How to actually begin the moving process

The paperwork is mailed in and thanks to your smart thinking, you even know the exact date it got to the ‘Somewhere’ processing center.

Whew! One huge stress gone, checked off and time to open that bottle of wine (or crack a beer, if that’s more your style). 

Now, just sit back and twiddle your thumbs and dream of the day, the glorious day, when your permanent resident paperwork arrives in the mail. Ahh. Sweet, isn’t it? It’s a rather good daydream and then pop! The bubble bursts and then real life is back. Well, that escalated quickly.

Paperwork done, triple checked, mailed and received at said center. Check.

How to move? Che-  Huh, how to do that?

Clearly, it’s just to start packing boxes full of my personal, worldly (and, let’s be honest, entire life) goods. 

Oh wait, I have that couch…. And that buffet/side board/thingie that holds my grandma’s china. Or if I had china it would. Paper plates anyone? And my horses… and their tack… They don’t fit into a box so I can hook up a trailer, no problem,  and off we go. Ha. Ha. Ha.

There’s rules. And then, there’s ‘rules.’ Mainly, it’s RULES. As in, you will follow, to the T and print extremely legibly in black ink. Not blue and most definitely not in red. Pencil? Soo last century. 

As my new found best buds at the border crossing informed me, there is yet MORE paperwork. Hooray. Imagine the excitement of a funeral dirge plus walking the plank plus the dismay of giving a speech in front of thousands with the best case of stage fright ever would then equal the depth of that word. Hooray. I had to say it one more time. Yup, still same the feeling.

My new besties and I, we’re tight. We say hi, ask about each other’s families and offer to braid the other’s hair. It comes from our several meetings as I was searched during my first handfuls of travels across the Canadian border, for what, I’m still not sure. It’s a story I’ll be sure to share later. It’s the stuff of comedic legend, or would be if I was a comedienne.

No, we’re not actually besties or do any of the above. There may be the glimmer of recognition but they are the embodiment of professional. After all, they have a job to do and it doesn’t involve smokin’ and jokin’ a.ka. screwing around.

With a heavy heart and many curses running through my mind, it would bring a tear of pride to a sailor’s eye, I took my homework (more, yay!) back to my truck. After I politely said thank you and have a nice day. These border officers are doing their job and I always feel terrible when people get tetchy with them. You can’t shoot the messenger, people (rhetorically, for my literal, or those that lack the humor gene, people). It makes you feel better but really, it does you no good. Don’t poke the bear and it won’t snarl or bite. Maybe.