Found a Ring

One time, before the more recent fire, I was walking over to my mother and brother's place when something caught my eye. I was on my own, it had begun to rain and wind whipped around me. It was dark out and I was walking alongside the bottom of a hill, next to the closed swimming pool. Something shiny glittered from the shadows.

I stepped off my path to inspect this interruption of the night. Pawing through the mud, I extracted what looked like a wedding band.

I wasn't sure what to do. Perhaps someone would realize they had lost it and return. But it wouldn't make sense to wait, exposed to the inhospitable elements under such uncertain terms. There was nowhere to leave it that would be visible yet near to where it was lost.

Looking closer, it appeared to have some kind of inscription. Very difficult to discern under the low light, I nevertheless felt it was somehow familiar. I walked further and beneath a streetlamp confirmed my suspicions. Elvish.

It was the One Ring to Rule Them All.

Of course it wasn't actually. After the success of the movies, it had been an obvious merchandising opportunity to make replicas of the One Ring. You could tell it wasn't real because if it was it would only show Elvish script after being exposed to fire.

But the way I found it felt very cinematic. The One Ring is supposed to find its way back to its master, the Dark Lord Sauron by attracting the attention of people who would wish to possess it. By inducing feelings of greed and power lust, its bearers inevitably fall to ill fortune and so it cannot be truly possessed. In this way it moves from hand to hand until reaching its intended destination.

So here I was, fighting through a bitter storm, and somehow, half-submerged in mud it shot a small glimmer of light at me. Despite the subtlety of the gesture and the discomfort caused by pursuing it, somehow I felt compelled to find the small object.

I like to imagine that someone bought a lot of One Ring replicas and left them in various places where they would feel epic to find.

Or maybe it's the actual article and the person that would commit the arson was attempting to reclaim it.

Maybe he had somehow carried the flames of Mount Doom, the only substance capable of melting its material, and he was actually some manner of hero attempting to prevent the Dark Lord from rising once again.

Anyway, I keep it on my keychain now. I did have someone growl "My preciousssss" at me since then. Someone who shouldn't have known what I had in my pocket, quite oddly. 

The Move is Done

The cleaners made good on their offer to move my family's stuff to the new location. Seeing the pile of non-recoverable items at the old unit made it feel like they weren't going to get much back, but seeing the huge display of boxes at the new place made me wonder what they left behind.

The packing was done in a much neater, more consistent and thorough way than how we did it after the first fire. Much of the bulk of  the moved items turned out to be boxes and packing paper. Once we cleared that out, it looked much less daunting.

Most of the boxes were labeled. One of them had a drawing of a book instead of the word "books". I guess one of the movers had an artistic streak, or it might have been a way to break up the tedium of the day. 

We did indeed retrieve mine and my aunts' paintings unharmed. The only exception was a still life that I'd done of four bell peppers, but that one had less sentimental value than most. I even have a second one in the same theme.

We also lost a print of some birch trees from all the way back at the place I lived five years ago. No one was attached to it though. I got it from a thrift store along with some other random images I thought were vaguely nice. Lee-Anne didn't feel the same and got me to leave behind most of my thrift store art when we moved to where we're at now. The birch trees were just nice enough to get a pass.

But when we got some nicer and more personalized decorations, the print got tucked away. When my family moved to the old apartment, we gave it to them as a house warming gift. After some time, my mother complained that it looked too much like hotel art, and so it got put in their walk-in closet.

When I visited the apartment for the first time after the fire, I thought that the taken items were considered non-recoverable, or at least under consideration, while the stuff still in the unit was intended to be cleaned. I found the birch tree print, but none of the other paintings, which made me think it was the sole survivor. It became a bit of a joke that this piece was immortal, despite no one really wanting it. However, I misunderstood how they were handling things, and it turns out that it's the only wall hanging (other than my bell peppers) that isn't going to make it. That's fine.

They got back most of their cookwear, books, clothing, and hard-surface furniture like bookshelves, tables, and dining room chairs.  For some reason, the cleaners packed an empty pickle jar. I guess they don't know what might have sentimental value.

I found a bunch of old college textbooks and a notebook from Katimavik that I'd never seen at their previous place. They had some stuff that never got unpacked after the first fire, and I guess they were included in that. 

Their place is looking mostly complete. All they're missing is some soft furniture. We requested the couch and arm chair from Lee-Anne's grandmother's. It would just be a shame to lose them since they're older than my mom and they would have survived such a short amount of time after leaving the farmhouse. At one point it was said that they would do their best to clean them and then send them our way, but they've been quiet on the follow up and since they've already done one move, they might not want to make another.

Since they had renters' insurance, they received a cheque to cover the inconvenience of relocating. They'll get another to refund the items that can't be recovered.

Back to Normal

My mother and brother have moved out. I'm not going to give any indication as to where, juuust in case an arsonist is reading this. I doubt it, but after two fires in under a year and a half, despite the causes being quite different and the culprit in the second case being caught, you just can't be too sure. I've never shared an address on here while the person referenced is residing there, but I did give some descriptions of their circumstance relative to us.

They were motivated to move when it was announced that the estimated timeframe for people returning to their units was increased from 3-4 weeks to three months. Just two days ago, because I'm still on their mailing list until the end of April, this was updated to six months from the time of their message. So, including the two that had already passed, this would mean returning a total of eight months after the fire.

Apparently they had people requiring emergency accomodations living in seven different hotels. Now, for those willing to wait to return, they have partnered with another rental agency to take in people for the estimated half-year until their homes are habitable again. Those that are okay with moving will be given priority for properties owned by the company. For people staying with friends and family, they have frozen rent, and people still bound to a lease have been given permission to terminate it early.

So they're being mostly responsible about it all. It's interesting though, I feel like some of the new condo buildings have sprung up in a shorter time period than the estimate for restoration. Lee-Anne said that sometimes, it's cheaper and less labour intensive to destroy a place and build from the ground up. Of course, that's less of an option considering we're talking about people's homes, and Park Place cares at least about its reputation.

I'm happy to update that the paintings I was worried about were declared recoverable, so we should be getting those back. The couch and chair from Lee-Anne's grandmother's were not so lucky, which was the case for most of the furniture. However, the cleaning company said that they can still do their best and then return them. The declaration of "non-recoverable" is mostly to give the owner an option of getting refunded under tenant's insurance.

Although I feel like getting the furniture back might be a little bit more difficult than originally anticipated. We had pretty free access to the unit for awhile, until their hallway got blocked off for removal of asbestos. The people doing that were different than the cleaners, and during that time they bagged up all the non-recoverables in a giant pile. This means we lost our ability to survey the items in the apartment and since then, we've received some emails asking for permission to throw everything out.

I get the impression that someone felt freer to offer us our stuff before it was all bagged, but the asbestos thing has since made it inconvenient to retrieve items. I think they may be legally required to do so though, as they are still asking permission. But without access to the unit, and without being offered a list of what they want to throw out, it's hard to make decisions. My brother has still requested a few items.

To give the cleaners credit, they have offered to do us the great convenience of delivering their items to the new location. This would relieve us of the need to make moving plans. 

My brother moved out first. Mom stuck around with us a little while longer until they could get a bedframe at the new place. This is because her leg is still a little messed up due to breaking it last year. Even having one less person was a relief, as it freed up a room.

Probably my greatest feelings of depression about the situation would spark  in the mornings, while drinking my cup of coffee. It being a time of year when the sun was slow to rise, our apartment would be cast in darkness when I got up for work in the mornings. With someone sleeping in every room, I would have no choice but to return to bed, drinking my coffee in the dark with Lee-Anne sleeping next to me. After my brother left, I was able to go to the room he was staying in and have my beverage with the lights on.

 The cats moved on the same day that my mother did. It's hard to tell how they feel about everything.