On the 24th of May

we became Permanent Residents of Canada. The days beforehand had been full of organising paperwork, time off school and time off work for Michael, so the subsequent sense of occasion and excitement took me by surprise.  We arrived at the office downtown to meet with an Immigration officer, clutching all the necessary documentation, and took our seats in the waiting room with another man from the Philippines.  We were then shown into a boardroom, with fabulous revolving chairs, and the Immigration woman spoke to us about our rights and responsibilities as new Canadian Permanent Residents.  The kids immediately started trying to outperform each other as whirligigs on the seats, detracting somewhat from the seriousness of the subject matter.  We nodded and smiled and I surreptitiously whizzed the chair that Rebecca was in, cutting short her cries of “Faster! Faster!”.  We shot loaded glares across the table at the other children, quelling their protests with the universal parental look of  ”You’re in So. Much. Trouble. when we get out of here”.  After the talk, we signed on the dotted line and exited the building feeling that a milestone had been passed.  We changed our Health Card numbers and our Social Insurance Numbers, and now we need to wait another three years to apply for citizenship.  We have been so lucky in our application process, and that fact that we came to Saskatchewan as part of their Provincial Nominee Program; it’s taken just over fourteen months from the job offer to becoming permanent residents.

The weather has been generally gorgeous, with an unusual three-day spell of rain last week, which isn’t what we’ve become accustomed to; it was funny how quickly all the Irish started moaning about it, as if we had never experienced this phenomenon before.  The kids went on their school tours, with Nicholas going to the PotashCorp Children’s Festival; a five-day event that takes place on the banks of the river beside the Delta Bessborough Hotel.

http://www.potashcorpchildrensfestival.com/

Rebecca and I went to it on the same day, and the sun split the stones.  There were various children’s shows, art tents, storytelling tents, play areas, science tents, and a tent where we could dig for fossils.  Rebecca and I were making prints in the Art Tent, when Nicholas barrelled into me, clutching me with one hand and brandishing a bag full of ancient treasures in the other.  I know that a lot of children go through the rocks/sticks/shells obsession and emerge unscathed after a while, but Nicholas is still happiest when sorting through his myriad collection of “stuff”, or “playing” with the caterpillars/spiders/ladybugs that he catches and re-homes in his bug-house.  Tragically, he didn’t realise that the roof of the house has holes in it, and sadly, his parents were also negligent in their insect care, and the caterpillars went to a watery grave during last week’s washout.  I cannot even describe the ensuing trauma and tears.  We removed the corpses and he eventually recovered, only to be reminded of his loss yesterday when his friend appeared with his bughouse; two beautiful cocoons resided within.    It’s at times like this that I remember why I will NEVER have a pet in the house.

Here’s the pair of them at the Festival:

In other news of the month, Jay, Nikki, Kelly, James and Jo Ann all kindly offered up a Friday night to work the last six shifts of Bingo with me.  Jo Ann and Kelly sold scratch cards, I worked behind the counter selling the Bingo sheets, and Jay, Nikki and James ran around in fetching pink bibs, selling tickets to people holding up a BALLS sign.

They got to pick a bakery item as payment, and so a couple of Sundays ago, they all came over for home-made cinnamon buns, banoffe, lemon cheesecake and blaas (the Waterford specialty roll).  Gerry provided mini-bruschettas, and Connie mournfully regarded the gluten-heavy table, and stuck to her homemade corn bread.  Sugar levels were fairly high for the evening, and everyone went home with a doggie-bag for lunch the next day.

School’s out next Wednesday, and the children went off on a school trip to one of Saskatoon’s outdoor pools this morning.  There are four outdoor pools, one with a huge waterslide, and we haven’t visited any of them yet, so I can’t wait to hear how the morning went.

http://www.saskatoon.ca/DEPARTMENTS/Community%20Services/LeisureServices/Summer%20Facilities/Pages/OutdoorPools.aspx

 Rebecca had her playschool end-of-year party yesterday, and was transformed into a gorgeous butterfly for the day. Isabel also had a party evening with the Girl Guides, and made her Guiding promise for next year.

There’s a free summer camp starting in the school in July, and the children get to do games, art, crafts and activities; they also fill the mini-pool beside the school every day so the kids can paddle and swim.  It’s running seven days a week this year

http://www.saskatoon.ca/DEPARTMENTS/Community%20Services/LeisureServices/Summer%20Facilities/Pages/Playgrounds.aspx

We’re expecting visitors in a couple of weeks; my sister Liz, brother-in-law Eddie and their three children are flying into Saskatoon for two weeks, and I can’t wait.  The children don’t know anything about it, and so I’ll bring them out to the airport that morning under the pretence of collecting a parcel.  It’ll be great to see their faces when they walk through the Arrivals gate.  I’m really looking forward to showing them around and spending the fortnight together; the goodbyes will be horrible though.  I can’t believe it will be almost a year since we’ve seen them; children grow up a lot in the space of year!

Canadian Batteries and Disruptive Neighbours

Summer has barrelled into Saskatchewan, rudely sweeping a tentative Spring out of the way, and suddenly we’re living in a world of sun-block, shorts, t-shirts, barbecues and lots and lots of sunshine.  Everywhere is green again, and the parks are heaving every evening with people playing football, soccer, baseball and basketball.  The kids are going to school on their skates, bikes, skateboards and scooters, and we’re awaiting the arrival of the dreaded mosquitoes.   I discovered yesterday that ticks are also endemic here, but I’ve decided not to think about that.

We have new neighbours from Ireland; Gerry and Connie moved over from Cork and are living a few doors down from us with their dog Rocky.  Gerry is from Tipperary and Connie is from Cork, so poor Jo Ann had to deal with yet another set of Irish accents.  Janet, who lives next door to us, cornered me the other day to say that Connie had stopped for a quick chat the other evening; Janet was flapping because she couldn’t understand a single word Connie said.  ”It’s ok”, I reassured her, “she’s from Cork.  You’ll get used to it after a couple of years.”  Connie and I sat chatting at the kitchen table the other night till midnight, and then I waved her off at the door. Off she went down the path towards her house, and when she got there, she realised that Gerry had locked the front door. “Blithering eejit”, she thought, and rang the bell.  Nothing.  She knocked at the door.  Nothing.  Rang the bell again.  Silence.  So she let out a roar up at the window  - “GERRY!” – and waited.  She noticed movement at the round window of the bathroom that’s at the front of the house.  A head popped up, looking apprehensive, and after a moment of bemusement, she realised that it was Jim, her next-door neighbour.  She clapped her over her mouth, horrified, and scarpered in next door to her own house.  I met her the next day, and she was mortified.  Jim had been slagging her about attempting to break and enter.  You just don’t get the same class of neighbours these days. Connie is writing a blog about life so far in Saskatoon, and has some great photos on it; she’s a photographer by trade. This is the link:

http://conniecroninphotos.wordpress.com/

We spent Saturday at the fishing lake beside the Zoo, where the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and Canadian Tire were hosting a free fishing day.  The kids had a blast.  They were given a fishing rod each, and shown how to fish by the policemen, who were patrolling the lake with tins of bait and de-tangling all the rods for the kids.  They caught nothing, thank God, but learnt how to cast, reel in, and avoid taking the eyes out of everyone around them. Rebecca started out determinedly flinging the rod into the water, and then lost interest; it was much more exciting to wade into the lake in her wellies and throw sticks.   A free barbecue and an hour in the playground finished off the afternoon, and now they want to go fishing “properly” – i.e. catch something – in the northern lakes.

We rooted out the barbecue from the shed, bought propane gas, and fired it up last weekend.  The highlight of the meal came at the end, when the kids stuck giant marshmallows onto their “marshmallow sticks” and roasted them.  Apparently one of the local stores sells giant Neapolitan marshmallows – vanilla, strawberry and chocolate – so we’ll have to hunt for them soon.  June and Eddie, and Kelly and James are barbecuing everything in sight, and some of the recipes suggested to me by Canadian neighbours sound gorgeous.  I don’t think anyone in Saskatoon uses their kitchen once summer arrives.  We took a trip to Dairy Queen on Sunday evening for Blizzard ice-creams – Rolo, Peanut Chocolate Brownie, Chocolate Extreme and Chocolate Pieces.

On a more scientific note, a certain member of the Irish community almost made an important discovery on arrival in Saskatoon.  June brought a weighing scales with her, and when she finally pulled it out when unpacking, she discovered that the battery was gone.  So off she went to buy a new one, installed it into the scales, switched it on, and discovered it wasn’t measuring in the same way at all any more.  Instead of measuring in grams, it was now measuring in ounces.  A conversation ensued at the kitchen table.  ”Well”, said June, “you’ll never believe this.  I changed the battery in my weighing scales, and now it’s measuring in ounces instead of grams”.  We looked at her.  ”So change it back to ounces?” I suggested.  ”I can’t! It just stays the same”.  ”But there must be a button”, said Kelly.  ”No button.  Definitely not.  I think it’s because of the battery”.  ”What do you mean, the battery?!”  ”Well, I put in a Canadian battery, and now it’s measuring in ounces, like they do in Canada”.  ”Sooooo”, I said slowly, “the battery changed the way the scales measures, and now it’s using imperial?” “Or,” said one of the lads, “the scales just knows it’s in Canada now?”  ”Well, there’s no other explanation”, said June firmly.  ”There’s definitely a button”, said Kelly.  ”No. No button”.  She was adamant.  Off they went home, and Eddie took it upon himself to examine the mysterious scales.  ”What’s this button for underneath?” he queried.  It wasn’t even that small.  A galloping horse might miss it, but not Eddie.  Just the horse, and June.  We still talk about the amazing intuition of Canadian batteries, and the way jet-lag knocked the scales out of sync.

Connie and I walked to a garage sale yesterday afternoon, and it started raining on the way.  Rebecca was skipping along in front of us, in her shorts, t-shirts and baseball cap, when she realised that something wasn’t quite as it should be.  ”MOM! what is this WET stuff falling on me?!” she shrieked.  Not something I thought I’d ever hear from her mouth, even though I think yesterday was only the second time she’s seen rain since we got here.  It’s very strange to see and hear her becoming so Canadian.

A Week of Celebrations

Sunday was First Communion and Confirmation Day in the Reidy household, and the house was a hive of activity from early morning.  Children in Saskatchewan are confirmed and receive communion in Grade 2, so Christopher and Isabel were being confirmed, and Benjamin was being confirmed and receiving First Communion.  All the preparation is done during classes at our church, St. Anne’s, which is very different from Ireland, where the school is heavily involved. I wasn’t sure how to feel about the day, as it’s not a separate occasion like it is in Ireland, and I felt that the absence of family and friends would be difficult.  It turned out to be very different, but really enjoyable and memorable.

We arrived at the church at 10.30am so that the children could don their white capes and get their last-minutes instructions from Erin, the catechist who had led the classes for the last few months.  The rest of us took our seats in our reserved pew, along with Eddie and June, who had kindly agreed to be the children’s sponsors.  Bishop Don Bolen, a very engaging and genial man, was leading the service, and the choir was fabulous.  We kicked off with one of those foot-tapping gospel songs, and it set the tone from there.  All the children were asked to stand while the Bishop chatted with them about the two sacraments and asked them questions about what they had learned during their classes.  Rebecca insisted on standing on the pew beside them, and was hanging onto every word from his mouth.  ”So, what happened when Jesus died? How do you think his friends felt?”, asked the Bishop.  A little boy in the front put up his hand.  ”They were sad”, he declared solemnly.  ”Very good”, said the Bishop, “they were sad”.  He turned to the other side of the aisle, where another boy was flapping his hand at him.  ”They were reeeallllly sad”, the child affirmed gravely. Muffled laughter.  ”And what happened to Jesus after that?” asked the Bishop.  ”He ROSE!”, proclaimed Rebecca in bell-like tones. “Well!”, said the Bishop, taken aback, “you’re almost ready for the sacraments already!”.  She preened. The congregation laughed. We braced ourselves for what might be the next statement out of her mouth.

Isabel, Christopher and Benjamin were confirmed then, with all of us standing beside them in front of the altar, and Mass continued until Communion time, when all of the children went to the altar first in their white capes, to receive Communion and wine.  The faces of disgust when the wine was taken were very funny.  ”Yuck!”, pronounced the angelic-looking little girl in front of us.  There was a group photo of them all at the end, and then the Bishop stood with all of the children in turn for individual photos.  It’s impossible to get three children to smile at the same time; I have endless photos with one of them gurning, or scowling, or baring their teeth.   It was a great morning; I loved every minute of the ceremony, and the kids were delighted with it all.  It was different to Christopher’s and Isabel’s First Communion, but just as special, and there was a real sense of being part of the community.

We had cookies and juice afterwards, and then we all headed to Boston Pizza with James, Kelly, Jay and Nikki.  I think that bringing children to restaurants is sort of like labour, to be honest.  It’s hideous at the time, and then you forget about it enough to contemplate doing it again.  Five minutes into the next trip out for food, you remember why it’s not a good idea, and make a mental note to eat at home for the next ten years at least.   It took ages for the kids to decide what they wanted, and then the food took quite a while to arrive, which meant that they were getting antsy, bored, and hungry, never a good combination.  Eventually, dinner arrived, and we all tucked in.  The kids wanted Jello for dessert, and the waitress appeared with some tubs containing a weirdly lurid blue jelly.  Thankfully, the ingredients weren’t on the label, probably because the list of e-numbers wouldn’t fit. I felt it would be safer for my mental health to remain in blissful ignorance and just let them at it.  Rebecca’s mouth was completely blue for the next four hours.  We drove home, exhausted, shrugged off our lovely outfits in favour of pyjamas, and lolled around the sitting-room for the rest of the evening.

Rebecca was four yesterday, a momentous day for her that has been eagerly anticipated for the last couple of weeks.  She snuck into our bed in the middle of the night, and I woke up to find one beady little eye squinting up at me.  ”Is THIS my birthday?”, she enquired hopefully, and was overjoyed to be finally told “YES!”.  She shot out of the bed and stood in front of me, shivering with excitement.  ”Am I bigger?” she asked anxiously.  I considered  her carefully.  ”Definitely”, I proclaimed.  ”That’s ‘cos I’m FOUR!”, she yelled and hurtled off to tell the rest of them.  Presents from Granny and Aunty Louise were rooted out of their hiding place and she shredded the wrapping paper at light speed.  For most children, clothes are a boring present; for Rebecca, it’s nirvana.  She just loves getting new clothes.  Every morning, I brace myself for the battle of getting her dressed.  She scoffs at some outfits, sneers at others, carefully considers every article of clothing in her wardrobe, and dismisses any suggestions scathingly; “that doesn’t go with that, Mom!”.  Then we have to make sure that she is correctly shod, which involves another fifteen minutes of her trying on all her shoes and bemoaning the fact that they don’t match her outfit, until eventually she settles on her wellies as the ideal accompaniment.

So, the clothes from Ireland were a huge hit, and had to be donned immediately in order to go out to the shops.  She told every single person that she met that it was her birthday, and basked in their good wishes.  I sometimes glimpse the teenage years, and have to hurriedly close that part of my mind.  She had requested a chocolate fudge cake with strawberries, which we made that afternoon, and then we waited for the guests to arrive – June and Eddie, Kelly and James, Jay and Nikki, and Connie and Gerry, who arrived from Ireland last week.  It was a great evening of chat and laughter; we are so lucky to have such wonderful people around us.

Nicholas had his first school trip on Wednesday; an expedition to Blackstrap Lake.  He got up at six, charged downstairs to get breakfast, (much to Michael’s surprise when he appeared), shot back upstairs again, and threw himself on top of Benjamin.  I opened one eye, looked at the clock, and carted him back to our bed, where he sat and fidgeted until 7.30am.  By the time we had packed his backpack with spare clothes and lunch, he was incoherent with excitement.  Off he went, to hike through the woods, examine bones and insects, toast hot dogs and marshmallows over a firepit, climb trees and build teepees.  He came back at 3.30pm, exhausted, filthy and delighted with the day.

Christopher’s teacher rang me that morning to tell me that he had fallen into a very large puddle during a walk around the park, and had soggy tracksuit bottoms. Apparently, he wasn’t “used to walking on ice”.  I was out at the shops – on my own – while Rebecca was at playschool, and was almost as excited about this fact as Nicholas had been about the trip.  ”Tell him I’ll bring him dry clothes when I pick up Rebecca”, I said, “and tell him he’s a twit”.  I arrived at 11.30am with his change of clothes, and discovered that my sons were really making their presence felt in school that day.  Benjamin had asked Michael to re-inflate his soccer ball on Tuesday night, and brought it into school to play with at recess.  Once recess was over, he left under the teacher’s desk, where it sat quietly for a while, biding its time, and then exploded at the teacher’s feet.  Well.  I don’t know how he didn’t just keel over with the fright.  He jumped out of his skin, along with all the students, and that was the end of the soccer ball.  When Benjamin brought in another one yesterday to play with, his first words were “NOT to be left under my desk, Benjamin!”

Last, but not least, Spring has finally sprung, and we’re basking in sunshine and temperatures of 10 degrees today.  Part of this weekend will be devoted to washing, drying and putting away all of our winter gear; with any luck I won’t have to retrieve it from the recesses of the wardrobes until November.

The Good, the Bad and the Downright Bold

It’s been a rollercoaster for the last fortnight here in Saskatoon.  Starting with the weather (as usual), we’ve had beautiful Spring days, bright early mornings and glorious evenings, studded with more snowfalls,  high winds, ice-storms and overcast days.  The grass keeps appearing and then being obliterated again; it has been steadfastly green for the last three days, and I am cautiously optimistic that this will be the case from now on.  No more snow, please.  The number of days of continuous snow cover in Saskatoon is now in the 170′s, and it’s officially the second-worst winter on record.  I suppose if we survived it (physically and mentally), there’s hope for the next one (which, horrifyingly, is only about six months away).

Michael’s beloved aunt Betty died last Thursday, and it was very hard to hear the news and be unable to return to Ireland for her funeral.  She was a warm, funny, loving lady, who celebrates her 60th wedding anniversary this year, and our thoughts are with her husband Tommy, and all of her children.  We knew when we left their house in August that we probably wouldn’t see them again, but the news of her death was very sad to hear.

There’s been homesick days for both of us over the last couple of weeks, and times when I felt like throwing in the towel and heading for home again.  I spent hours one evening on the phone to June, wailing about missing family and friends and the fact that it was due to snow again the next day.  The prospect sent me into an irrational tailspin, and was the start of one of those crying jags that left me looking like I’d been smacked in the face by a baseball bat.  It was June’s turn to comfort, console and gently point out from time to time that maybe I was over-reacting to the weather forecast.  I am so lucky to have herself and Kelly living nearby and sharing this experience with me.  We rotate our bad days so that everyone get equal amounts of sympathy, understanding and the occasional kick in the arse.

On the bold front, our spell of not hearing from the school ended rudely last Tuesday with a phone call from a sobbing child.  I couldn’t even make out which child it was, until eventually I managed to establish that it was Benjamin.  ”I’m in TROUBLE!”, he wailed, “and my Consequence is to RING YOU AND TELL YOU WHAT I DID!”.  I braced myself.  ”What did you do, pet?” I said calmly, thinking it would probably be best to start off as Good Mammy.  The wailing intensified, interspersed with hiccups, snuffles and a lot of slurred and indecipherable words.  He got the end of the saga and I was no wiser.  He tried again, and this time, I managed to establish the bare facts of the case, which involved himself and another boy holding cartons of juice to their chests and squirting out the juice. I wasn’t sure what the problem was at this stage – was it for the intent behind the action, or the fact that they had drenched either the floor or another child in juice? “Were you pretending to squirt milk from your boobs?” I asked tentatively.  ”YESSSSSS!” he howled.  ”Well”, I said briskly, transforming into No-Nonsense-Mammy, “wasn’t that a very silly and inappropriate thing to do?” “YESSSSS!” came the strangled wail down the line. “Off back to the classroom with you, apologise to everyone, and I’ll deal with you when you get home.” Sniff, snuffle, muted sob.  ”I love you”, I offered as a parting shot.  He handed the phone to the principal and shuffled off in a soggy mess. I had a brief conversation with Wanda and went back to eating my lunch.

Five minutes later, the phone rang again.  I sighed, assuming that the problem was an inconsolable Benjamin.  It was Isabel’s teacher.  She had fallen in the playground and walloped her knee.  ”Is she ok?” I asked, wondering whether it was her I could hear crying in the background, or whether Benjamin was still in full flow and disturbing the entire school.  ”Well, not really”, he said awkwardly, “she banged her knee, and then fell onto a bar below and hurt her..em…privates….” “OH!”, I said, wincing and crossing my legs.  ”Will I get Christopher to bring her home?” he asked, and so over she came, wailing and weeping, to be tucked up on the couch with popcorn and sympathy.

Saving the best until last, we received Confirmation of Permanent Residency this morning by registered post, and once we meet with an Immigration Official in three weeks’ time, it will all be official.  It’s just over a year since Michael was offered the job, and we travelled here under the Provincial Nominee Program, so the whole process has been incredibly fast.  The last eight months have been a mixed bag of fortunes and feelings, and this will hopefully help us to feel more settled.   We have been very blessed in the area that we are living in, the children’s school, and the people that we have met.  Eight months on we are still fairly cocooned in the support group of Irish people around us, and I think it will take more time and effort to make Canadian friends, but we meet more people all of the time, and everyone is very friendly and approachable.  I haven’t got to the “come over for a cup of tea” stage with other mammies yet, and I miss that so much about living in Bree, but it will happen eventually.

“April is the cruellest month….”

TS Eliot must have spent some time during Saskatchewan in winter, I think.  After the glorious days of sunshine that we experienced this week, the tentative emergence of green shoots, the clear and dry roads, and the immense, communal uplifting of spirits, this is what I awoke to this morning:

Snowing. Again.

►

It’s not very clear in the video, but the snow is still falling; lazily, blithely, and completely unconcerned about the horror it is creating among those who took their winter tires off their cars and retired the snow shovels and snow blowers to the darkest recesses of their garages. It’s the fifth day of April, and the car park is blanketed again.

In other, pre-It’s-F&*^ing-Snowing-Again-news, we spent a lovely evening in the dog-walking park beside the river on Tuesday.  Jo Ann piled me and the five children into her car, parked beside the river, and we crossed under the huge Circle Drive bridge to the other side.  It was a bit unnerving walking along the pedestrian bridge with huge trucks thundering overhead, but the views of the river were stunning, and the park was gorgeous.

It was full of people and bounding dogs, and the kids got to run around and climb trees, while Jo Ann and I caught up on the events of the week.  We saw skeins of Brent geese flying overhead, and I was telling Jo Ann how we used to go to the Slobs in Wexford to see them on the Irish leg of their long journey.  Little did I know that one day I would be watching them return to Canadian skies.

http://www.wexfordwildfowlreserve.ie/

 

Not waving, but drowning….

Well, it’s finally happening.  As I sit here at the kitchen table, I can hear the welcome sounds of water trickling in all directions; off the roof, the deck, the front path, the car park and the huge mounds of snow dotted all over the complex.  Spring is sneaking in and kicking Winter’s ass at last, and the relief is immense.  The temperature is set to rise to an extraordinary 3 degrees today, and there aren’t enough words to express how good it is not to see that little fecker “-” in front of every number on the weather forecast.  We’re into the Plus, ladies and gentlemen, and now I’m starting to realise what the people of Saskatchewan meant when they talked about the Big Melt.

The roads are drowning; awash with slush and melted snow, and studded with mini-lakes and gigantic potholes.  I drove around the city yesterday with a list of things to do, and realised one very important factor in surviving the thaw:

NEVER, EVER DRIVE WITH YOUR WINDOW OPEN

I was merrily aquaplaning along Millar Avenue yesterday afternoon, with the radio on, the window open to let in that lovely -2 breeze, and Rebecca singing along behind me, when a truck passed me in the opposite direction.  A wave of muddy water soared over the van, in through the window, and all over me.  My coat, trousers, hair and sunglasses.  There was a squeal of horror from the back seat.  ”Mom! It’s RAINING in the car!”.  I spluttered and tried wiping the mud off my glasses.  It just made them worse, so I whipped them off, wiped them on my muddy trousers, and rolled up the bloody window.  My hair had a muddy mist coating it.  I looked like I had been dragged backwards through several hedges.

We arrived home and made a momentous discovery on our way up the front path.  Grass.  Yes, really.  Brown and a bit sorry looking, but grass nonetheless.  Rebecca was overcome with excitement. “GRASS!  Grass, Mom, it’s grass, Mammy look, it’s grass!”, over and over, on a crescendo, until only dogs could hear her.  I was expecting green grass, which goes to show you how much thought I had given to the effect of tons of snow on the lawn.  Apparently it will all become green in a couple of weeks.

In other news today, we received our final request for documents from the Canadian Government, and hope to become Permanent Residents in the next six to eight weeks.  We were asked for copies of every page of every passport, which I decided to do in the library.  An hour later, a massive wad of paper thwacked down in front of the librarian, who was suitably astonished (and probably wondering how much toner was left in the photocopier).  It cost me $57 to post it all off to London.  When we get the Permanent Residence documents, we can either take a trip to America and get them authorised at the North Portal Border Crossing, or make an appointment with an Immigration official to do the same thing in a Government building downtown (it takes three weeks to get the appointment).  We looked at the van, kicked the tires, pictured it trundling to the US/Canadian border, and frowned.  We contemplated the children, pictured them sitting in the van for eight hours while our nerves frayed and frazzled in the front seats, and frowned again.  Downtown it will be.

Lastly, in case you’ve forgotten, Spring is on the way:

Awesome, eh?

Spring Fever

is not a myth.  I’m suffering from a bad case of it for the last two weeks, and there is still no sign of a thaw.  Yesterday was officially the first day of Spring in Canada, and I’m afraid that the gods are mocking us.  This is our sixth (SIXTH!) month of winter, and while the kids are still enjoying the skating, sledding etc., I woke up one morning last week to freshly-falling snow, and became instantly homicidal.  ”SNOW? More f%^$ing snow? WHAT?!”  Insult was piling on injury as the previous day had been an almost tropical -8, with signs of the snow starting to melt.

http://www.theweathernetwork.com/news/storm_watch_stories3&stormfile=Another_winter_blast_targets_the_Prairies_20_03_2013&placecode=cask0276&eccode=WWCASK0005&warningdisplay=noec&warningtype=sw?ref=stormwatch_city

Yesterday brought news of another ice and snow storm, or “clipper”, with warnings of “blowing snow”.  I headed off to 8th Street at 1.30pm, and realised that “blowing snow” isn’t a great idea when you’re driving along.  The snow was being swept off trees, roofs, and the ever-present mounds of snow that are everywhere, and hurled horizontally across the roads.  The snow is really dry, so it sort of sweeps along, over the car, and on again.  It’s like being blasted with glitter in some places, as the ice cascades through the air.  A lot of Saskatchewan highways were closed, and there were lots of alerts issued for the Prairies.  People keep reassuring us that this is a particularly harsh winter, with more snow than usual, so we have to hope for something less severe next time.

However, it dawned on me last week that next winter isn’t even next year.  It’s only about another 6 – 7 months away.  I’m starting to understand why retired couples in Saskatoon head to Arizona every winter in their droves.  How much snow-shovelling can one person do in a lifetime without suffering long-term psychological damage?  Our car park was cleared on Monday by some very large machinery and trucks, and Rebecca’s first sentence when leaving the house the next morning was “Mom, I can see the ground!”.  I just want to see green grass.  Lots of it.  Unfortunately, we have to go through The Melt first, which is causing anxiety among Saskatonians due to the unusual volume of snow.  A slow thaw is hoped for in order to avoid catastrophes like flooded basements etc.  I’m assuming that we’ll be wading through a gigantic mud bath for a couple of weeks.

The forecast is offering some glimpse of hope at the moment, with promises of temperatures rising to as much as 9 degrees by the end of next week, but I’m too afraid to hope for anything that might indicate an end to the cold and glaring whiteness of everything.  I’m suffering from nervous twitches and bouts of Tourette’s Syndrome at the sight of every snowfall, and I’m sick of the sight of snow boots all over the house.  Enough of the white shit.  Bring on the warmth of the sun.  I’m tired of watching these at work.