Roaming in Retirement

Wanda was due back from her Quebec adventure, and I was all set for a smooth handover—no goose chases, no last-minute surprises, just a seamless transition. I even treated myself to a light day, knowing she’d arrive late. I picked her up from the airport at 11:30 pm and there she was, looking more alive than I felt. The next morning, over coffee, we swapped stories like old friends.  But just as I was sinking into the comfort of a well-laid plan for February, life decided to say, "Hold my coffee." My friend in Nanaimo, who was supposed to be my February safety net, had to pull out due to house issues and renovation delays. Suddenly, my sure-fire plan was fizzling out faster than a cheap sparkler on New Year’s Eve. I was back to square one—no place to go and no idea what to do next. Now, a setback like this could’ve been a major downer, but instead, it turned out to be a blessing in disguise. The Nanaimo flop pushed me to dive headfirst into researching more house/pet sitting ...

After Wanda’s grand exit, I officially embarked on my new life as a farm caretaker. Essentials unpacked—clothes, laptop, and, most importantly, kitchen supplies (because, let’s face it, this city girl needs her creature comforts)—I was as ready as I could be. Ready to embrace farm life? Maybe not. But at least I could try not to get trampled by it. My first full day on the farm was a blur of geese, chickens, and trying to decode Wanda’s rapid-fire instructions. The geese eyed me suspiciously, like they were the bouncers of this rural nightclub, and I was the clueless city slicker without an invite. The chickens weren’t exactly rolling out the welcome mat either, however, they gifted me with their eggs. But I was determined to make it work, mainly because if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s adapting to strange situations—with a smile and maybe a little nervous laugh. The cats, however, were easy—just the right balance of aloof and indifferent, the way cats always are. Feed them, pet ...

When you think of retirement, you probably imagine leisurely mornings, a warm cup of coffee, and maybe a stroll through a quiet park. Well, my first housesitting gig replaced that with geese, chickens, cats, and a farm called Whisperhill—because apparently, I thought it was a good idea to trade in my condo life for the rustic charm of farm chores. The adventure began as I drove up to Whisperhill, a place that looked like it was straight out of a pastoral painting. The property was nestled among towering trees, with manicured gardens, vineyards, and even a couple of waterfalls—because why not? It was all so picturesque that I almost forgot I was about to become the caretaker of two geese, three chickens, and two cats. Almost. Wanda, who also doubled as my daughter’s landlord, welcomed me warmly and immediately started showing me around. As we walked through her stunning property, I met the geese, who, to my surprise, weren’t exactly thrilled to see me. Okay, they hissed at me like I was...

Once I got a hold of my senses and decided to not continue at the resort, for obvious reasons, I turned my attention to getting out of town. But wait, I was on the verge of becoming a nomad in the most unglamorous way possible: by being unexpectedly homeless. I was not about to kick out the tenants in my condo. I knew there had to be a way around this. But just as I was starting to panic—because, let’s face it, a girl’s gotta have a roof over her head—I had a stroke of genius: I texted John. Now, John wasn’t just any guy. He was the landlord of my good friend Sandy, who’d been my lifeline when I first moved to BC and she shared her suite with me while my daughter occupied my condo for a short period of time before I moved in for good. He owned the triplex of which she was a tenant. It was high up on a bedrock hill in Langford and, during my initial stay in BC with Sandy, he’d struck me as one of those genuinely nice, salt-of-the-earth types. You know, the kind who might actually say ye...

I noticed that many of his questions were identical to what the insurance guy asked, like they were trying to find something I missed. I happened to mention that I took photos that night. He immediately asked if I could send them to him. "Sure," I said. Then he added, "Right now." Oh. Okay. After fumbling to send them on the spot, they moved on to ask about a CCTV camera at the side entrance of the house and where is the footage kept. I had a blank look on my face. I told them I had no idea there was a CCTV camera there, nor did I know about the dome security camera above the entrance door to the house/office. Honestly, right at that moment I felt like I was on trial for a crime I didn’t commit. He wrapped up his questions and then asked me to come outside with him and specifically to the side of the house; the entrance to Cathy’s loft. The guy pointed at a spot near the corner end of the house. The wooden steps that take you from the main road down to the house lev...

I woke up after what felt like a blink—three hours of sleep at most. The sun was shining, but I was still in that disorienting haze, wondering if last night had been a bizarre nightmare. Nope. Not a dream. My phone buzzed, and reality slapped me back into the here and now. Cathy was calling, her voice calm despite the chaos she had just read about in my text. "Are you okay?" she asked, a little too composed for someone hearing that part of their house had literally gone up in flames. I gave her the rundown, mentioning the insurance people and the investigators needed her to get in touch ASAP. Her response? A slight chuckle. "You know, when I said don’t call unless the house is on fire, I didn’t mean literally." She wanted to know, how on earth did this happen? At that point, I was wondering the same thing. She asked if I was okay with her handing over my details to the insurance people and investigators. Of course, I agreed. Little did I know that this meant I’d bec...

The moment the lights flickered back on, I felt a brief surge of relief. The day had been long, but I decided it was time to tackle some laundry around 7 PM—because if you can’t control the chaos in your life, at least you can control the clean sheets. As the washer and dryer hummed, I caught a faint noise above me. It was subtle, like a mouse auditioning for a role in a horror movie. I tried to brush it off—perhaps just the old house settling—or so I hoped. With laundry done, I made dinner and settled down with Baby, the cat, to watch a movie. Normally, I'd be in bed by 8:30 PM, when no guests were at the resort, but I stayed up to ensure the young couple staying in the beach cottage hadn’t overdone their hot tub session. Peeking out of the office window, I saw the tub was dark, and the lights in their cottage were on; most likely having a nice romantic night. All was well… until it wasn’t. Then it happened. At 10:30 PM, just as I was about to retreat to the living room, I heard a...

So, remember when I thought managing a beach resort was going to be a fun, carefree adventure? Well, let’s just say things took a turn I wasn’t exactly prepared for. It all started when I dropped Cathy off at the airport late October, officially leaving me in charge. Once dropped off she immediately called me while I was driving back to the house, to ask if she left the keys in the door to her loft, which were sliding doors at the side of the house. Entering those doors, you climb up some stairs to her loft which spanned the length of the house. I checked as soon as I arrived, and the door was locked with no keys in it. She said she must have misplaced them, or they were in her luggage.  It was a new month and it was not like any ordinary month. I’d been wrestling with the new booking system, sitting through endless meetings, and trying to troubleshoot what felt like a tech support nightmare. But eventually, everything clicked, and bookings started flowing in. Success! But while th...

 The small town I’d found myself in had a population of 1,729. Blink, and you’d miss it—not that I was here for the nightlife (spoiler: it doesn’t exist). Nope, I was here to manage a beach resort for the next six months. The drive from Sidney was gorgeous. Mountains behind me, ocean beside me—scenery so stunning, it made me forget for a moment that I was about to take charge of a resort with zero experience. But no worries, right? Famous last words. Cathy anticipated my arrival and greeted me like her new best friend. She was all smiles, probably because she was about to hand over the reins and take off on vacation for six months. I, on the other hand, was starting to feel the weight of what I’d signed up for. I tried not to panic as I followed her around, nodding along like I knew what I was doing. The resort was charming—rustic, peaceful, and right on the beach. The kind of place people come to relax, reconnect with nature, and ideally not be disturbed by a manager having a ment...

So, there I was, cruising down the highway to a charming spot on the east coast of Vancouver Island—with dreams of becoming a resort manager. My qualifications? Let’s just say they were limited to managing my own life, which, depending on the day, was either a resounding success or a complete disaster. As I navigated the steep driveway leading to the beachside resort, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was in over my head. But, when life hands you an opportunity to manage a beach resort with zero experience, you grab it with both hands and hope you don’t drop it. When I arrived, Cathy, the resort’s owner, greeted me from a small balcony like a queen welcoming her loyal subject. She occupied a loft on top of the house. She was a whirlwind of energy—speaking at lightning speed, juggling a million tasks, and somehow keeping it all together. I, on the other hand, was doing my best to keep up without looking like a deer caught in headlights. Cathy explained that my job would be to manage the e...

It was New Year’s Day 2023, and while most people were nursing hangovers or vowing to hit the gym (again), I was having a full-on existential crisis. There I was, in the picturesque town of Sidney-by-the-Sea on Vancouver Island, enjoying my smoothie and wondering how I’d gone from carefree condo living to contemplating a life on the move. Maybe it was the fresh start of a new year, or maybe it was just the fact that I’d turned 65 and was officially a “senior” (a title I wear about as comfortably as a wool sweater in July). Whatever the reason, that morning I felt an urge to do something completely out of character—like jumping into the icy waters of the Pacific Ocean with a bunch of strangers in swimsuits. Because nothing says "new beginnings" like hypothermia. So, with my bathing suit on and a towel in hand, I joined the masses at Glass Beach for the annual Polar Bear Swim. As we all stood shivering on the shore, counting down the seconds to madness, I couldn’t help but wond...

   You know how some people buy a sports car when they hit retirement? Well, I bought a condo on a whim during a visit to my daughter in British Columbia (BC). It was supposed to be a casual house-hunting trip—just a bit of fun to pass the time. But then, like a shopper in a boutique who sees the perfect dress, I found myself saying, “Yes, I’ll take it,” without so much as a second thought. And just like that, I was the proud owner of a condo a block from the seawall, with my Ontario home on the market and COVID-19 lurking around the corner. Why worry about what’s around the corner when you’ve got impulse buying? Selling my Ontario home was a breeze, and living in a rental until my condo was built wasn’t too bad either. Before I knew it, I was flying west. But in my rush, I not only left all my belongings in storage, along with my car parked at my friends home, I also left those two very dear friends with the monumental task of getting everything shipped to me in BC. Thankfull...

Welcome to the chronicles of my retirement adventure—or as I like to call it, my self-imposed nomadic escapade. The posts you are about to read are in chronological order so you can follow me on my journey, right up to current time.  Everything was about to change, and I was ready for it. I had worked hard; travelled the world; lived and worked in Libya, North Africa; raised my 2-year-old daughter as a single parent and never re-married— not for the lack of trying.  You see, while most people who retire find more time to enjoy the newly discovered game of pickleball, embrace some new hobbies and delve into volunteer work, I decided to take the road less traveled—literally. Armed with a suitcase, a bin of cooking supplies, a sense of adventure, and a condo that practically pays for itself. I’ve set out on a journey to see if it’s possible to dodge living expenses by bouncing from one house-sitting gig to another. Spoiler alert: it is, and it’s a heck of a lot more fun than bala...