Just back from a whirlwind mystery/birthday trip to Nashville during which we did our livers no favors, Woman and I opened what we call our 2010/2011 “Canadian Season” last night with two wonderful Canadian couples, sharing a barbecued steak dinner with seemingly unlimited red wine, under the stars on a wonderful Arizona fall evening on my patio here in Casa Grande.
Years ago, we would occasionally get together with the odd snowbird over the winter – whenever they could spare the time from their busy golf schedules. But as the aforementioned trends have converged, Canadians and their second-homes have become a huge part of our business, as well as our personal lives.
Where January and February were once the big social months, we now greet the early arrivals around Canadian Thanksgiving (early October) and the party doesn’t stop until everybody’s tax time (April); for six months we are busier than ever with real estate during the day and cocktails, comestibles and camaraderie in the evening.
Which is great – we tend to really really like the Canadians we know – except that any time is party time for them – bless their hearts, they’re on vacation – so in addition to weekends, our quiet weekday recovery evening is now just another time and place for a party, and we have no time to dry out in between. And worse – or better - we now regularly spend several weeks both in the winter and in the summer in Canada, visiting our new friends and denting the wine supply there, too.
Yet lest you consider this complaining in any way: even as they cart me off to the cirrhosis ward, I will insist that I am the luckiest guy in the world.