maremma sheepdog
ford escape


Today is my last day driving for a couple weeks.

My B.C. registration and insurance expire at midnight, and I’m not ready to be a full Washingtonian just yet.

Oh, I’m ready ready but I don’t have all my ducks in a row, which feels strange for me. I went to the local SSA office a week after I got here and applied for my Social Security Number (SSN). That was too soon. I wasn’t in the system yet and I had to wait for verification from the big guns in Baltimore, MD.

Next stop, the Department of Motor Vehicles. Ah but if one doesn’t have an SSN, one cannot get a driver’s licence without a stringent identification process and interview. It will be easier if I wait for my SSN.

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photography skills

A new definition

I’m already starting to struggle.

It isn’t my new hometown, although that brings with a collection of challenges.

It isn’t sharing residential space with my soon-to-be husband.

I am not allowed to work. No job, no freelance contracts, no contentcheap labour farms.

I am not allowed to work.

Say that out loud, slowly.





For the Independent Career Girl, those are difficult words to say.

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Uhaul moving
k-1 visa immigration
K-1 visa immigration, united states
engagement ring
K-1 visa
wire closet shelf

It’s just stuff

He’s fascinated by the Tiny House movement.

He wants to live simply.

He wonders if I can. He wonders if I can live in a smaller space — smaller than a three-bedroom home in suburbia — and with less stuff.

I chuckle.

My first one-bedroom apartment in Calgary was a tiny little dungeon off Edmonton Trail in Crescent Heights. The bedroom was just big enough to fit my queen-sized bed (no boxspring, mind you; we couldn’t squeeze it down the stairwell) and six-drawer horizontal dresser.

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Survivor immunity

An immunity idol to get off the island

Today, I met a doctor with a wry sense of humour.

When it comes time to head to Vancouver and have the medical for my K-1 visa application, I have to prove I’m immune to a lengthy list of communicable diseases, including chicken pox, mumps, measles and rubella.

A Canadian girl in the 1970s remembers well her trips to the school nurse to get stuck up like a pin cushion, the boys not needing any rubella shots.

And chicken pox? Yeah, that scar on my right temple is from picking a chicken pox scab. (The one between my eyebrows is from bouncing on my parents’ bed and landing forehead-first on the corner of their dresser. It was a sometimes rough childhood … all my own fault, sometimes Kevin’s.)

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