To blog or not to blog....

Right. Here I am, sitting at my desk for the third evening in a row, glass of wine at arm’s reach, trying – once again – to blog, I’ve written & re-written too many times. It’s all about choosing a theme, for me.

Blogging is just not blogging if you don’t grab a theme of the last few weeks and ponder on it. That’s the problem though, that’s been the delay; the theme of the last few weeks has been a sombre one, not all lows but a considerable amount more of the low stuff than has been so far in our blogging history.

It’s not that the shine has worn off, nor that the people have become less friendly, less unbelievably generous with their kindness, nor is it that the house has become small or the scenery less dramatic or awe inspiring, it’s none of the above, Canada is still amazing Canada and we’re still blown away by our move… but. You knew it was coming, that ‘but’, it was staring us in the face too and quite ridiculous to think the bed of roses would smell so beautiful for every second of every day. This is real life, right?

Through those perfect rose-tinted glasses, every now and then a shard of loneliness seeps in; we are, in the truest sense of the word, pretty lonely at times. We have some good friends already – goodness only knows what we’d do without them, but there is no way of avoiding the fact that we tucked our lives up into ten previously-owned suitcases and left our comfortable lives, our family, our friends, oh so many wonderful friends, and moved half way across the world to a rather lesser-known world with only each other for comfort on ‘rainy days’…

I guess that Christmas and all it’s ‘familyness’ (I’m allowed to make up words, it’s my blog) was always going to bring it home rather rapidly that we didn’t actually have any family close by, and I also know that after the last year of preparation and the last three months of screeching through life in top gear was bound to slow down at some point and reality was going to hit, we just didn’t duck in time and some days in the last week or two have been pretty hard for the grown- ups in this equation… the smaller ones (with one or two emotional exceptions) seem pretty unaffected, so far.

The book (our emigration ‘bible’)(don’t snigger) says we all experience Culture Shock in one guise or another, let me elaborate, if I may. I’ll try to keep it brief:

Stage One. The honeymoon stage, lasting from a few days or a few weeks, uses words like ‘positive’ and ‘euphoric’ ‘insulated from everyday life’… I think we can safely say we experienced this stage.

Stage Two. Rejection or Distress stage. The complete opposite of the above. A period of crisis. Starting to deal with the normal pressures of life – except that this life does not resemble your life. Possible regression into your culture (what do they mean, like my desperation to find the equivalent to Jonathan Ross & a curry on a Friday night, never..…?) Seeking out other expatriates (not on your nelly)… only good things back home are remembered…

Stage Three. The flight Stage (“because of the overwhelming desire to escape”). This section uses words like ‘Depressed’ ‘Angry’ ‘Impatience’ ‘Focus on negative aspects’ ‘Sadness’ ‘Incompetence’… I’m not going to go on, you get the picture… it’s not a nice place to be.

You see, Andy & I have discussed this at length (as you might imagine..!) and we have followed this ‘stage’ path, albeit on a fairly minor (although still quite distressing) level… We accept that we are not coming into a brand new culture, with a different language or an entirely different way of life, it is, however, still unbelievably exhausting to have to re-learn everything you took for granted. We are quite firmly, placed at Stage three, having experienced one & two almost in-sync over the last eight weeks. Somebody said to me recently (in jest… don’t want to make them feel bad!) that some people are never satisfied… we are so satisfied, truly, we are, satisfied, fortunate, living life to the full, don’t want to come home, but still we can feel frustration… incompetence – (that’s my one, Oh yes, I forget by the hour that I am a competent business woman, wandering around here sometimes like a ditsy blonde without even trying to engage my brain, it’s so befuddled with everything else), and homesick. That’s Andy’s department, and mine I suppose if only I was to admit it…

So there you have it. What’s that? You want to know about Stage Four? Oh yes, there is light at the end of the tunnel, in fact we’ve even been tasting the air over the last few days, yes, Stage Four is much more like it… and we know we’re nearly there;

Stage Four. Recovery Stage. Integration, adaption, “the environment doesn’t change, what changes is your attitude towards it..” You attain more competence in your surroundings (I’m still not measuring my butter in ‘cups’ for goodness sakes.. what’s up with weight??!, OK, perhaps I’m still at Stage Three..) Feel more ‘at home’ realise the place has good and bad points like any other…

Yes, we dip in and out of Stages Three & Four, at ease, no real stress but just a realisation that this is kind of ‘it’, what we worked for, saved for, fought for no less, you all know what a struggle it was, we did it & we have it, so no more complaining (that’s what my book says, think yourself positively out of the negative.. it works, really) we just wanted you to know that there are lows to these highs, what goes up must come down and eventually re-balance ( – I made that bit up) – it’s the law of physics and we’re at its mercy…

Now what is that scratching under my house? I think we may have visitors… large visitors… tune in again soon :)

Bundle up, it's cold out there...

A month? Never… really? Yup. A month it is. We have been ‘landed immigrants’ of this beautiful land for one whole month. Our eleven suitcases decanted & lined up in the garage, our home has slowly filled room by room, we’ve bought everything from tin openers to TV’s and everything in between. It’s amazing what you take for granted, years of growing a home, I need a paperclip – Oh we don’t have any.

As I sit, the children and Andy are watching a movie and the roast is bubbling away, the house is full of competing smells from the oven to the Christmas tree – I’ve never had a Christmas tree that smelled – and smelled good! At first I thought someone was smoking marijuana in the basement, seriously, I couldn’t understand what this massive smell was, hanging in the air. Did you know they could smell so strongly? It’s beautiful. The tree, quite the most perfect Christmas tree I ever did see.

We looked forward to the tree buying day… they grow here all over the place (funny that!) Christmas tree ‘we cut’ signs everywhere. We just had to do that, experience the ‘cutting’ – an “I want that one” moment, if you get my drift. Off scurries the man in dungarees and a checked shirt, hands so rough that he probably hasn’t even heard of Swarfega…. (that’s for girls) off he kerthumps with his saw, one zip & it’s yours. Timbeeeeeeer.

Well, as it goes, we had none of that! We did try, we drove in, looked at the trees all lined up waiting for their fate (I swear they drooped deliberately) felt completely out of our depth and then drove out again, wheel spinning out of the driveway like Thelma & Louise – straight to the local supermarket & bought our beautifully coiffed, stunningly scented, Canadian Christmas Tree. Cop out? Well, probably, but there’s only so many times a day you can blame your naivety on being “English”, sometimes you just want to ‘be’.

So, it’s here, it’s installed and it’s perfect. Twinkling away in the corner – the corner that was seriously lacking a piece of furniture, no need for that now for another few weeks. The house is positively Christmassy, it’s perfect. Andy borrowed a ladder from a kindly neighbour and spent a hilarious hour or two in the dark (he’s determined to be the ‘weird English neighbour’) installing the newly-bought (temperamental) Christmas lights onto pre-installed hooks on the fascia boards and plugged into pre-installed sockets – solely for the purpose of Christmas lights – switched indoors. They don’t just do Christmas here they do Christmas BIG – and I love it! Even the lawns peppered with herds of illuminated reindeer and “Happy Holidays” signs don’t make me recoil like they do in England, what’s happened to me? Aren’t I supposed to be all English and snobby about it? I just get into the spirit of it here and somehow it’s so inoffensive, it’s for the kids & they love it too. Bah Humbug. I’m not buying an inflatable snowman for anyone and you can’t make me. I’m only a teeny bit concerned that our house light are blue (my choice) and red (Amélie’s) making our roof apex look like it’s waiting for the ‘white’ to advertise the Brits have arrived. Toe curling thought…

So, a month of shopping, flat packed furniture, cars and trucks. A month of new schools, bus trauma and PAC (PTA) meetings. A month of old friends and new friends, of introductions and explanations, and a month of finding our feet – one step at a time. What’s been the hardest bit? I guess we’d all say different things. For Amélie, probably the forced independence of having to ‘feel the fear and do it anyway’ of bus rides without mummy and big schools, although she’d say she loves it, she’s made great friends already and thinks her teacher is wonderful. It must be pretty scary to be six here sometimes. For Tom, well, I’ll come back to Tom. For Andy, I’d say the worry of work, maybe.. ever the worrier, and lack of security – balanced out by the wonders of modern technology shrinking the globe and allowing him to continue to work for ever-faithful UK clients. Money out, out, out, he clutches his heart with every purchase…! For me? The hardest bit has probably been having to absorb so much of the ‘different’ all at once. I’m the kind of girl that has to stop and slowly take it all in, allowing my senses to build up the bigger picture; I’m easily overwhelmed with detail and emigration, new culture, new everything just isn’t conducive with my modus operandi. When you realise that a simple trip to Sainsbury’s when you grab the tea bags and the gravy powder without thinking is all out of the window. Now each & everything on the list has to be scrutinised, each label read, each price considered, nothing looks the same, you can’t just run and grab you have to read so many words, who would have thought that shopping would be so darn challenging. So that’s my hardest bit, and my take on Andy & Amélie’s, how about Tom? My portable mini-me. He is seemingly untouched by any of it. He is so unbelievably flexible and 'comme si comme ça' about the whole move. He has absorbed Canada like he lived here for the last ten of his nine years. I am truly amazed by his unflustered, pragmatic approach. He is the ‘head down, bottom up’ kind of kid that I never really saw in our Greatham bubble, he has just got on with it. When quizzed tonight about his best bit and hardest bit he shrugged his shoulders and said “..well, I guess the hardest bit was on my way to school on the first day worrying what my teacher was going to be like – and the best bit was when I arrived to see that she was great”. That’s my boy. Chill out mum, it’s no big deal, it’s not like we moved country or anything…

So, the weather has begun to turn, Autumn is fading, the beautiful leaves are all but gone, the temperatures are steadily dropping and the pool hasn’t thawed now for over a week. It’s minus nineteen tonight… We’ve had a peppering of snow with the promise of more on the way soon and have invested in much more sensible winter footwear. Christmas is around the corner and we’ll be stuffing our pockets full of tissues for the children’s school concert later this week, the big inauguration – never the same unless you have mascara streaming down your cheeks. Every time we pull up the driveway in my ‘van’ or Andy’s ‘truck’ it feels more like home, we miss it when we’re not here and Jules and Andy are bedding in, thinking of our family and friends a lot and finally being able to take my mother’s advice seriously – we’ll never go out without a shovel & a blanket in the car, somehow it seems a bit more appropriate here – thanks Mum!

Bonus Blog - starting school :)

Starting school... two small steps for some, two giant leaps for others...

I am blown away. I realise, retrospectively, that the load I was carrying somewhere in my inner consciousness was directly attributable to my anxieties about the children leaving one comfortable school and starting another, unknown school.

They were very happy at Greatham Primary - we were all very happy at Greatham Primary, fitted like a glove, a soft comfy old faithful glove. Quirks and feubles, routine and mannerisms Greatham Primary has been part of our day to day lives for the best part of six years. It was just another one of those parts of our lives that we didn't much need to think about, we didn't have to consider.

No such luxury here. We anticipated keeping the children off with us while we ran around, buying furniture, cars, new lives in a box.... and for the most part that is what happened. We thought we'd get them registered by the end of November and they could have a couple of weeks of 'new school' before the Christmas break and then start back afresh no longer the 'new kids' in January.

When they started eating each other's faces off we realised that their boredom was getting out of hand. No TV, no internet, just a few familiar toys and lots more unfamiliar ones, the shopping spree bribes were losing their impact and the parents' tempers were becoming shorter by the day. We had taken for granted the outside distractions that wiled away the hours before, the allotment play areas, the garden-matured toys... the familiarity of the locale which allowed lone trips up the lane, exploration of hedgerows. The individual bedroom space that was full of personal anchors into their lives... none of that here just mum, and dad, and so much boring stuff to do.

So, a trip to the 'immigrant welcome department' within the Hollywood Road Education Centre sealed the places in our very sought-after catchment school for the very next day if we wanted..... Oooh no, I wasn't expecting to hand over my babies so soon, could we postpone a day please...?

So we had a day to 'prepare' and the children had their places in Grade 1 and Grade 4. With children of their own age we couldn't have found a better system. Both children having had an extra year of education than their Canadian peers, Amelie's progress was my worry, more than Tom's - whose classmates would likely be at relatively similar levels to him, given the four years or so of formal education they had received to date, things tended to balance out by then. Amelie's classmates in Grade One, by contrast, had only just started formal education this summer, she has had two full years more than them and my concerns ran deeper than mere boredom on her part, I felt she would lose the enormous enthusiasm that she has always had for her schooling if she were placed in an enforced retrograde situation. No such concerns now though, her class is a 'Grade 1-2 split' which means she is sharing her school day with children who are a year older (but having had the same amount of education to date) as well as half the class who are her age. She gets to play and socialise with them all and her academic ability will fall somewhere between the two. I will, nevertheless, remember for a long time the look on the secretary's face when she asked her to sign something (expecting a 'cross' on the line or a scrawl....) when she signed her name so beautifully. "Oh, she writes already?" she stammered. Better shrink my ego or I'll be slapping makeup all over her face and entering her into North American talent competitions soon....(not!). A mum can be proud of her babies :)

So. Having met the teachers and gone through the paperwork, the e.n.d.l.e.s.s.... paperwork we were now, it seems, parent of students of the Anne McClymont Elementary school. Hurrah! We did it! We got into the best school in town, well, we would say that eh?! There's an ironic link to Anne of Green Gables which I won't bore you with right now but it is, apparently, the place to be. You can google if you're so inclined...

It's huge and, despite allaying most of my fears for the emotional integrity of my children, there was still a big part of me that wanted to run away and take them under my wing... it's OK, you don't have to come here, we'll home-school you or something, I'm so sorry to have put you through this upheaval, now now, let's erase that angst from your eyes....

I probably imagined that angst. When probed, Amelie just jumped up & down and said it was the best school ever and could she please just stay now. Tom - in his wary, sensitive, nine year old kind of way, stayed quiet and reserved, looked around a lot and tried to 'deal' with his anxieties by himself until we could be alone to chat. Turned out he was worried about bullies and whether he had a strict [male?] teacher and was re-assured by our delightful teacher friend that his concerns were unfounded.

So, armed with new 'runners', a lunch pack and gym kit, not to mention being dressed in ...wait, whatever they wanted to wear... the welcome we received at 'a quarter past eight' on Thursday 19th November, not even 48 hours after we decided to visit the education department, certainly verified this unfounded fear for Tom - and for us - we were treated like royalty. We were, for all intents and purposes, the most important thing to happen at the school for the last academic year. This is of course an absolute fallacy, the school is host to a number of high-profile events and guests, but we felt - at that moment - that The Galloways in town was so important that the school engine had stopped just for us. It was a great feeling, and the kids weren't the only ones to 'feel the love'... they barely looked back as Andy & I climbed back into the 'van' and wondered what we were going to do without them for the 'day'.

Never far from my mind and, undoubtedly Andy's too, we busied ourselves with work and admin, of which there is plenty. Collecting them 'at the door of their classroom' at 2.30 sharp was an event in itself. What was I expecting to see exactly? Amelie tied up in the corner, all her classmates throwing things at her?? For goodness sakes', she was so fine I felt bad about ruining it by my presence. She beamed when she saw me but made it known in her own special way, that she was good. That she belonged in this class and they had made her feel so welcome. She had 'a hundred' friends she said, but only remembered one name. That was good, she could learn a new one every day, after all all the school only had two new names to remember, they had the whole school to try and store in their grey matter.

Tom (met by Andy at his door) came round to Amelie's class with a new self-assurance. A certain je ne sais quoi that he hadn't gone in with. His fears and worries had lifted without him having to 'share' too deeply, he had come away with more friends and more attention in one day than he could have ever imagined. He said all the girls had been all over him, except one that was, and she loked like a cat so he didn't mind about her.

So, as an 'additional' bonus blog that was all that was about starting school for our little people. They miss their friends, especially our little lady, but they don't stress about it and they're going to be just fine with their new school buddies. Tom (as we speak) sleeps clutching the pencil that one of his new friends gave his inscribed (in 9 year old lead print) 'welcome to Canada my new friend' having gone to bed saying "I can't believe I'm saying this Mum but I can't wait to get to school tomorrow..." and Amelie having set out her 'pink' clothes for anti (pronounced an-tie rather than ant -ee) bullying day tomorrow asks me pleeeeease when can they take the yellow bus to school. So end of an era. No more playground chats, I just pack off my children and hope the bus gets to school and the children get off it... and know where to go. Will I ever stop worrying? Give me one more day, they can start after the weekend.. ;)

Oh, and did I mention that the PTA (or PAC as it's known here) meeting is on Monday and they have an extra 'grown-up' pair of hands so you bring your children along. Looks like I might finally be able to get involved in the PTA, no more badminton widow excuses, what a fab idea - they even get to chew on pizza while we grown-ups chew on the fat....
:)

Arriving...

Well, that went quickly, it appears we have been here for two weeks now...

Strangely, and it gets us every time, we feel like we've always been here. It's hard to believe that just a couple of weeks ago we were living thousands of miles away in a completely different life - a different world altogether.

We liked that world, that world had friends every which way we turned, family at arms length, familiarity that allowed the day to day - the minute to minute - to pass without conscious thought, hours into days, days into weeks into months - all without effort, something we took for granted.

We like this world too. It is such a different world, every minute - quite literally every minute - we're learning new things. How to get here, how to get there, how to drive this car - how to speak the lingo thus avoiding those blank looks, how to operate the 'washer' the ABM (ATM!)machine the petrol (sorry, gas) pump, how you buy bread, rice, coffee... how to put one foot in front of the other, Canadian style. It's fun and exhausting, all at the same time. No friends at arms reach, no family 'popping in', but we do love it for so many different reasons, we're still at the 'pinching' stage...

So where at we at, as we speak?

Well, we didn't take those three weeks so generously offered to us by dear Kelowna friends to stay at their home while we furnished ours. We moved in after two days, sleeping on mattresses on the floor, towels at the windows, we love the 'feel' of this place, we wanted to make it ours as soon as possible.

Day by day (hour by hour for the most part) spaces in our house slowly filled, following exhausting shopping sprees that started as fun and whose novelty expired very quickly. Andy clutches his heart while I settle the bill...

Room by room new furniture filled the gaps, the spaces, pictures (lovingly brought from England) have found homes in new frames on new walls. Toys have been bought and found homes among the well travelled toys, merged within new bedrooms with enough UK memorabilia, photos, cards, letters, presents to remind us where we came from, that there is life outside Kelowna, and people in that life who care... we are all consumed.

My BC driving career was bump-started (quite literally!) with the purchase of my dream car. The proud owner of my Chrysler Grand Voyager (or Dodge Grand-Caravan in Canadian) somehow doesn't mean the same thing... I now brave the stop streets and filter lanes with their lights flashing freneticly for me to turn left (..or is it right?) Everyone is so patient, my waves of alien apology to unsuspecting road users for my sudden braking or lane overlaps are met with beaming smiles and waves, hat tipping and offers of assistance. I'm reminded of the time I drove up to Wandsworth and realised (in plenty of time) that I needed to be in a different lane. What followed made me quite literally fear for my life as, clearly, needing to change lane was a hanging offence amongst the London drivers. The language and gesticulation was angry and blue (despite a young Tom in the car) and really devastatingly upsetting for a village chick like me. No such worries here.

So, here I sit, listening to CBC rather than BBC (still no TV, Internet or phone) the Dimbleby lectures beaming through the house, kids asleep and Andy ventured to his first Kelowna badminton, yes really. Nothing new here then!

Work has streamed in, the kids starting school before the end of the week, car bought furniture bought, suitcases [finally] all unpacked today. We've had snow, ice, glorious fall days, we've had big grey turmultuous clouds but are yet to experience the 'gloomy' Kelowna we were told to expect - maybe the next update will be somewhat less 'sunny'.

Still, we love our home, our life, we love our new neighbours, our 'old' Kelowna friendships have reached a new depth and we do, really, feel at home here. Life is good.

To quote a great friend's leaving gift to us "no dream is ever too big", we're truly 'living that dream'.

Come back again soon & we love to hear your comments :)

Leaving....

Well, that all went in a blur...

One day we were saying goodbye's - so many sad goodbye's, and the next we were on the plane...

There was a bit in the middle, of course. The bit where we turned Tom's room over to be the 'packing' room and loaded up the suitcases bit by bit... taking a bit from here and putting it in there - I never knew a man's shoes could weigh so much, still, it gave me the excuse to load another batch of 'essentials' without guilt, to compensate you understand... Also the bit that involved 'making good' our home for tenants; the painting, the glossing, the washing, scrubbing, cleaning. The fixing of roof's, the sorting of woodsheds and enormous garages, the sticking of wallpaper and removal of hooks, the endless trips to the dump, the endless evenings packing, by crikey riley that was a busy few weeks...

So, fighting with scales and heavy suitcases - and the inevitable last minute panic - we can't do it - we'll have to pay for yet MORE suitcases..., finally, in a blur of cleaning fluid & testosterone pumped muscles (even mine) we found ourselves loading the [slightly knackered] old taxi that arrived to take us to the airport. Loading that took almost half an hour (all the while engine running...so to the glorious scent of diesel...yeuuchhhh). And we were off.

Nothing, from the moment we left to the moment we arrived went wrong. Not a sausage. The journey was smooth, the porters were happy to be paid to take us to the check-in (it looked like something out of a 60's film with porters ushering the 'rich' people onto the ships, scurrying on behind with their 8 foot high trolleys, loaded to the brim with 'trunks'...).

So, check-in & flight marvellous (in fact flight less than half full so huge space everywhere) what a pleasure, Tom had a row to himself and took full advantage of the attention bestowed upon him by his adoring Canadian hosties (sorry, 'Cabin Crew'..). Immigration (albeit a bit daunting) in Calgary all straightforward - straightforward in a kind of 'don't mess with the bullet-proof jacket' kind of way - and then, all of sudden we're in! Fully fledged Canadian Permanent Residents, Landed Permanent Residents - stay as long as you like, Welcome to Canada...hurrah!!

We arrived in flurry of suitcases. Flurry. That doesn't seem a big enough adjective. The suitcases were not at all flurry-like, or flurrious, they were heavy, and cumbersome and clumsy - and there were eleven of the damn things. Full of everything from kitchen implements to photos, from Wii Fit to running gear and salt cellars, plectrum to Crayola... anything you can imagine and a million things you can't. Oh and instead of the kitchen sink we also brought our two computers. Bubble-wrapped mouses (not mice) and all. That was a big 'ole cargo and it drew a few stares....

So that was the leaving. It turned from loooooooonng drawn out sad, solemn 'what are we doing's to Hurrah! We made it! and I don't mind admitting that the moment we touched down in Kelowna, even after eleven hours travelling... the moment I saw the red LED sign saying 'Welcome to the Sunny Okanagan' I knew we were home again, because I know whether or not the sun is really shining here (and it was) everyone is so nice, so friendly, so welcoming, the sun always shines in Kelowna and you can't help but feel at home. Our home.

Check back soon for our latest post - settling in :) Our new house and our first few days of our adventure, it's been fun :)

(As soon as I find the lead to upload photos I'll add some on... could be anywhere... )

Feel free to leave comments below, we love to hear what you think of our bloggettes ♥

Two weeks to go....

Actually, it's thirteen days. But who's counting?!

It's been a bonkers few weeks - lack of entries on here deliberate in a bid to retain your interest - nonetheless plenty been going on, the house is a mere shadow of it's former self...

The loft is loaded - it started two or three weeks ago with all non-essential kitchenware migrating in droves up to our 'second floor', you know the sort of thing, the vegetable chopper that never got used, kids baking set (cause none of us have enough patience to fill teeny tiny cupcake holders and use teeny tiny rolling pins, however cute they are...) so, non-essential kitchenware and all surplus crockery made there way up the wooden hill. Soon to be followed by all pictures frames, relieved of their pictures (easily transportable) and pretty much every ornament, trinket and item of furniture that hadn't been sat on for more than a week.... gone.

Quite emotional actually, packing away the children's lives - those photos of the kids by the back door might be hideously unflattering - put up out of a warped sense of pride, but they're our kids, our histories, our past. All in a box. Past in a box, should patent that idea....hmmmm.

So, long story short, cars sold, not yet collected, house packed up as much as we can bear two weeks ahead of time (OK, OK thirteen days..) provisions used up never to be replaced (no more honey in this house, use the jam instead..) with me, scratching my head wondering if I can make that washing powder last two more weeks and, for goodness sake, don't come round here for a pee because I'm simply not buying anymore loo roll....!

We are tenants and we have tenants. Everything sorted. Our Clients are very happy for us and - in their droves - are coming with us in spirit, which is fab, cause their spirits pay the bills with real-world money too. The utilities have been called day after day after day and every minute of the day is taken up with really interesting stuff like medical insurance and post redirection, school finishing and starting and dentist visits, gas certification and energy performance certificates, inland revenue and eBay... WAKE UP! Sorry, drifted into banality there, some of this preparation really is mind-numbingly endless....

So, our 'not leaving party' has grown legs. What was a visit to the pub with a couple of people has turned into a 60-80 person turnout as word has got around and anyone who has kindly asked us round for dinner before we leave is coming. It wasn't meant to be this way, we wanted to just slope off into the sunset, backpack on, to the odd high five, see ya later... Oh well, off I trot into the sunset, I'll post the photos of the 'we're not leaving' definitely NOT a party after the event (obviously...) and then you won't hear from us until we're 'Landed Immigrants'. How exciting! Even I feel a bit excited when I write that, 'immigrant' isn't a swear word in Canada, they make us feel so welcome that through all my nerves and anxieties (the kids will be OK won't they?) I can see a beam of light, reminding me why we're doing all this.... My goodness I'm gonna miss you all. X

It's Official!

So, there we have it. Our shiny new visa's fresh and warm from the Canadian Embassy today. Hurrah!

We snuck the children out of school under the cover of playtime and darted to the train station to head up to 'town' for our ceremonial descent on the Embassy. Both were wary of our motives and tried to negotiate sweet treats or trips to the London Aquarium... Tom even said he wasn't interested in going unless we were travelling into 'Bond Street' tube station (still somewhat fanatical about 007...). It just so happened that we were, so, one down one to go...

Anyway, Amelie's first train ride ever started with huge excitement, which lasted ooh, about 3 minutes. Then we start with the 'are we there yet's' It really does happen doesn't it.. very odd.

Big brave grown up Tom took charge of his ticket and showed us all how it worked up there...

Well, long story short we did arrive in plenty of time to the same loooooong queues as a fortnight ago. That time I was alone, this time I had family buffers. It was great. Even saw the people I was chatting to last time, huge camaraderie, I love it. Us against the... well, I don't really know what we were against, uh-oh the Canadian passivist attitude has kicked in already; we're not against anything together, we're in it together, especially those of us that have been in the 'system' for upwards of three years. Those three monthers - pah. The patience we have had to learn, the highs and lows of three years of limbo...

And we have our brown envelope with '93' in the corner, loaded to the hilt with official documentation to take with us, Andy took charge of the bag - containing the envelope and I overheard him saying to Amelie (who thought she was being funny by opening & closing the bag zip) "Leave the zip alone Ams, there's three years of my life in that bag.."

So we have it. We have the photo, if there had been a Canadian stall outside the embassy selling the biggest load of tat I'd have cleared their decks for them today - WE'RE ONLY FLAMIN' IN!!! Whoop Whoop de Whoop!

I love my visa, if I look hard enough I can see the blood, sweat and bucket loads of tears etched through it amongst it's watermark....

So there you have it. We're officially Permanent Residents of Canada. We couldn't be happier! This means we can go on our terms, when we want. They've said we fit the bill - the Canadians want us to go so that's alright then, we'll go!

Oh - and did I mention we booked our flights? We're packin' up and movin' on out on Wednesday 4th November...

Thanks for tuning in... until the next time :)

x

PS - Please feel free to leave us your comments below ♥

Passport-less of Greatham :)

What a bizarre experience that was. Flew to the train station after a last-minute change of mind regarding routes up to London... long story.... juggling keys and train tickets, handbags and 'light reading' (Culture-wise Canada..) dropping my apple (didn't know they exploded like that) and clinging on to our precious passports, the passport request letter from the embassy and photos - 2 more of them each, the photography shop knows our faces so well they could probably sketch us in their sleep...

Anyway, sauntering across Bond Street, sucking in the London atmos for one of the last times I slowly made my way to the Embassy. The Canadian Embassy. I can hardly believe that for all these years in this immigration process and all those times I've been up to town that this was the first time I had actually seen this place in the flesh, as it were.

I don't know what I expected, maybe a little band outside, some ticker-tape, bunting perhaps...

But there it was, a commanding Georgian building with an enormous flag wafting around in the wind. I don't mind admitting that I was quite moved to see it. The building I mean. I know it sounds very odd, but for three years this place has been synonymous with power, with angst, anger even, frustration, despair, infuriation at times. This building has been built up in my mind to house robotic box-ticking personnel, surrounded by dank grey walls and piles of dull brown cardboard boxes. They have no art on the walls, they all wear 'beige'. There are no phone lines in, or out of the building. They have to book time at the computer and be guarded while they use it to ensure they only correspond using bureaucratic speak, phraseology that would fit in a council office drawer quite well....

This of course is not how it is at all. This is just how my schema has it. My psychological schema has created it's own virtual world and, just like when you meet someone for the first time having had a telephone relationship for years, it wouldn't be long before the 'face' of the embassy would return to being that in my mind rather than that of reality. That lovely French lady who smiled so warmly at me when I finally reached the end of the 'line', who laughed about how there wouldn't be any English people left in England soon, that lovely colourful lady would soon, again be beige in my mind. Poor thing.

The queues. I wasn't expecting the queues. Sorry, I should be calling them 'line up's' now eh? I don't think I was really up on what to expect was I? Yep, it stands to reason that if the Embassy (still can't kick that capitalisation habit, respect, see), if the Embassy is only open for dropping off or collecting passports between 2 & 3 o'clock on a Thursday then the world and his guide-dog would be waiting. How naive I was.

So, I joined the line, choked back a tear or two, soppy mare, wished Andy was with me to share this moment and waited my turn. Three years waiting and finally I'm handing over our passports for them to heat-seal a pretty Canadian Permanent Residence Visa into each one ... only they don't actually do that bit yet for real because we have to actually 'land' in Canada before we become residents, these documents will just say we are allowed to become residents...

So. The final wait begins. Fourteen days and we'll be up there to collect the documents. Back in the same line up but this time I'll go right instead of left. This time we'll be one of the new Canadians coming out of that door trying to stifle the desire to lift our shirts above our heads and whoop-whoop down the street.... This time, it really will all be over. It'll be our destiny in our hands, not anyone else's hands, we'll be in control of our new future.

So, back to the hum of the computer, and the two piles of 'to do', the 'work like you're not just about to turn your lives upside down' pile and the 'prepare for Canada' pile. Can you guess which one is bigger.....?

See you soon :)

It's arrived!!!

We got our Passport requests!! Hurrah Hurrah Hurrah!
We're all in a turmoil (what on earth the neighbours must have thought....) whoop whoop whooping around the house for a few minutes, such a long time coming. It's been three years almost to the day that we embarked on this journey and we're almost there, there are a multitude of emotions bubbling around with a predominance of excitement and exhilaration - the time has come - now we must GET ON WITH IT!

Vague plan:
10/09/09 Take passports to Embassy
24/09/09 Colllect passports from Embassy (all visa'd up!!)
23/10/09 Kids finish school
24/10/09 Pub gathering (not doing a party due to high emotional charge!!)
02/11/09 Depart for far away land ....

Cool - we're off!! :)

Still waiting....

We're back from a fantastic three week holiday, but sadly the Embassy news we were so hoping for still remains in the 'in tray' of the powers that be.. alas we still wait.