Coming Home

Even without a black cat sighting, our trip back was a tad bit trying. Neither Rob nor I managed to get more than a few hours of sleep Saturday night despite the fact that we were both exhausted. I don’t know if it was just the preoccupation with making sure all the details were in order or just the stress that occupies air travel generally these days. I was worried about crossing the border since my status is not yet official.

The Cedar Rapids Airport isn’t very big. Small jets that contract with larger airlines mainly. Checking in set Rob’s teeth on edge within ten minutes of our arrival. The touch and scan machine they have at the counter was backed up due to a passenger who either couldn’t read or didn’t understand the concept of touch screen or both. For some reason we weren’t allowed to choose our seats prior to check in which is annoying beyond words when you are traveling with small children. The woman in question was one of those who was trying to hang onto the best years of her life and these years were clearly her twenties. She was wearing tight jeans, a leopard print shirt just as clingy and was so expertly balanced on 3 inch stilletto heels with an open toe that you knew she didn’t own a pair of flats beyond the cross-trainers she probably wore when she went to gym once a week. Too much make-up for 7:15 in the morning and a shaggish type hair-style that doesn’t really suit people our age. I say “our age” because she couldn’t have been much older than I am and was likely a bit younger but that’s what tanning beds actually do for you. Having just spent the evening before at my 25th high school reunion, I was a bit more conscious of my peers who put a lot of effort into staying young. Rob fumed openly at the woman, and I didn’t blame him. The more I watched her, the more obvious it was that she wasn’t incapable of traversing the seating situation. She was one of those women who had lived her life getting others, probably men more often than not, to do things for her. As she explained to the employee who finally gave up trying to explain it to her and just did it for her, she had paid a lot of money for this trip and she was going to sit next to her girlfriend but her daughter and son-in-law didn’t need to be near-by if that was too much trouble. It was then I noticed the young couple tying up the other kiosk. The daughter was obviously her mother’s clothing and hairstyle inspiration and she was browning herself to an older looking middle-age in her mother’s footsteps as well. The younger woman was also a graduate of the school of dumb blondes, pretending incompetence as her husband indulgently guided her through the check in procedure.

The jet we were taking was being boarded out on the tarmac. We don’t always take advantage of the right that passengers with small children have to board ahead of our seats being called but with the walk out and carrying the carseat to check this time, we did. On the smaller jets they are very strict about the one carry-on rule. Even purses are deemed carry-on which is beyond stupid as most women don’t travel with backpack size handbags and many of the purses these days are very small. Mine you might not even notice if you saw me only from the front, which is the angle the flight attendant first spied me from as I helped Katy on and we walked past the attendant and a long-haired passenger arguing about his carry-on. It appeared he had quickly moved his cameras to his larger carry-on and was folding the camera bag to stuff in the first bag as well but the attendant continued to harangue him. Until she saw Rob. He was carrying his computer case and wearing the backpack that the three of us share and which also contained my computer. The flight attendant seized upon the chance to force someone else to check a bag, having failed with Mr. Pony-Tail. Rob quickly pointed out that he did have one carry-on and was handling mine because I was taking charge of Katy. And that is when she saw my purse.

“A hand-bag is a carry-on and you cannot have two carry-on.”

So now I was blocking the aisle, which always makes one popular on any flight and Katy was getting ahead of me and the other passengers were looking on with interest to see if I would make an issue and likely get us ejected.

“Okay, can I put the purse in the pack?”

Thwarted again, and clearly unhappy about that, she replied, “Yes, because you can only have one carry-one.”

I suppose I could have gotten uber-technical and pointed out that there were three of us and therefore we were allowed three carry-on. If I had wanted to be a real smart-ass, I could have handed Katy my purse (she loves carrying it) and taken the pack from Rob. I wasn’t in the mood. I was tired and worried about getting through Canadian Customs and thinking a bit about my dad, whether or not I will ever see him alive again, and the woman was clearly one of those people who saw the world from her eyes only. Whether or not she would have been kinder if she had known my circumstances isn’t even relevant. The world at large is not equipped to deal with us all as individuals with needs and feelings. Sometimes, you just suck it up and shrug it off as best you can later.

I was most of the flight and a while longer in Minneapolis “shrugging” Brunhilda off. It wasn’t until I had a skinny chai from Starbucks in hand and finished reading the last thirty pages of The Other Boleyn Girl that I felt more like myself. When we finally hit Concourse C and Katy was happily making friends with the other children in the play area, Rob wisely sent me off to the Starbucks which was a bit of a walk. The walk helped a lot. The chai and a literary immersion got me the last little bit to my “zen” place. The man knows me pretty well.

The flight into Edmonton is about 2 and 1/2 hours. We were late taking off because the pilot waited for a few passengers whose connecting flight was late, but we still made it on schedule. There was quite a bit of turbulence early in the flight. The kind that reminds you of a rollercoaster. Stomach-dropping. I wasn’t afraid as much as physically disconcerted. I am keenly aware of motion. I can feel the floor move and the sway of buildings. Air turbulence might as well be an earthquake in terms of what I feel. Fortunately it passed quickly though the flight didn’t. If it is calm, I can write and even read a bit. Bumpy and I have nothing to do but wait.

In Edmonton, customs turned out to be a non-event, as Rob had said it would be. We did get booted over to the Immigration Office but that turned out to be a good thing because we were able to get one of the clearest explanations of my status and what we needed to know and remember to do that we have ever gotten from Immigration. It was worth the wait.

The kittens went a bit feral while we were gone but on the upside, they are eating kitten food now and we should be able to hand them over to their new owners soon. I had to make a grocery run and nearly fell asleep over my cart as I schlepped around the Safeway. But, by nine we were all ready for bed and the bags were unpacked, put away and laundry was half done.

It was a good trip, but I am so glad to be home again.

Challenging

Last night the immigration paperwork was finally completed. Rob had all the proper documents, plus photocopies, organized Virgo style and ready for us to read through and sign. He had also taken some time to call the CIC and ask about the possible consequences of our up-coming trip to the States because along with the application for permanent residence a request for an extension of our visa needs to be sent. However, our leaving the country, even for a few days, will effect the latter as we will re-enter before that application is granted. Truthfully, I have been a bit worried. As a spouse the likelihood of being denied re-entry is minimal, but what they say about border guards and customs officials is true. They have ultimate authority and really aren’t answerable to anyone when deciding who is in and who must turn around and go back. Consequently, the CIC officials in the “home office” will never give a straight answer on matters of re-admittance.

When I questioned Rob about what he learned, which was the usual mealy-mouthed stuff - ie: not much we already didn’t know - and his assessment, he told me, “I think we will be okay.” To which I replied, “You think?” Using a tone that was meant to imply that I wasn’t reassured, and he took as “ What do you mean by that, dumb ass?” He then proceeded to tell me that while he had heard other women challenge their husbands in such a manner, it was a first for him. A statement I instantly doubted given what I know about his late wife, Shelley, and he later confirmed for me when we discussed it again. So, I turned it around and asked him what his response would have been to someone who only “thought” something was correct. The look on his face told me he would have responded in kind. My reply to that was “Well, I am your evil twin.” And he just laughed.

The other night before we fell asleep Rob was musing about opposites attracting but how much different it is when two like-minded spirits are drawn together. And he is right. Not that there aren’t the odd moments when our similar styles mean that one of us is forced to come at things from unfamiliar angle, but the more we are together, the easier it gets to know when that is, or isn’t, required. Although we both have known what it was like to be with someone who accepted us for ourselves, it is no less a miraculous thing the second time around. It’s actually more special in some ways because we are so much more consciously aware of the gift. Still nothing worth having comes without effort, and even work, at times. If there were no friction at all, then how could you know if the other person was truly being themselves and not just going along, stuffing real feelings that have to surface sooner or later? Better to challenge and have those discussions that promote growth and deepening ties. Relationships are give and take not go along to get along which I see so many people do. Out of fear? Perhaps but more likely out of the romantic misconception that if two people are in love, they never disagree or argue or get angry or need space or are still an individual with individual needs at all. That might work if all that is wanted is a hearts and flowers for a few years before trading up (or down) for the next bliss-outed encounter, but for a relationship to last reality must be acknowledged and dealt with. Sometimes the house needs to be cleaned and garbage needs to be put out on the curb. Kids will demand. Jobs will ruin plans. Extended family will require attention. Couples will actually see things from differing points of view. And it’s how those moments are worked through that reveal the true love in a relationship.

So last night, it was immigration. We have been a long time working on this and it’s important to get it as right as humanly possible. After the paperwork was done, child was bathed, read to and finally asleep, we curled up. Rob at his desk chair and me on his lap because he wanted to show me some funny email he’s gotten from a friends at work. We talked about this and that and just basked in the coziness of our life. Nerdy though it may appear from the outside, it’s working.