He's a heavy duty mechanic, which is really a young man's job. He's been at it since he was 17, which means he's been in the same union for that long, too. He's been paying into their pension plan for 43 years! He recently told me he's tired of working seven days a week, twelve hours a day in the Fort McMurray Money Pit. My mother's been chipping away at his resolve to retire at 62, mostly because she wants him to finish with his health intact.
They are building their dream home in the wilds of Saskatchewan, no not the ugly flat part, the part in the middle that looks like Ireland on a sunny day and smells like wild sage most of the time. They'll have a few cattle and maybe some alpacas. Sounds nice doesn't it?
Of course, this endeavor is well financed by the aforementioned pension, which will be more than Mr. W and I make together. Not to mention that my parents will sell their house for 5-6 times what they paid for it before Fort Mac started to boom. When you consider that my parents didn't start saving for retirement until they were in their forties, they've really come out on top. Their 11th-hour Hail-Mary-Pass move up north really paid off.
I'm mostly busy trying not to think about where the money for food and shelter will come from in 2038.