Leaving for the winter has become an unwritten ritual that runs entirely on muscle memory instead of a checklist. The auto insurance runs out after we leave and isn't renewed until our return. A brief telephone call puts our internet on pause, and that saves us from paying for months of dormant bandwidth. The plumbing comes next. After I turn the brass shutoff valve on the main line to prevent any indoor floods, I head straight to the electrical panel. The switches go dark in sequence, and the entire flat settles into a quiet hibernation until spring. Those are the obvious chores.
The finer points of seasonal migration hide in the quirky retail rhythms that experience finally hammered home. I bought two wall calendars at the dollar store today. It looks absurdly eager to purchase next year's dates in early October, but an empty kitchen wall taught us a memorable lesson years ago. During our first winter away after early retirement, we completely forgot to buy them before heading out. We returned at the end of March expecting fully stocked stationery racks, but store managers had already banished the paper planners to make room for chocolate rabbits and plastic gardening tools. A cheap calendar in April simply does not exist. Because clearance aisles ruthlessly discard the past, securing the paper grids months ahead of time keeps our spring routine intact. The utilities take care of themselves, but outsmarting the seasonal retail cycle is the real achievement.
I walked back from the shop in the New Westminster SkyTrain Station through Westminster Pier Park.