Rik Leaf - Four Homeless Millionaires

Four Homeless
Millionaires

How one family found riches
by leaving everything behind

RIK LEAF

Table of Contents

A Whirlwind of Epic
Nose-Plowing Proportions3

Rock Star Swagger With
Cock-On-The-Block Pizzazz90

A Shifty Musician With a
Wonky Astigmatism103

Giggles, Guffaws and Fruity
Tears of Mirth184

sWiTzerland/
germany262

Preface

I inherited a love of telling stories from my Mom. I spent my childhood watching her and her friends dress up and perform skits and silly songs on stage. I loved watching her make people howl with laughter.

When I was really young and money was tight, she sold Tupperware. Five nights a week shed pull out of the driveway, her car packed to the gills with plastic products that shed sell at house parties. Through her crazy antics and hilarious sense of humour, she could have a house full of ladies claiming her Tupperware party was the best night out theyd had all year.

This is something I often think of when Im on tour, filling my car to the gills with instruments and CDs, and the thrill I feel taking the stage to share my stories and songs with rooms full of people.

This book is a celebration of my Moms encouragement to take risks and live the most exciting life possible, and the joy that comes from sharing it with others.

To avoid any confusion (or maternal retribution), the filthy language and irreverent sense of humour are mine. My mothers hands are clean she spent the first eighteen years of my life scrubbing my mouth out with soap.

I am deeply thankful for all the talented, passionate individuals at Promontory Press that helped me craft this story.

Zara, Zion, Riel, and I want to thank all the incredibly generous people that opened their homes and gave us a place to stay throughout the year. My Mom, Paul & Corey, Bruce & Kathy, Curtis & Andrea, Doug & Sharon, Marie-Josee & Johanna, Ian & Ros, John & Judith, David & Lisa, RoseAnna, Darin & Erika, Kevin & Heather, Sean & Alice, Peter & Christine, Dom & Emma, Anthony & Bernadette, Graeme & Margie, Ben & Liz, Kevin & Louise, John & Marie, Don & Judy, John & Jean, Gray & Ngaire, Howard & Pauline, Paulo & Gillian, Amanda, Franco & Katherine, Peder & Tina, Christer & Lena, Hakan & Margaretta, Arno & Dani, Richard & Lorna, Paul & Sarah, Bob & Claire, Christopher & Katherine, Rob & Nikki, Ryan & Anna, Johnny and Juliet, Nadine, Shane & Catharine. We would never have been able to afford our homelessness without you!

Live Deep, Travel Light

Canada

A Whirlwind of Epic
Nose-Plowing Proportions

s tars explode behind my eyes as a wave of darkness and nausea blurs my vision. Ive never been punched in the face before and it is every bit as awful as I imagined it would be. I reel across the lawn holding my face in my hands, expecting to see and feel a hot sticky bloodbath gushing between my fingers as I open my eyes.

When Im finally able to focus, I see Zara and the kids are tracking my stumbling gait as we lurch across the lawn like a migrating flock of birds. Gathering in concert, their concern forces me to try to turn the NC-17 tirade bubbling to my lips into something more PG-13.

HOLY SON OF A MOTHER FUGGER! I sputter lamely.

Riel is a sweet, sensitive nine-year-old girl as startled as she is concerned and firing questions in all directions trying to make sense of what just happened to her Dad. I want to comfort her and tell her its all going to be OK, but Ive got my figurative hands full trying to turn my f#%s into fuggs and s#%s into shizas. To make matters worse, Im the ass that just punched me in the face.

Ive been loading what remains of our worldly possessions into our mini van that is now bulging like a pregnant walrus. Its not even 9:00 a.m. and Ive spent the last two hours sweating and swearing like a teamster trying to pack an ungodly amount of crap.

Instead of a hard shell roof rack, we bought a giant roof bag, which seemed to be working great as I was stuffing all manner of things in it. The problem started when I tried to close it. This is how I ended up standing half in half out of the van, with my body suspended at a 45-degree angle, pulling on the zipper towards myself with all my might when my sweaty hands slipped and I plowed myself in the nose. If the truly courageous in this life are the ones willing to face a humble beginning, I am Richard the Brave.

Twelve months ago my wife Zara and I started making plans to sell our house in Winnipeg, Manitoba, so we could spend a year traveling around the world with our son Zion (13) and our daughter Riel (9). After a year of dreaming and scheming, it has all come crashing down to a whirlwind of epic nose-plowing proportions. At this stage, we only know one thing; we are not coming back to Winnipeg. We plan to spend the first three months traveling from coast to coast in Canada in an attempt to find out where we might like to land when all the travel is done. In November, right about the time winter comes to Canada we will head to Hawaii, Malaysia, Australia and New Zealand, before spending our last three months touring across Europe.

For weeks now weve been packing, selling off furniture, giving things away to friends, renting storage bays, arranging moving trucks, racing all over the city from one end to the other signing papers at lawyers and banks, getting final readings for utility companies, canceling accounts and buying travel insurance. Now that its crunch time Im worried Ive got a soft, creamy centre.

As the exploding stars and nausea fade, the good news is there is no blood; the bad news is, any vestige of positive vibes and happy laid-back Dad are gone. Zara mutters something about me being a menace to society as she heads back in the house.

At midnight, the new owners officially took possession of our house and we are still not entirely out. They arrive twenty minutes later with two trailers full of stuff and a happy crew of Christians from their church to help them move in.

This makes the sewer spewing from my lips less vulgar and more profane. I just cant believe how much stuff we still have kicking around underfoot. The four of us start scrambling around the house grabbing anything and everything and throwing it willy-nilly onto the veranda: blankets and pillows, the coffee maker, a loaf of bread, peanut butter and jam, some odd clothes, a broom, a bottle of gin and some tonic. Pretty soon it looks like a thrift store took a dump on our porch. I apologize profusely to the new owners who, thank God, are prayerfully focused on God blessing their new home and dont seem particularly concerned with my pagan presence.

In the past forty-eight hours, we have realized there is such a thing as too many good ideas in one place at one time. Our plan was for Zara and the kids to leave first thing in the morning and drive fourteen hours from Winnipeg, Manitoba to my moms place outside Calgary, Alberta. My band, Tribe of One, is performing at the Brandon Folk Festival in a few hours, which is why Im not going with them. Ill play tonight in Brandon, drive back to Winnipeg in the morning, jump on a plane and meet up with Zara and the kids in Calgary tomorrow night for a wedding rehearsal. My niece Brianne is getting married on Sunday and Riel is the flower girl, Zion is an usher, and Im playing the bridal party down the aisle. They are all great ideas, but trying to combine them in twenty-four hours is not so good.

Even though weve been paring down to the bare necessities for months, every square inch of the van is packed, under, around, beside, and behind every seat from top to bottom. In exasperation with yet another tub of plastic pieces, I ask Zion why he has to have so much Lego.