my house, and I have spent $700+ re-stocking the fridge & pantry (starting from zero here, folks), $300+ on household items (cleaning supplies, lightbulbs, paint,etc..), and over $1,000 on ear surgery for Scout (she’s fine). Ay-yi-yi.

Three weeks ago I wrote that my story was over, or at least the Move-To-Scotland, Live-In-Scotland, Return-From-Scotland portion was over.  But I did say that I might jot down some of my observations regarding re-entry, and my thoughts regarding what’s next adventure-wise. 

So, I’m back.

Well, the adventure is over — granted, still waiting on suitcase (due later today); not yet in my house (January 1); have to buy a car (eeh); must sort out banking (here & in UK) — but it’s fair to say that after four years of planning, moving, living, and travelling, the big adventure is wrapping up.

The question I’m being asked the most is: are you glad you did it? And the answer is a resounding yes. Not everything was perfect; I won’t miss winding narrow roads, or refrigerators that sweat inside, or opening a window every time I shower; but I am so glad that on December 17, 2019, I said to my sisters, ‘I think I might move to Shetland or Orkney for a year or two.’ And they both said, ‘Yes! Do it!’ I have learned a lot — yeah, yeah, all that ‘growing as a person, finding myself, yadda, yadda, yadda’ — but if I had to distill it down to one thing I’ve learned, it’s that I’m not as averse to change as I thought I was. That was quite a revelation for a girl who, after moving every two years as a child (my dad was in sales, not on the lam), had grown to absolutely dread the idea of upping sticks, of moving houses, of living elsewhere.

But my question is different. My question to myself is: so, now what? I have been thinking about the future and what I might do next. The choices are much broader for me, now that I have had my little ‘change-doesn’t-suck’ discovery. I could renovate my house. I could move to London, Ontario. I could ‘green’ my house. I could move to a remote Canadian town on the sea. I could resume my volunteering here in Milton. Or . . . . I haven’t really shared this idea on the blog up until now, but . . . . . I could buy a motorhome and travel across Canada for a year. That last idea has been bouncing around in my brain for over five years now. And it’s looking more and more attractive. Something to think about.

A friend suggested that I needed to ‘wrap up my story’ on the blog, and she’s right. I think I’ll take a pause from blogging, at least for a while. I know I have to update my Gallery (and I will do that in the near future). And I may have one or two settling-back-in-in-Canada hiccups that I want to capture over the next month or so; so there might be the odd blog post now and then. I do think that once I start narrowing down my options, and if I do decide RV’ing is my next adventure, I will most definitely resume this blog.

But for now, I want to say thank you to anyone who has followed me on my journey – I am absolutely flattered at the number of people who have come up to me over the last couple of weeks to tell me they were diligent readers. As glad as I am that I went to Scotland, I am equally glad I decided to record it as I did.

That’s all folks! (Or, as we say in Scotland, ‘See yu, Jimmy. That’s us then, hen.’)

It seems that my oversized bag was not tagged to go through past Dublin to Toronto, which is how it was originally mislaid. I hadn’t heard from Aer Lingus in a few days so I called them this morning. Things were not sounding positive, until the rep Jason asked, ‘Were you travelling alone or with someone?’ ‘Alone,’ I said. ‘Oh, that is too bad,’ he mused under his breath, ‘because I have one here for Reid/Wxxxxxr.’ ‘That’s me! That’s me!’ I started shouting into the phone – ‘that’s the name of the family I am staying with!’

On my luggage label, I had written out my name followed by c/o my sister’s name, street address & town, and my email address. I thought that was what one did when one was staying at someone else’s home and wanted to direct mail & deliveries? But I guess they had seen the double-barreled name and had thought it wasn’t me. If the rep said once, he said four or five times, ‘Oh, look, the contents match your description. The email matches your email. The contents are an exact match.’ Sheesh.

Anyhoo, my case is confirmed to be with United Air in Dublin, and is now flagged to be shipped to YYZ (Pearson) and delivered here to my sister’s house.

I am SO SO SO SO happy.

It seems Scout’s two last days in Braidwood after I fled the country were delightful: cuddles, country walks, too many treats. Then the transport began, and while I still am glad I will NEVER have to deal with that UK animal transport company again, I will say they did a good job of keeping me up to date on Scout’s progress. She made it to Toronto safe & sound, and a kind friend offered to take me in her truck to pick up Scout & her massive crate. She is re-united with her brother and her cousin, and all is good.

I’m loving being back, driving with confidence (altho I REALLY have to stop speeding on country roads – it’s not intentional, it’s just that the last 27 months of UK speed limits seem to have settled in my right foot), happy to be on roads and routes I know, even in spite of the construction and snow flurries.

Still no suitcase. Aer Lingus is diligent in keeping me informed – a phone call every morning from a different young man confirming that the hunt continues, then asking me to confirm the same contact info over, and over. I live in hope.

I will be here in Georgetown for another week, helping sort out my sister’s new house, and re-connecting with friends.

I was a little (only a little) trepidatious about driving back here in Canada. Now, that’s partly because the kindest friend in the world has lent me her car for my first couple of months here, and I would hate to repay that kindness with a bent bumper. And because, on my second day back I was going to have to drive back into Mississauga in rush hour traffic at twilight in my sister’s big-ole truck to pick up Scout & her crate — a bit of baptism by fire. But another kind friend (with an even bigger big-ole truck) offered to drive for that errand. So, I was off the hook for that, at least.

Well, three days in and I don’t think I need have worried at all. It’s like riding a bike. All the muscle memory is still there — lane changes, advanced greens, even parallel parking on Main St was a doddle. Only two slight hitches: (1) I am used to UK speed limits, and when I saw the nice, broad Sixth Line heading straight through the farmland, I must admit I was doing 100km (60 mph and the National Speed Limit in Britain) before I saw the 60km (35 mph) signs. Oops. And (2) the gear shift on Lori’s car seems to be on the wrong side. Factory error, perhaps?

As with my move from Canada, I started my packing this time with the best of intentions: there was the carry-on with extra socks, undies, and my laptop, phone, chargers, etc – that was for the night before flying and the night after. Then, for my first 10 days staying at my sister’s in Georgetown, I would fill the smallest wheelie-case. For the next few weeks in London before moving into my house, would be the large green hard-sided case, with parka, winter boots, etc. Then in the massive case I refer to as ‘the Dead-Body Bag’ — (honestly, I could fit a small to medium-sized corpse in that one), was everything else: summer clothes, souvenirs, more shoes, my spring coats, and so on. That was the plan.

But exactly as it worked out in Canada two years earlier, all organizational bets were off once I got right into the packing. By the last day I was shoving pairs of socks in corners and mittens in side pockets; knickers were mingling with hairbrushes, and souvenirs were cavorting with dog dishes. But in the end we got there.

Unfortunately, not all of it got here. Two of my three checked suitcases arrived, but the biggest, the 31kg dead-body bag is nowhere to be found. It has my North American power cables for my PC with accompanying international adapters, my wool scarves and mitts, and my very favourite, relatively new, fancy-schmancy trench coat. Aer Lingus assures me they are on the hunt for it, but why oh why didn’t I buy the airtags when I researched them this past summer? Idiot.

Fingers crossed that Hermes (Greek god of travellers) and St Anthony of Padua (patron saint of lost items) are smiling down on my poor, forlorn suitcase and will guide the baggage hunters straight to it. So we wait.

I am sitting in bed at my sister’s new home in Georgetown at two o’clock in the morning, wide awake. (I say ‘almost’ home because I won’t actually move back into my house until January.) Yesterday was excellent & eventful.

The flight to Dublin was fine — the lady beside me hated take-offs and landings so I distracted her with utter babble & chit-chat (and as we were landing, with a truly wicked and rude story from one of my earlier river cruises) — distracting her panic enough that her husband stepped over and thanked me as we were disembarking.

The flight to Toronto was going very well — I had received a box of chocolates as a going away present (I don’t really like chocolate), so I took them on board the plane as a gift for the cabin crew, so that made for a nice start. Was served a lovely meal with nice wines, then I lowered the ‘bed’, put on an eye mask and slept for over two hours. As I said, all was going well. As I sat up from my nap and started to raise up the bed, I saw my glasses slide off the peedie wee tray, and slide down the side of the seat, into the inner mechanics of the bed/seat, in spite of my scrambling and muttering, ‘no, no, no, no’. After 15 minutes of the cabin crew digging around and telling me they didn’t think it was possible for anything to slide down that crack and I must be mistaken and the seat couldn’t be taken apart, I resigned myself to having to fork out for new glasses once I got home (I don’t need them for distance, just for reading and computer work, so this would be a costly inconvenience, not a life-altering crisis). But once we landed, I went at that chair with a vengance, as all of business class stood and looked on. And with the help of a wonderful flight attendant (whom I hugged ferociously even tho I hate hugs) we got them. Thank goodness.

But the fun wasn’t over yet. However, it is now 3:24 in the morning, and I should really try going back to sleep.

People are asking me if I’m excited to be moving home? or sad to leave Scotland? Yes. In both cases, the answer is Yes.

But more to the point: what am I looking forward to in Canada? And what will I miss about Scotland? So I thought I would capture the things I can’t wait to get back to, or happy to see the last of. These are not about missing my cousins and my Scottish friends, or looking forward to my sisters, their families, and my Canadian friends. Those are all complete ‘givens’. These are quirks of the UK, or perks of Canada. (*They’re also not a kick at Scotland either; I know Canada is awash in faults & flaws.)

Things I will miss about Scotland: the countryside; Scotch pies (any meat pie in fact); the variety of boutique gins; the speed at which the kettle boils; free mueums & galleries; the greater bird-lover culture; being able to take my dog pretty much anywhere; pub culture & atmosphere; the variety of potato crisps; all the places to walk and hike all across the country; the history absolutely everwhere. Oh, and a good cup of tea, no matter where you go.

I will not miss: narrow country roads at night; front & back doors where you need a key to get out of your own house; the amount of plastic they use in the produce section; cars that park up on the sidewalk (pavement); odd, high-maintenance clothes dryers; not being able to dry my hair in the bathroom;

Things I am not looking forward to in Canada: extreme weather (I would be happy if temperatures stayed above -15° in the winter, and below 25° in the summer); the quantity and sheer volume of American news we live with; being so far away from Europe; the price of internet /mobile service/ broadband.

Things I look forward to in Canada: greater tolerance of ethnicity; the range of produce choices; the greater diversity of population; more salad dressing choices; Mexican food; buying local wine; window screens; snow; decent-sized refrigerators; my top-load washer & my dryer (where I control times, cycles, etc); going to the movies; the medical / dental world (I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with the whole UK NHS system, but here I feel I know how to navigate things better). Oh, and hot water in my taps.