Walnut Oil

What is it about my brain that has me fixated on walnut oil and silverware. There are a million things to think about as we move our life from Canada to Costa Rica. Thousands of things to sell, get rid of, give away. And for some reason when I try to process all that needs to be done I keep coming back to the walnut oil and silverware. Do I take them with me? Give them away? Store them when/if we come home?

No psychology degree here and yet it’s clear: If I leave the small stuff unresolved I don’t have to deal with the big stuff. All my books--including too many that are on the still -to- read shelves. Our winter clothes. The bicycles. The strollers. And what about all those lamps and vases and bowls. The art on the walls, more specifically the incredible photos I had framed while in the throes of grieving my dads sudden death. The images he snapped while whisking us on around the world adventures. My favourite is one of me, of course. I am about 5 or 6. I am sleeping naked in a semi circle, with a scrawny black cat stretching from my toes to my head, completing the circle. We are lying on a rumpled white sheet, a discarded child’s swimming mask off to the side. The composition is breathtaking. The soft black and white is bathed in the love of the picture taker--my dad. I remember that day--driving in a rickety old car through the streets of a small island in Malaysia. Someone --sensing my crazy love of animals -thrust the little black cat through the window and into the car. I begged to keep her, and we did.

There’s another photo, it must have been taken on a tripod or with my dads arm extended. It’s of my mum and dad, in the early 70’s when we lived in India. They are beautiful and vibrant, arms around each other. My mum wearing big sunglasses ,a newspaper peeking out from under her arm. My dad, his long brown hair dancing on his shoulders. They are so confident and sure. Chins uplifted, the world ahead of them. It’s that picture that comes to me in my moments of doubt. They lived their lives, with three kids in tow, without the need for conventional success or long term goals . They traipsed from New York to New Mexico. From New Delhi to Washington D.C. And then, strangest of all, to Smooth Rock Falls and then Fenelon Falls, with side trips to far flung countries around the globe. The hill stations of India, Sri Lanka, Japan, Thailand, Indonesia, Italy Greece, France.

And it is that childhood that I focus on when I jolt up in the middle of the night, panicked by what’s in store for my kids. Will they be able to handle the move, make new friends, learn the language, cope with the urban-to-rural culture shock. And in those moments I realise that the parts of me that are good and strong didn’t come from safety or the security of routine. They were born from travel, from adventure and being thrown together as a family to work things out. Because we moved as one, and didn’t have the luxury of splintering off. We had each other.

My friends think our move is brave or gutsy. But really I think it was predestined. It’s what I was meant to do. Most kids in their teens and twenties try to shake off their upbringing by rejecting convention and scouring the world to find themselves. I did the opposite. My rebellion was to have a plan. To plot my career. To be a grown up. I got married early, had three kids. Now I am in the final moments of my 30’s and I feel surges of passion to give my children all that I was given as a child. In the process I will , in my own way, recreate my parents’ journeys. Seeing the world with their imprint but through my own eyes. This move to me, feels like going home. Back to my roots.

Steve had a very different upbringing and so it amazes me that he’s up for this challenge. He grew up in a small town, in a lovely family with their fair share of financial hardships. For as long as I’ve known him Steve has had his eye on the prize. Working hard, earning a lot, making sure our future was secure. And I love him for all of that. But I love him even more now for being so quick to give it all up and start over.

The walnut oil will go to my friend Emily. The silverware, which I have no attachment to except for the need to have something to eat with, will come with us.