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By doriluthy, August 20, 2007 3:27 pm

Hanging out with Awen yesterday at the Latin America Festival, Trout Lake. It was my day to play Auntie. He calls me “My Doh-wee”. Translation: “My Dori”. Yes, I belong to him, along with anything I have ever owned- it belongs to him too. This is the logic of a toddler.

About a million beautiful things he does, all under the guise of a 2 1/2 year old monster-boy. We had quite an adventure at the fair. He rode a baby sized ferris wheel. We watched people dancing (flamenco, samba). We ate fried yumminess. That kid ran all over the place with me hauling a bucket & shovel, an over flowing backpack stuffed with rain-gear, change of clothes, diapers, snacks, a blanket, an umbrella and beach ball all in tow. (It’s called Toddlerobics. Burns 8000 calories in 30 minutes.)

A large multi-national corporation had a tent at the festival and was playing nice and giving out free balloons and hats to people. Awen asked (begged! screamed! pleaded! BAWOOON!!) for one yellow balloon. The lady tied it the string around his wrist as he was busy looking up at the bobbing yellow orb. It was a moment later when he tried to shake loose from this thing called a ‘bawoon’ that he realized what she had done- Tied HIM to the BALLOON!? But this is NOT RIGHT according to the Book of Awen! He thrust his little wrist towards me, grunting (translation: untie me, slave). So I slowly untied it, talking to him about how if he lets it go, it will fly away free in the air, and we can’t get it back. Did he understand? If we let it go, it will fly away free and we can’t ever-never get it back. This is the only balloon you can have today. Get it? Yes? Understanding? Nodding? Yes? Okay. I hand him the string to the balloon. His chubby fingers take hold of the string. His chubby fingers let go of the string. His chubby cheeks grin. I am dumb.

Seeing my shock, he explains: “I set it fwee!” Then he sits down to watch it rise up in the air. I squat next to him. He cuddles up to me, and we sit together watching the yellow balloon bob its way up up and up… we watch for about 5 minutes- it’s really amazing how long a yellow balloon will stay visible on a cloudy gray day, even as a tiny dot in the sky. Every minute or so he would turn to me and remind me of his decision: “I set it fwee”.

Ah. My Benevolent Ruler. Sir, may I have more, please?

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By doriluthy, August 17, 2007 11:38 am

Oh my goodness. It’s official. I can hardly believe it is true. I am Canadian! Here’s the story:

Yesterday morning Dustin and I got out of bed at the crazy hour of 5:00am to drive to downtown Seattle. We arrived at the Consulate around 9:00am, took a number (priority numbers for people like us!), and were promptly called up (around 9:15am) and spoke with a person behind a glass wall. She said to have a seat, they would call us by name shortly. We waited. and waited. and waited. And at about 11:00 I went up to the window and said, um… are we still waiting for a reason? She jumped up, apologized profusely, and said hold on. Apparently the woman who was supposed to call us looked at our file, thought we didn’t need anything else, and forgot to tell us to come back at 2:30 to pick up the visa. (that’s what the instructions said- come in the morning, announce yourselves, then come back in the afternoon to collect your visa). So after much apologizing on her part (dead give away- she was Canadian for sure) we headed out to the streets of Seattle to kill a few hours.

We were starving and I was entering that “give me food or I’ll rip your face off” kind of mood. Bless Dustin’s little heart for tolerating it and tempting his own life by thinking it was a good time to surprise me and do some adventuring. He knows Seattle much better than I do, and we were in the heart of downtown, why not enjoy it? So he dragged me to the Monorail, we rode to Seattle Centre (a land of fun and more fun) and then sussed out a place to eat. (me= starving) Where to eat in the middle of an amusement park? Well Dustin already had an idea, so he said- you go that way, i’ll go this way, we’ll meet back here in a few minutes. I went my way and found only arcade and amusement rides. I came back and he was waiting with a lovely grin on his face. He said, do you want to go up to eat? UP? I look up. The Seattle Space Needle. 500ft tall, built in 1962 for the world fair, and with a rotating restaurant at the top (minimum food order $30 per person!). Hell yeah! So we head up and dine like royalty with the hundreds of other people. The view was awesome. The food was absolutely incredble. We had something to celebrate! My theory was the rotating aided in digestion. After lunch we walked around the Centre, over to the water park and laughed and watched the bunches of kids dodging the big sprays of water, played some games at the arcade (note: Dori genuinely sucks at air hockey, but rules at skeeball) and just had a great time. It felt like we were newlyweds again. We headed back on the monorail (who doesn’t love the monorail?) to get to the Consulate by 2:30.

At the Consulate: we wait for about 15 minutes and then are called into an interview room. After short instructions and some paperwork, we were being congratulated and sent out the door.

Flash forward past getting driver’s license, and the windshield for our car replaced (planned), and we’re heading north back to the Canadian Border. We’re sent inside. Sign here, initial here, say this, don’t say that. And then she looks up after all is done and says “welcome to Canada”, reaches in her drawer and pulls out two Canadian flags! The excitement factor just jumped up a gazillion points for both of us. It’s official? We’re in? She says “you have all the rights as a citizen, except that you can’t vote.” So we’re Canadian? hehe. yup. You are permanent. Now go import your car.

All is done, we are driving into Vancouver. It starts to rain. It feels different, we both agree, like the day after getting married- that unexplainable feeling, but you look at each other differently. As we’re driving along, trying to remember any words to the Canadian national anthem (”Oh Canada, our home and native land…” was as far as we got- sorry Erin!) and we’re looking around at the people (our people) and the streets (our streets) and the buses (our buses) and everything feels… different. We both agree for the first time we actually feel like we belong here. For the first time I feel like I can stop being apologetic about living in someone else’s country. This is my country too. I am at home in my apartment. It’s the place I’ve been living in for 5 years, but today it is our for real home.

What is the biggest joy for me about all of this? I will never have an expiration date on my health insurance ever again. Nor my husband, or my children… This fact alone make my eyes tear up, and my heart swell with love for Canada. I had no idea how this single thought would affect me, but I actually, honestly, entirely feel more protected now being a Canadian than I have ever felt growing up as an American.

It’s good to be home.

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By doriluthy, August 15, 2007 9:12 am

Tomorrow morning Dustin and I are taking a little trip. We are driving down to Seattle to the Canadian Consulate to… (drum roll please) pick up our permanent residency visas. That’s right folks, the letter arrived yesterday- we have been approved! It’s all official. And by tomorrow afternoon we will be re-crossing the Canadian border as Landed. Permanent. Here for the long haul. One vote short of citizenship. Becoming one with Canada… I think you get the point.

It’s a wonderful feeling, to know that we can stay in our home, regain control over certain decisions around jobs and movement, and ultimately continue to make a space for ourselves here in Vancouver. I am trying to remember the last time I really felt at home somewhere. Like permanent. I think it was a childhood home? I can’t even really remember. I’ve never spent more than 5 years in any home my entire life (and that was only one home for 5 years. The rest were like max 2 years ever). I guess I’ve just felt fairly transient most of my life. I haven’t had attachments to space or place before, as these things always have felt like they are bound to shift at any moment. I’ve never minded it. I adapt quite easily to moves. But this feeling around me right now, this sense of roots growing down out of me for the first time (am I officially an adult, too?), with the excitement for permanence, the possibility of a home of our own soon, each of our careers developing, friendships growing, all of these things are happening because we are settling down here.

I’m looking around our small apartment with new “permanent” eyes. This is my home. What a strange and lovely feeling.

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By doriluthy, August 13, 2007 7:11 pm

Last night I had a dream that my step-dad sent me a cheque for $6327.18. In the dream, I went out to get the mail, opened an envelope from dad, and there was this cheque. No explanation, nothing. The rest of the dream was me running around talking to a whole bunch of different people trying to figure out what the money was for, to get some ideas. I mean, it’s a pretty specific amount, it must be for something!

I tried to get a hold of my dad in the dream, but I couldn’t. So there were theories from people about cashed out stocks from my childhood, perhaps some inheritance from a relative he was sending on to me, maybe it was to buy a specific item that he wanted to get me and I had forgotten what I told him? Anyway, I never discovered the reason for the money in the dream, but woke up with this number rolling around in my head. And the idea that money would just somehow appear in my hands from some unknown source.

I’ve had this feeling most of my life- that money would appear when I needed it. That I would always have enough. It’s come to be that time in the past few days when I’ve been feeling like I need a bit more around me. So several times a day I stop and say to myself “money is just flowing towards me.” And try to visualize the phone ringing, or a cheque arriving in the mail.

And today? Out of the blue I got a phone call for a pretty good contract to do some kids art workshops in September.

Sorted, mate.