The move to Canada

I'm sorry.






I apologize for my streak of faux-news articles.

An update on the Wood family: After driving across the entire continent (effectively, from Sacramento to Toronto) in two separate cars, Kris and I are almost done unpacking in our new townhouse here in London, Ontario. Exactly 100% of our furniture was donated by the Pallin family. Not only did they donate it, they stored it and moved it for us. A million thanks to them.

Aside from getting unpacked, we’ve been busy getting ready for classes to start. I’m in the process of choosing a research project. When I settle on one, I’ll write more about it for anybody who’s interested. I’m just really happy. I’m feeling that fire of curiosity that has been a driving force for so many of the good things that have happened in my life.

Here are a few nice surprises that I’ve had over the past week:
* I discovered that I’ll be teaching a lab on research methods in psychology (a course I haven’t even taken yet – should be interesting).
* Jason Bourne gets more and more awesome as time goes by.
* I actually get my own room on campus. It’s on the 6th floor and has a window.
* Not counting books for electives, I only have to purchase one book for both years of the program. Less money = yay. Fewer books = boo.
* Most of the pants that I recently unpacked still fit me after a year of sitting in a suitcase. The pants were sitting in the suitcase, not me.

The only dark cloud in my substantial happiness is the basement. Let me paint a picture. As you walk down the stairs into the basement, you notice a cool sensation on your face. That’s the ultra-high humidity. You start to feel a hot, searing sensation in your nostrils. That’s the cat urine. Slowly, it dawns on you that each breath is ushering particles of feline waste into your cardiovascular system. Unless you leave, you’ll soon be cat-atonic. (Again, sorry.) Then, as you leave, your shoulder brushes something slippery on the wall. That’s the leak from the . . . no, wait . . . that’s just more cat urine.

To purify this nether-region, we borrowed a high-pressure hose from Kristen’s dad. In our preparations for the hose-down, Kristen called for me to come and look at a curious little compartment that she had found in the wall next to the water heater. It was covered with a metal plate. I pried the plate open and, to my chagrin, discovered the body of a dead pigeon, reposing peacefully alongside its severed head. My first thought was, “Hmm. Voodoo.” I admit, there was a ventilation shaft in this little hole (which probably exits on the roof somewhere), so the bird could’ve fallen in. But I can’t imagine that the bird fell so hard that its head fell off, or that the bird was standing on the roof near the hole when its head was somehow detached, at which time it tumbled, along with its head, into the hole. Maybe the bird fell in and there was a sharp knife wedged halfway down the shaft. I don’t know. I’m convinced there was human involvement.

I had fun with the power-washer. I even etched “I love Kris” into the paint on the floor.

Tip of the day: don't spray your bare feet with a high-pressure hose. It stings like the dickens.

Love to all.