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making wet the earth.
Watercolors.
Lobster.
There is this house out there in the woods, where we drank copious amounts of wine. Sat by a fire. We had champagne with dinner, and broke the shells. I quietly enjoyed ripping off the arms and twisting the feelers between my fingers, though it made me feel sad in a way. The cracking of the shell, and slow tearing of sinew that holds the arm in place. It was in some way, the most sensory experience I’ve had with my food. There is a small ‘papercut-like” cut on my finger. The claw.
The house was down in this valley surrounded by trees changing color, and a mess of wild grasses. A rock wall, that tim built, inspired by andy Goldsworthy. Stories of unfortunate incidents on airplanes, which made me uneasy, though I laughed. Iridescent globes in the tree, with small bulbs inside, floating the light out like fog. Impossible to describe. Imagine geometric bubbles of light, sitting in the branches. Imagine tinkerbell. Imagine atlantis, for they were somehow waterlike, these lights. After dinner, we walked out to the tree to watch the lights in their motionlessness, and we saw two porcupines in the tree. They lumbered on the branches, moving like sludge. How does something so graceless, and chubby, perch itself so precariously? Why do I find them to be so amazingly adorable? An absolutely gorgeous night, with such wondrous people. People so very alive.
Then, in the middle of the night, I awoke with great thirst. Too much wine. I drank. I urinated. I lay in bed thinking. Thinking that my previous theory about why I get cankersores to be inadequate. It couldn’t simply be a lack of nutrition and sleep, as both have been in great abundance of late. There must be more components to this problem. I thought of the drive form California back here. The question of just where my home is. Where it will be in the near future. The distant future. The fact that I discovered on Friday while at both the American embassy and the Canadian immigration office, that It will be in my best interest to bring as small an amount into the country as possible, since they can effectively deny me entrance if they feel like it. It is that simple. Though I am legally allowed to live in this country for six months, then apply for an “extended stay,” then apply for permanent residence, then apply for citizenship, they can tell me “no” at any time until I obtain a permanent residence card which can take years. No, it does not really make sense. I can dr ive up to the border with my wife, in my car, with a few guitars and a bit of recording equipment and they can say, “no sir, you cannot enter this country.” They can let my wife in and not me. They can tell her that she can’t come into America either, in which case I suppose we would both move to Spain or something. Which I suppose is not the worst of fates.
So I begin to wrap my head around the fact that I cannot bring my things. No more clothes than what I have here. No books. No cds. No paintings, or blankets, or handmade mugs. No candle holders. No plants. Yet another lesson in what really matters. The week begins. Jeff Buckley sings. The rain fall, making wet the earth.
Posted by jeff pitcher at October 4, 2004 09:41 AM
....................................
Perhaps there is a reason for these limitations. Traveling with out comforts exposed the core of what is really necessary. In Canada you embrace the new. Old paintings are replaced by new fantastic water-colors (the painting is fantastic!), t-shirts by down jackets, and bicycles by cross country skies.
The puzzle of limitations can be inspiring; like a sestina
Posted by: Mike Schwartz at October 4, 2004 07:58 AM
You could try mailing some of the things that really matter to yourself.
Posted by: ajd at October 4, 2004 10:02 AM
Canker sores:
In terms of a mind-body connection consider that they are a result of festering words unsaid.
I have fought with them most of my life. Bad ones. Mouths full of them. Whenever this is the case (and not just the odd one that occurred because I wasn't paying attention when I ate and decided to chew on my cheek), I step back and think if there are things I have felt I needed to say and haven't. Have my teeth stopped the bitterness or anger from being expressed and therefore caused it to take hold inside my mouth? You then only have to decide if you DO need to say it or if you merely need to make peace with not saying it on your own.
Anyway, just a suggestion.
Posted by: C~ at October 4, 2004 11:22 AM
I understand the feeling. A resident here or there, but yet, not quite.
Last weekend, the sun shone gently upon Portland. I wandered about my favorite street, 23rd in western Portland, lined with euro-asian-middle-easten-influenced boutiques, mom-&-pop bookstores, bistros & bars, and enough coffee shops / cafes to fill my heart's delight.
As I walked from Vivante! (a Victorian house converted into a softly lit 2-story French cafe & creperie) to Tea-Cha-Te (a worldly specialty tea shop on 2nd floor of another Victorian house), I was stopped by an environmental rep. My strong desire to do some volunteer work caused me to stop and listen to what this man had to share. Tod his name was. Frizzy blond hair, musician and artist by night, environmental coalitionist by day, he shares.
I tell him I'm still "officially" a Californian (San Franciscan) currently transitioning to Seattle, WA, but visit Portland, OR every weekend. I confounded him.
"Come watch me play tonight", he adds. Perhaps another time, I think to myself.
Though married, I still cherish solitude, and catch it whenever I can afford. I love sitting at windows in cafes, people-watch passers-by on the sidewalks through spaces of the tree foliage as I read/journalize and continue my independent studies on French.
But 90% of my belongings still remain in CA, a week's worth of re-worn clothing in Seattle, and a share of toiletries in Portland during weekend visits.
Posted by: Brina Johnson at October 4, 2004 11:23 AM
I highly doubt that you will be denied entrance to Canada. I have been living in Ontario for more than 6 years now on a student visa while working on my PhD. Permanent residence application takes a loooong time though, it's been almost 2.5 years since I have applied and I am still waiting for it to be finalized, paperwork moves incredibly slow. Meanwhile I met my boyfriend who is American and lives in DC. I am from Europe and I can travel to US relatively easily with a 10 year visa however I can't settle there without getting a job or permanent residence. I too feel like I am not sure
what to do with my belongings. Constantly thinking about how to part with my stuff if I were to move there to live with him.
I hope it works out for you but as I said I think it is quite unlikely that either one of you will have problem crossing the border to the other side.
Posted by: essence at October 4, 2004 12:37 PM
Canker Sores: I've had them all my life as well. They are a cousin of the Herpes virus from what I'm told--though it can be passed on genetically, I think. Anyway--solutions--
arsenicum album
you can get this herb in pellet form at most health food stores. They come in these little blue vials about the size of a chapstick. "Boiron" is the company name on my vial. It says it's a homeopathic remedy for, ahem, diarrhea...but trust me, they work with canker sores. When you feel a canker sore coming on, take three or four pellets and use your tongue to rub them over the sore, painful as that may sound. Voila. You'll only have three days of pain, instead of a week or more.
Humbly submitted,
Kate
Posted by: Kate at October 4, 2004 06:34 PM
Just dawned on me that you are capitalizing now.
After reading your entry, the phrase 'You can't take it with you' came to mind and suddenly had a whole new meaning.
Posted by: Stephanie at October 5, 2004 07:54 AM
Amen, Jefferson.
However, might I point out that in your new adopted home, they will likely not call you an "alien" - at first temporary, since you're so weird and not them that they can indeed revoke even that insulting title from your possession, then - maybe - permanent. Alien. Other. Not us. And they won't speak to you like you're a lingering fart, smelly, wholly unpleasant and just won't get out from under the blankets quickly enough. Or refuse to acknowledge that they've dropped one of the 3649 sheets of documentation you're required to get stamped by a notary, which has now slipped beneath their counter and you can't get it back. At least not without having to beg like a dog.
Well, a funny anecdote I learned at the Detroit - Windsor corridor. The US border guard staff refuse entry to visas from Canada so frequently that they've constructed this shortcut tunnel back to the Canadian side to sort out your affairs. The Canadian staff jokingly refer to it as the "go directly to jail" card...
Posted by: Helen at October 5, 2004 01:33 PM
If mail is too expensive, you could also try shipping the heavy stuff in boxes via greyhound or some other alternative shipper - we're from canada (and living in the us) and that's how my family sent us a box of books on the cheap.
Posted by: michelle at October 6, 2004 01:28 PM
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