And Cut….

And just like that the immigration process is over.

18 long months we’ve been shuffling papers, paying fees and waiting….

And waiting….

And waiting…

Over a year of running to the mailbox hoping for some silver lining and only finding letters of such and such has expired or “we never received payment” when clearly our bank account says they did. Offices closing and files left sitting until someone stamps the next phase as complete but never truly explains just how many phases there are to finish.

Getting the “we made a decision” email and then nothing. Asking for a copy of my passport and then silence. Being told it would be another 35 days once the decision has been made to get something in the mail but that thing is what? Welcome to Canada or Go Back to the States? and 35 days? Is that business days or actual days because you know 4 ish weeks is much shorter than 7 weeks but really whats another 2 months added on to the 18 months we’ve already been waiting…

Wednesday.

The anticipated “it won’t be here” walk to the mailbox.

And there it was.

Almost like Charlie and the golden ticket, the envelope from CIC had arrived but too afraid to be disappointed, we didn’t assume that “golden ticket” was inside. Heart racing, tears already falling and the ever so painfully slow opening of the envelope so as not to rip any paper work inside.

We had gotten so used to the waiting we didn’t even know how to react to what amounts to everything about our lives changing once again. The celebrational jump around the kitchen complete, we planned our “holy shit, we have to get to a border as fast as possible” road trip. Throwing some extra food in the bowl for the cats, a quick call to my in-laws and all of a sudden we’re driving towards the US border, not knowing what we were doing but at least we had the piece of paper that said come on down, we’d be happy to make you a permanent resident of Canada.

350 miles and six hours later, I stood in front of a immigration officer and watched him sign his John Hancock to the one piece of paper that is about as important to me as my beautiful wife Mimi, my gorgeous niece Amy, my Old man Chester cat and the one thing that I truly own outright: My Car Dusty.

Fast forward to today (not quite a week later) and I’m feeling the affects of all the crossroads converging. My mind has been going a mile a minute about what to do. My eating in celebration of paperwork, unplanned road trips and Easter holiday has been literally in the crapper (causing my crapper to not function properly) and I’m literally at a stand still as to “What’s Next?” Throw in a little (or a lot of) back pain from throwing it out Wednesday followed by 12 hours of driving but not giving a shit because I had a piece of paper that needed someone’s Johnny H and I’ll be damn if it wasn’t happening ASAP means I haven’t broken a sweat in just about a week and thoughts of Half Iron Man training went on the back burner while Pizza, Beer, Ice Cream, Coconut Cream Pie, Cadbury Mini Eggs and Potato Chips were front and center.

I’m combing job postings like a mother fucker. Thinking about returning to the work force and finally….finally being able to contribute financially to this marriage and bring some peace to Mimi’s over worked bank account. A flower shop just opened up last week less than a block from our house and I stare at it’s windows anticipating the day I can walk in and buy something without having to first ask Mimi for a few bucks.

I’m thinking about what I actually want to do for employment. Go back to my career as an interpreter? Something that I was exceptionally good at back home but not sure where I fit in here, the universe sent me a sign (pun intended) this weekend during our garage sale festivities. Three Deaf people approached our table (among 400+ tables) and for over a half hour we chatted away reminding me why I love being an interpreter. It felt so natural to be back in my “element”. At the same time my life since arriving in Halifax has taken some much ingrained turns. Working full time will change everything. Christ, working part time will change everything. Thoughts of “who will cook and clean?” “Who will run the blogs?” “Who will lay around with Chester when he’s not feeling so hot in his old age?”, “What happens to the coaching that I love so much?”…”How does all of this affect my Half Iron Man?”

There is so much racing through my mind that I am standing in the middle of the proverbial room and not knowing which way to turn to get up and get moving. This blog post is more about helping me verbally vomit all the stuff inside my head so that I can get down to business of finding a job and finding a new balance in my marriage to Red. My to-do list is long with little things that bring me joy (making almond butter) and big things that scare the crap out of me (research business license for freelancing). Today is the last day of vacation for Red and not wanting to waste it sitting in front of the laptop trying to decide whether I want to be a part time dishwasher, a full time beer drive thru attendant or an interpreter, I also don’t want another second to go by without hitting the send button with the subject “Job posting”.

Food is another matter in this “help, someone tell me what to do next” panic feeling. The both of us are feeling the affect of “fuck it, let’s eat (insert food here)“. So we begin to reign in our choices this week and try to return to a more “normal” food foundation knowing it’s what makes us feel better physically and emotionally.

Now I’m off to drink copious amounts of coffee (with coconut milk) and begin figuring out how to tackle this new chapter in my life and  planning what kind of flowers I’m going to be buying my beautiful Red with my very first Canadian paycheck!

Welcome to Canada!