A Weekend in My Village

Well, we’re heading home this weekend.

And by home, I mean southern Ontario - the Golden Triangle - Hamilton, St. Catharines, Fort Erie. And this time, it’s just a pleasure cruise. Oh how we’ve been waiting . . .

The last time I was “home” was a little more than three years ago. And that was to attend my father’s funeral. The time before that, I believe it was for my step-father’s funeral. And the time before that it was my grandmother’s funeral.

This was one of the things Neomom and I found unappealing about the RCMP lifestyle. It seemed like the only times we’d get back home was for funerals. That would eat up the ol’ vacation budget and it was usually only one of us that could go. Way too expensive to fly four people from Winnipeg to Niagara for a couple of days. It’s one of the things they don’t mention in the recruitment brochure.

So I’m really looking forward to this trip. My boys get to see Grandma R for the first time in a few years (she came to visit a few times) and they get to see Uncle J, Aunt P and, hopefully, a few of their cousins. We’ll swim, drink beer, eat wings, catch up. Awesome.

You don’t fully understand the “takes a village” concept until your village, your tribe, is more than 2,000 km away when you have your first baby, your second baby. When you’re raising your kids and they don’t have the benefit of watching Uncle J fix a car, or of sharing Uncle D’s wacky sense of humour and compassion. They don’t get to see Aunt L’s strength and the other Aunt L’s artistic, creative process.

My boys would have benefitted from all of that.

And when life occasionally handed us lemons, and the tribe was out of reach, it added to the challenge. (See how I tried to keep it positive there instead of saying something like, it made it suck a septic system milkshake?). 

Yes, during our short stays in several Manitoba towns, we picked up surrogate grandparents and surrogate uncles and aunts for the boys. And some of them were truly awesome and really helped through some difficult times. But each time, we had to say good-bye and move on.

And now, for the first time in 14.5 years, we are within 3.5 hours of family. That is just awesome. More family is only 6.5 hours away. May seem like a lot to some, but for us, that’s less than a day’s drive. For a while there in Manitoba, it was a day’s drive to the airport to catch a plane to fly home. 

So yeah, counting my blessings this morning. Looking forward to the weekend.

Have a great Thursday.

Hope . . . kinda

So yeah, we’ve been transferred. It’s an ongoing part of the RCMP festival.

We’ve been at our current post for about 4 and a half years now, and it’s time to move on. In fact, it’s a little past time.

We’ve been in Manitoba for about 15 years. We’ve had our children here. We’ve been to the north, to the south, to the “big” cities and to the tiny towns. We’ve seen a Goldeyes game, experienced the Forks and had dinner and 529 Wellington. The wife’s been to Churchill and I’ve driven a 6-tonne snowmobile trail groomer across a frozen Lake Winnipeg, as the ice cracked beneath me.

We’ve been to a Hutterite Colony, driven the TransCanada from east to west and west to east. We’ve been to the Potato Festival, the Strawberry Festival and Islendingadagurinn, the August Long Weekend in Gimli that celebrates Icelandic Heritage in the area. Mostly, however, it seems to celebrate drunken stupidity and the violence that goes with it. 

But we’ve been transferred to British Columbia and we’re excited about it. It’s an unusual transfer, because the RCMP likes to keep it’s people in one province as much as they can. But we managed to make our case to the right people and, about six months ago, we got the coveted transfer order.

And, by the time the paperwork crawled through the system, last fall’s real estate market was well into its annual hibernation. So we’ve been waiting . . . enduring the occasional showing of our home . . . all through the winter.

I can’t talk much more about it, for fear of the toxic emotion known as hope. In a “down” real estate market, it’ll kill ya.

Suffice to say we are looking forward, with measured detachment, to the sale of our home. It’s the best we can muster for now.

That's Policy

The end is near . . . I hope.

The seas are becoming rough in what was once a calm-water voyage through the RCMP IRP. So, what advice do I have for those preparing to set sail? Read the freakin' IRP through two or three times. Make sure you understand every word. Because if you don't, it may come back to bite you in the ass.

Now I should warn you, if you plan to get into this boat and read on, put on a lifejacket and seatbelt. It's a long and rough trip.

Let's start with the appraisal on the Gimli house. When we were getting ready to sell, we were told that we needed an appraisal. I was worried about this at the time, because I was afraid the appraiser would undervalue my house, and then the CRSP would put pressure on to list it for less than I thought it was worth.

Fortunately, at the time, we ignored the advice of the realtor, put the house up for more than she suggested, and sold it in two days - before the appraisal was completed.

Now, I figured that the house was sold, no need for appraisal now. We know the market value - it is what it sold for. And so I continued by trip through the IRP process under that assumption. (And you know what they say about assuming!)

Throughout the sale, purchase and move, I contacted my CRSP regularly by phone and email. I asked if everything was in order, was there anything more I needed to do. I stayed on top of the process and all seemed to be going well.

And then came packing day. I got a call and an email from my CRSP telling me I needed an emergency appraisal on the house. This was on the Thursday before we left for Thompson (on Saturday). The reason, I was told, was that we had to pay the real estate commission on 119 acres of the land we sold. The IRP would pay the commission on the house and a little over 1 acre.

And yes, it's right there, plain as day, somewhere in the 105-page IRP. Missed that one.

Fair enough, says I. But why bother with an appraisal? Why waste the taxpayer's money? We know what it sold for, why not just decide on the split? I suggested 90/10, with 90 for the house and 10 for the land. It seemed pretty fair to me, based on discussions with the realtor prior to the sale.

No, no, no, says the CSRP. Policy dictates that we must spend money on an appraiser, have him decide what the house is worth and then just assign the rest of the asking price to the land. I didn't like that. But policy is policy and the RCMP and bureaucrats everywhere love their policy.

And so, I hired an appraiser for Tuesday - one day before possession of the Gimli home by its new owners. As I would be in transit, I asked the CSRP to make arrangements with the appraiser (the one she suggested) to have him pick up the keys at my lawyer's office on Tuesday and complete the appraisal. OK, said the CSRP.

And so, on Wednesday, I called to see who it went and how much of the real estate commission I would be choking on.

The appraisal didn't happen, my CSRP told me. Seems the appraiser, she said, went to pick up the keys and my lawyer had already given them away to the new owners. Did you tell the lawyer that the appraiser was coming? Yes, said the CSRP.

I was not impressed and called the lawyer's office to see what the heck happened. And I got another story. Seems the appraiser didn't show up at all on Tuesday. But called on Wednesday morning (possession day) at 10 a.m. (possession was at 9 a.m.) and therefore could not get the keys.

I phoned the CSRP back and, eventually, got talking with the "Team Leader," who explained that there was a foul-up, and that the appraiser had called my Real Estate agent for the keys on Tuesday and something went awry.

Exsqueeze me? How did the appraiser know who the real estate agent was? Why would he phone her? How on earth did this happen?

The Team Leader said she'd look into it and get back to me. In the meantime, from my house in Thompson, I would have to contact the new owners, get permission for the appraiser to come by and permission to give him their phone number to set up the appointment.

I was a little ticked off. And a flurry of tense emails and phone calls followed. I once again proposed a 90/10 split to put an end to this mess. It was once again rejected on three different levels. No, I was told, we need the appraisal, we need the permissions and we need them now.

Fine, I said, I will get the permissions and you can arrange the appraisal. This was agreed upon. On Monday, I contacted the new owners and got my permissions. I let the CSRP, Team Leader and RCMP Relocation Coordinator know and left it in the CSRP's capable hands. I'm still waiting to hear what happened.

Why am I so bothered by all of this? Well, in addition to all of the phone calls, emails and headaches, there is the financial impact. If I'd known that I was responsible for this portion of the real estate commission, I would have set aside money from the "Personal Envelope" to deal with it. But, as I did not see this storm coming, I allocated that money to a Mortgage Interest Buydown, and I do not have any left to cover this cost. That ticks me off.

So why am I telling you all of this? I guess it's a warning to others heading out on the IRP ocean. You have to know what has to be done. You can not rely on others to know it for you, or to protect you if they miss something. Be warned, be wary and read the freakin' 105-page IRP, as well as the 100+ pages of the CSRP document "It's your move." Know what they say, do what they say, and stay on top of everyone involved - bankers, real estate agents, lawyers and Contracted Relocation Service Providers. They may be there to assist you, but in the end, if there are mistakes, errors, ommissions, it's your ass, not theirs.

That's policy.