In June of 2019, a moving van will transport my worldly possessions to Ottawa, Ontario, Canada. My little family of cats and dogs will follow.
Ottawa is Canada’s capital, Justin Trudeau’s city. He’s probably the only Canadian politician most non-Canadians know.
After 20 years in an arts community/retirement village in the mountains of southern California, and 30 years in hot, throbbing Los Angeles, I want something different. I grew up in northern Ontario, so Ottawa is a return to something familiar.
I don’t want to be carried out in a box from my big house with too many stairs, so this move is practical. I want to leave here with some dignity, on my own terms. I want to live where the doctor, a sizeable grocery store, and a movie theater isn’t 60 miles away.
I’ve lived in LA. I’ve driven my million miles. Ottawa has a functional public transportation system, a car-sharing service, Uber, Lyft, all that. It’s a walkable city. Since it’s the nation’s capital, it’s a showplace of landscaping and public amenities. I want to wear high heels, live in a building with a concierge, and be a docent in an art museum.
What’s it like for a 75-year-old widowed crime fiction author to make a new life? What’s different about Canada? What’s the same as living in the United States during these turbulent times? What will happen when I yank up the tap root that’s kept me in my beloved California all these years?
I’m setting a goal to write about what I find as I make a new life in another country. Come along with me to share in that experience. Click here to Sign up.