“So you write about Costa Rican lifestyle?” says Sid, beating Ryan to the fishing questions he can see writing themselves on his lips.
“Yes, I do. It is different than here, but the same too… ‘cause they are people, just like us,” says Nick. “Ticos – that’s the local name for Costa Ricans – are laid back and friendly, like I said, so I want to learn their ways. I try to live like they do. I rent a room with a family of fourteen … an extended family. The parents, the father’s uncle, the mother’s grandmother’s sister, five kids – with a couple spouses and some of their own kids. I practice my Spanish and learn the pura vida lifestyle.”
“Wow,” says Sid. “That sounds wild.”
“Some of the family have jobs, but everyone contributes. Except for Ito – he’s the dad’s uncle. He’s blind – but they say he just pretends. They still feed him anyways and give him a cot to sleep on. Bananas, mangos, guavas and oranges grow in the backyard, and chickens everywhere.”
“But why the heck do you live there, Uncle Nick,” Ryan chirps up, “when you could be living here in Saskatchewan?”
“I did live here, Ryan. I grew up around here. I went to university in Saskatoon, and then moved to the big city of Calgary, Alberta. You live there now, right Sid?” He sees Sid’s nod. “But I notice something while I’m living there. I can tell I’m making lots of money in the big city but the cost of living there is high – especially for housing – mortgage or rental – I try them both. So I make big money but spend big too. With lots of city stress.”
“Big money in the big city,” Ryan’s win-a-lottery eyes show a spark of interest. “Hey, I can move there.”
“Well Ryan, it’s true, there are higher paying jobs in the bigger cities. But there’s an advantage to leaving the big city if you plan it right. Back then, I’m hit by an idea I want to try out. I call it purchasing-power leveraging. I save my dollars working in Calgary with my high income, like financial advisors tell any person to do. After a few years there, I move back to Saskatoon with much cheaper housing. I figure each dollar I earn in Calgary is worth more in the cheaper house market out here. A financial leveraging tool. You know most people spend their lives buying a house. The same house in Calgary was half the price in Saskatoon back then. So I doubled the value of my house.”
“But,” says Sid. “You lose your big city income.”
“Yah, well, I leave my big city stress behind too.”
“So let me get this straight, Uncle,” Sid double checks. “You make and save money in a rich place, then go and spend the money in a poorer place and get more value. You call it purchasing-power leveraging. So a dollar earned in Calgary goes double when you buy a house in Saskatoon.”
“Back then, yeah. But that’s basically it,” Uncle Nick nods. “It takes some money management skills, some saving discipline. But it works. Then that very same house in Saskatoon is a third the price down in the tropics where I live now. And most would call it paradise down there.”
“So, then, if you make money in rich Canada, and go spend it in a country like Costa Rica, it’s worth even more in their housing market,” Sid jumps on the wagon with Uncle Nick’s ideas. “You could be really wealthy if you pick the right place to go. Why you could have a huge house in Central America.”
Uncle Nick looks over at him with saddening eyes. “You know, that’s what I thought,” he continues, “but then I feel this big emptiness. When I look around Saskatoon for a house, I realize if I buy a great big house, it won’t be fair for those who never went off to Calgary.”
“So what do you do, Uncle?”
“Well, this new idea comes to me; I call it time-power leveraging. It’s sort of like this. I realize if I buy an average house instead of a big one in Saskatoon, I’ll have it paid for so much faster with Calgary dollars. An average house won’t inflate the house market unfairly. And a paid-for house will give me a lot of spare time – time to do things I feel a need to do. Now time is the power I use for leveraging.”
“What do you do with all your time, then?”
“Not too much to start. It takes me a while to learn my own plan. I try writing and it works after a while. I write some journals, some poems like Dad, and then get an article published in Alternative Economics, that’s a magazine.” Uncle Nick’s eyes are soft. “And I read a lot – about other places in the world. Costa Rica comes up. I think I can learn about other economics by living in another culture.”
“Does that work?”
“More than I think. You can learn by experience. I know I can’t go buy a big house there either, that would really be unfair. In fact, I don’t even buy a place. The latest idea coming to me I call time-power equity. I have all this extra time and I can spend it making things more equitable. So I hire those two guys at the beach, and I pay them well. It makes me feel good, fills up the big empty, that’s the returns for me.”
Sid sits in silence for a moment, watching the highway rushing straight in under them. He catches Ryan in the rear-view, dozing.
“But things can’t be perfect living in a country like Costa Rica?” He tries to absorb the things he hears his uncle saying, finding it hard to believe it’s all good.
“Well, health care can be a concern, and there is culture shock. And like I said, they are people just like us.”
“So you don’t want to get sick down there,” says Sid.
“Well, Sid, that depends on how you look at it. The food down there is fresh and healthy. I’d come to Canada for any major surgery – not that I want any. But to die … we all have to die one day you know … I prefer to die the Costa Rican way. Down there, you die at home with lots of love. Up here you’re maybe in a hospital with hoses sticking out and some obsessive medical team wanting to try out new procedures. Our neighbour just died a couple months ago. His relatives laid him out on the kitchen table and invited everyone over for coffee, and to pay respects. It’s a healthier way to live. Just some medical services are better up here.”
“You save your money, Uncle Nick?” The question comes from the back seat, and Sid can’t believe his ears. But things settle back to normal. “Do they have lottery tickets down there?”
“Saving money is a good way to have freedom to go fishing all you want, Ryan,” Nick replies quietly. “Do you read many books? The popular ones about personal financial management say save ten percent of your income, and pay it to yourself first. Get rid of your debt – credit card debt is the worst and don’t buy anything you don’t really need. It takes some discipline. Yes, they have lottery tickets in Costa Rica; I suppose it can be a thrill to win. But that’s a maybe, a big maybe. A more sure way to have a big bank account is to invest your income in yourself – to save it over the long term.”
Ryan stares at Uncle Nick with creased eyebrows for a moment.
“Take fishing for example. Fishing can be a good low cost activity, but like with everything, it’s a matter of choice. A guy I met at the beach went out deep-sea fishing, and he told me how much he paid. He showed us the fish, not much different than the ones they catch from shore; maybe a bit bigger. So what? You decide how to do what you really want to, and see if there’s a cheaper way. Powerboat fishing costs a lot; fishing from shore doesn’t cost anything. The size of the fish? Hey, even the tiny ones my guys catch have more species variety than the ones out deep.”
“You guys hungry?” asks Sid as they approach Blaine Lake.
“Yah, let’s stop,” says Ryan. “I’m famished.”
###
Sid pulls off beside a transport truck. They step out and Uncle Nick inhales some deep breaths of home. They walk into the restaurant and tuck themselves in around a table.
“Sid says Puerto Rico is a poor place, Uncle Nick.”
“Costa Rica?” says Uncle Nick. “Well, depends what you mean by poor. Life can be quite rich without a lot of money – you know like when you go fishing. Maybe fishing makes you happy, and maybe happiness makes you rich. Or maybe there’s someth
ing even richer than happiness.”
When they finish their meal, Ryan grabs the bill. Nick and Sid insist on paying their part, but Ryan is adamant. He throws some cash on the table, barely glancing at the bill.
“Big tip for a truck stop,” says Sid.
“Ahh, I got plastic,” Ryan pats his wallet pocket, grinning.
They walk out, get in the car and drive through town.
“If you’re careful with your money, Ryan,” Uncle Nick looks straight at his nephew, “you can spend a lot more time fishing.”
“Yah, OK Uncle,” Ryan becomes almost pensive for a moment. “We caught six pickerel this morning. You should have been there, Uncle. We were out in Franco’s new boat.”
“Great. Sounds like you had a lot of fun. So Franco has a boat …” Nick closes his eyes for a second.
“Andrew Trent is here from California,” says Sid cautiously. “Auntie Lola never made it though, but I picked up Andy at the airport yesterday.”
Uncle Nick’s eyes brighten for a moment, and then fall. He decides to smile.
“Hey, hey, right on. Little Andy, well I suppose he’s a man now. He was maybe eight when I saw him. Loli came to the LAX one time with her kids.”
“Wow, you met before,” says Sid. “So you’ve been in touch with Auntie Lola?”
Uncle Nick sits quiet for a moment.
“I visited just before her wedding in Edmonton … but she flew to California to marry John. He’s twenty years older … and she was so young...” Uncle Nick’s eyes darken. “We wrote a few letters, and then, yah, I passed through Los Angeles and she came to the airport. We write once in a while.”
“Andy’s a good fisherman,” Ryan pipes in. “He caught two pickerel this morning. Franco probably has him out water skiing right now.”
The heat is subsiding in the late afternoon. Sid ears ring with wonder, not letting go of what his Uncle said about something better than happiness. What could that be?
“Andy says they live in a house like that one in Redondo Beach,” Sid mentions, pointing, as they pass Witchekan Lake. “On the ocean front.”
“Is that right?” Uncle Nick muses. “So Loli lives right on the ocean.”
“We should have the reunion in that house,” says Ryan.
They cross Big River, riding in silence. Coming up on Debden corner, Sid looks over at his uncle. “Where did your cousin Ksandra live?” he asks casually. “Ksandra Mirchuk, is it?”
“Ksandra,” Uncle Nick stiffens. “You know of Ksandra?”
“Oh, yah Uncle, Andy mentioned her …” he slows down. “I mean, Auntie Lola talked about her once or twice I guess.”
Sid sees moisture forming in his uncle’s eyes.
“Well, the farm is just a couple miles past Debden, we’ll go by it.” says Uncle Nick in a coarsening voice. “She was just seventeen that summer ... sorry Sid, I have to think about this for a while.” He rolls his window half the way down, letting the noise of rushing air in, and looks straight out the side.
Sid starts humming, knowing when to give it a rest.
###
They pass the turnoff towards Grandpa’s farm in silence. Sid looks out his own side window, and he knows he has to go visit that farm again. He can only imagine living in a Polish barn, but something tells him there’s a connection for him down that road where things got so much better. More will be revealed, he half smiles.
With the sombre mood set, he solemnly recalls his own earlier life’s struggles, placing them on the table beside Grandpa’s. He was living in his own barn for a while too, but his was self-created. He went on Uncle Harry’s trip into the wonder world of a liquor bottle. Wonder world to start, yet quite a bit nastier later on. Then the strangest set of circumstances pushed his life sideways, his sister’s auto accident, her transfer to a Calgary hospital, the counsellor she – and then he saw, and a hospital experience of his own where the prescription given was AA meetings, an introduction to the spiritual.
Alcoholics Anonymous now let’s Sid bypass the bottle – like Grandpa dodged the Polish farm, but for him, the getaway brought a surprising new outlook. His spiritual awakening led him into a relationship with a Higher Power, maybe even a Creative Force – like the God of the religious. Not an easy choice for an atheist at the time. But find God or die, they say in AA. And more will be revealed; that’s from the Big Book.
“Hey Sid, you gotta drop me off.”
“Oh yah, Ryan, sorry.” He pulls a U-turn at the boat launch and they drive Ryan up to the campground to let him out at Franco’s trailer.
“Thanks for the company, cousin,” Sid shakes his hand over the seat back. “You’re an excellent back seat sleeper.”
“Nice ride. See you guys tomorrow – Sid, Uncle Nick.”
Sid and Nick drive around the lake, past the store, past the boat launch, between the row of cabins facing the western sun and the tree-lined lake, still silent, both of them. Uncle Nick gazes out at the lake waters, intensely, like he’s looking for something lost. Sid pulls into the ditch, where the rain puddle of last night is now a wet patch of grass. His brother’s truck sits parked in the ditch. They grab Uncle Nick’s bags and head around to the side door.
Chapter 4
Jo’s daughter bangs on the Fairmont window with all the three-year-old excitement of a partly finished morning. Having already tested out playground swings and having erected a sandcastle on the wild sandbox of home beach, Sami and Jo are now with Sid on their way to the community hall to help set up.
At the store they turn right, then a block from the lake, veer off onto a parking lot. The Fairmont slides to a stop on the gravel beside the wooden sign, a signature engraved – Sahiya Lake Community Centre. A half-ton truck sits backed up to the side door, bright colours hidden deep under farmyard residue. The steel hall door is yellow, latched open across the sidewalk, marking the entrance.
Uncle Francis bustles out for another load, balancing a box of vegetables on one arm and grabbing a coffee urn with the other hand. The truck speaks of the farm life cousins Jamie and Amy knew in their youth. Uncle Francis and Auntie Teresa Romaniuk still live on the land just north of Debden, farming grain and raising beef cattle. Uncle Francis is humming a tune.
“Hey Uncle. What’s the song?” asks Sid.
“Ahh, what the heck’s that called, that’s My Redeemer Lives,” he grins. “One of our Sunday morning songs, you know.”
Sami bounces out the car door, demanding playgrounds and playmates. Sid watches in amazement as his sister skilfully manages the demands. Uncle Francis waves them in, not stopping for a moment from his task. Inside, Auntie Teresa rushes about like a small town supervisor on a construction site, consulting intermittently with her sister and two daughters.
“Ohh … JoAnne, it’s so good to see you. And you Sidney … both of you. How was your trip?” She glances Sid’s way, then back at Jo.
“My trip was great …” Sid gets it in quick before Jo starts into travel details, and then almost in the same breath inquires into Auntie’s health. Sid notices Franco over at the hall’s far end. He looks more closely, as his cousin is down on hands and knees, pulling a rope from beneath the stage.
Sid glances around. A typical community hall, good for a wedding or a game of bingo. The kitchen, with dishwasher, refrigerators and big ovens sits at one end. Across the kitchen serving bar, the hall opens up into a big floor for tables, chairs, dancing and the bingo caller’s podium. The stage jumps out from the wall at the opposite end, and Sid now can see Franco pulling a trolley of folded tables out from behind the short doors below the stage curtains.
The women’s conversation shifts to the business of setting up the hall. They organize tasks.
“So we know where to put the posters. And the flowers.”
“Yes, Jamie knows where.”
“What about Sid?”
“He can help Franco set up the tables.”
Sid smiles, yes, thrilled. Hands over his head, all pumped up with a
n assignment to manual labour, he walks over to the first trolley Franco has pulled out. He begins kicking out the table legs and pushing the tables in a chatter across the hardwood floor to await their evening arrangement.
“Hey Franco,” Sid banters at his cousin. “You’re working hard.”
“Have to contribute to the fund,” Franco gives a serious look.
“Yah, I hear you.” Whatever Franco means, Sid’s mind drifts to funds of the investment type. He glances across the hall.
Jo the artist shines when it comes to the visual. Sid sees his sister’s progress composing one wall into a family history replay, creative design skills mixing with motivational influence as Amy and Jamie whistle while they work pinning up ancestor photos. Sister’s whole heart seems a part of the expressive display.
While Sid shuffles the tables and chairs into banquet position, he drifts back to a moment in their years of youth, when ambition had him a big oil company income, and Jo was leaving for the Maritimes.
###
“So you’re going for another degree?” Sid had been puzzled.
“Yes of course, in Fine Arts, finally! I had to do the Education degree for Mom and Dad,” she had explained. “They don’t like it much, but I have a scholarship for art school in Halifax.”
“Will you make more than a teacher, then?”
“Less … way less. Artists only become famous after they die, that’s when their work is worth a lot more. Anyways, I know what I have to do. How much you make isn’t all there is.”
“Good thing you have a scholarship though.”
“I’m going to India for the summer with that,” she had said. “You know, the Taj Mahal, and now the Baha’is are building their Lotus Temple …”
“Right…”
###