What a beautiful full moon we had tonight! It made me think of a song by a group that my niece told me about.  They're called "Elephant Revival." 

As soon as I heard the song "Ring Around the Moon," I bought the CD on Amazon. Check this out:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jd57MRcW-NQ


So, Lorenzo returned from Mayne Island on Sunday morning. You guys must be so sick of this blog by now... Anyway, he was rather spent and I'm beginning to expect a phone call one of these days from the cottage where he says, "I'm not coming home. I'm too tired." It's a very good thing that we're nearly finished because we've spent so much time apart that we're having difficulty communicating lately. I'll say something, he'll answer, and I haven't a clue what he's talking about. It's as though we need flow-charts and flash cards or something. We've started talking to each other in very slow careful language - as though we're conversing with learning-disabled toddlers. It's bad. But I know if we could spend a weekend together alone - away from these soul-sucking parasites we call teenagers - we would merge back into harmony. And for the record, we love our children dearly. We adore them. We just can't stand them right now.

Anyway. He laid the hardwood floor in our daughter's little bedroom. This room is tiny but it has a certain charm. It's just big enough for a twin bed, a small night table, and an upright cabinet for her clothes...

It's best feature is that it faces south, so she'll wake up to the sun shining on her beautiful face...

Lorenzo said he encountered the first wasp of the season. Mayne has an unusually large wasp population - one summer, we went for a walk in the evening and it sounded as if the entire island was vibrating; it was a low, resonant hum and it was a bit unnerving. We almost expected a giant swarm to suddenly emerge from every corner. Anyway, the wasp came into the room where he was working and did what wasps typically do: it dive-bombed his head. He swatted madly and managed to knock it unconscious. Poor little guy. But they really are a nuisance. Apparently you can buy fake wasp nests - you hang one on your property and they'll stay away as they're very territorial.

After our daughter's room was done, Lorenzo moved onto the bathroom. Every room is crooked which involves many cuts and a great deal of frustration...

He had to remove the toilet, and once he did he decided to buy a new one. I wanted to keep the original toilet but he didn't like it. What's not to like? It's a toilet....

After this, the console table I bought at the Sears Clearance Centre was hauled in from the truck. This was a really good bargain - I think it was two hundred dollars...

The dimensions were perfect, so I bought it to use as a sink vanity. Here's a before & after:

Teamed up with a $59 sink from Home Depot, I think it looks pretty terrific...

Here's a before and after:

A plumber on the island is going to meet Lorenzo at the cottage next Friday as he doesn't feel entirely comfortable hooking up the sink himself. He says there's some copper pipes coming out of the wall that need to be cut and he's worried about doing something wrong...

So that was the trip. Next weekend, he's hoping to have all the hardwood done. We have to buy stair nosing at Home Depot and a new hand rail, but the stairs themselves will be the same hardwood as the floors - we're not buying solid wood stair treads; too much hassle having to stain them, etc.

What else? He installed one of the light fixtures - these are really cheap outdoor lights but they have a cottagey-nautical feel to them. He says they're huge - if he were a couple of inches taller, he'd hit his head on it...

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Meanwhile at home...

While Lorenzo was gone, I was here with the three teenagers. There was a dance at the high school, so I found myself driving three 14 year-old girls who were so drenched in body spray my eyes were watering. Prior to this, my son's friends showed up - they decided to walk to the dance. One of them had a backpack that he left on the front porch. It weighed about 60 pounds. I secretly lifted it just as Lorenzo was pulling out on his way to the cottage. He's waving to me and I'm standing there eye-balling this gigantic backpack that appears to be stuffed with bricks.

So I said to the lad, "What's in the bag?" He says, "Oh, just my stuff."  Stuff like twenty cans of beer. I said to my sons, "Don't think I'm stupid." They feigned innocence. What am I supposed to do - search the kid's backpack? Did I drink at 15? Yes, I did. Anyway, after the dance, my daughter said they were going to A's house to watch a movie. This girl lives about half a block from us. A few hours later, this girl's mother texts me - she thinks her daughter is at my house. Pack of liars, they are. They were at the park with a gang of kids.

I told this mother that I feel like I'm grounded. She says she feels the same way. We have to be here, like sentry guards. And they're having all the fun. I resented the fact that I couldn't be at my cottage helping my husband, but if I were to leave, I'm quite certain that a giant party would take place. By the time we have some real freedom we'll be senior citizens. They'll be at the cottage having a rip-roaring good time, putting dents in the walls, and Lorenzo & I will be hobbling about on canes. Shouting into each other's hearing aid.

And while he was gone, I worked very hard around here. And I don't mean to sound like a complainer - even though I am - but it kind of hurts my feelings when the work I do goes completely unacknowledged.  I made a giant pot of homemade soup, I made green smoothies, I baked, I washed all the floors on my hands and knees, did about ten loads of laundry, went grocery shopping, chauffeured kids around, walked the dog, vacuumed, cleaned, etc. But if I had a blog detailing all of this drudgery, no one would be remotely interested. But if I built a bookshelf, or nailed in some wainscoting, somehow the work would be elevated to some prestigious level. I'd be a hero! Look at her - she can build stuff!

I thought about this while I was tripping over jackets, backpacks, and damp towels and cleaning gunk out of the shower-door track with a q-tip. To the soundtrack of rap music coming up from the basement. I felt really ticked off but I'm over it now. My kids are just normal kids - they're full of spirit and hormones and despite it all, they're good human beings. They're kind, and that's important. Unfortunately, they're also bald-faced liars right now.


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Next month, it will be spring. With spring comes bills. In March, we have to pay our utilities which is around a thousand dollars. April is Revenue Canada's big cash grab which is another huge chunk of change. In July, we have property taxes on both the house and the cottage. It's a crippling amount. Lorenzo & I had a big discussion about money tonight - we have accepted that buying this cottage was a lifestyle choice that entails a genuine financial sacrifice.  We discussed whether or not it was the right decision and both agreed that it was, which mitigates some of the sting of not having a lot of extra cash like we used to. 

And when you read that 85% of college graduates are living at home, it becomes pretty apparent that our kids won't be flying the nest any time soon. For this reason alone, I am almost deliriously grateful that we'll have a place from which to escape the noise and stress of living with three teenagers. I just wonder at what age they'll have to be, in order for us to feel comfortable leaving them...

I took a few books out of the library on estate planning. What I read really got my Irish up. Consider this: You scrape together a down payment to buy your house. You spend decades paying your mortgage (which is French for "pay til you die") and handing tens upon thousands of dollars to the bank in interest charges. You had to pay property purchase tax to buy it - and BC has the highest tax in all of Canada. A house which costs $750,000 (a veritable dump in Vancouver) will run you $13,000. The same home in Alberta? You'll be paying only $185. If you live in Nova Scotia or Nunavit, you're paying zero. Anyway, you work hard owning your home - it eats up the vast majority of money you earn which is taxed. Everything you buy, from food to clothes and everything in between - is taxed.

Now you die. Guess what? The government moves in and your estate will have to pay Capital Gains on 50% of the appreciation. So you bought your house for $150k, it sells for $850k, and the government demands the tax on about $300,000. Transferring the title to your children probably won't work because eventually they'll have homes of their own and won't be eligible for the Primary Residence Tax Exemption. At some point, the Capital Gains Tax will have to be paid.

There is, however, one way to stick it to the government. Because if you die with stuff, the government wants some of your stuff. If you die with nothing, they get nothing. Sell your stuff before you die, give your kids the cash, and tell the government to sod off. Because in Canada, there is no tax on cash gifts. I almost didn't believe this - it sounds too good to be true. But there you have it:

“Regarding gifting of assets, the basic premise is simple. If you don’t own the asset when you die, it is not included in the probate tax calculation. A gift of non-cash assets (ie, property) is deemed to be a ‘sale’ (at current market value) with a potential taxable profit in the eyes of CRA and fall under the attribution rules.”   In other words, capital gains tax.

So Lorenzo and I have decided that when we reach the age of say...65...we'll sell everything. Sell the house, sell the cottage, sell the business, sell the rabbit... Because by then, we'll have paid more money to the banks - in the form of interest payments - and the government (in income tax, property tax, corporate tax, etc.) than we've ever paid ourselves. We're not about to give them more. That's my anti-government rant for the evening...

              Tree Huggers - Galiano Island 2007