for reals!!!

 

A VISA IS WHAT I GOT!!! V to the I to the S to the motherflipping A!!!

I can’t believe it! I’m in a state of shock, I think. I was all set to wait three grueling months, based on what the experts (plural) told me, but there it was, Wednesday morning, THE email. “Your UK visa has been issued”. I sat there blinking in disbelief for a few minutes then immediately forwarded it to my friend Roma. “It says ISSUED right? I mean, that means APPROVED right?” This is the kind of shit that requires clarification, people. And since the powers that be do not provide clarification, I’ve been waiting. In a state of perpetual anxiety. For three days. Waiting to have the visa in hand because I simply couldn’t allow myself to feel the excitement this kind of news deserved until I had proof. Actual tangible proof.

So let me show you the full extent of my state of mind since I last wrote. Imagine me riding the biggest roller coaster at the world’s largest amusement park with a bloodstream filled with ten shots of espresso (make them double) spiked with speed. And then maybe give me some candy to take the edge off. And that will give you a glimpse of the anticipation I’ve felt this past month. Remember my word for this year? Patience? Yeah, that pretty much flew out the door seconds after I pronounced it. I have been, in reality, the anti-patient. The crazy woman with the wild eyes and the mood swings. It’s like I overdosed on estrogen pills and I’m ever so grateful to my husband for lending me his patience when I ran out of my own (which was in short supply to begin with). He’s a marvel, truly, as I’ve been anything but easy since he left. The poor man has no idea what he got himself into when he said I do. But I’m hoping I can cajole him with brownies and sex.

Of course now that I have this visa, it almost all seems a bit anticlimactic. Your UK visa has been issued? WTF! How about “CONGRATULATIONS! YOU CAN STOP BITING YOUR FINGERNAILS AND GET OFF THE EDGE OF YOUR SEAT! YOU’VE GOT IT! NOW GO DOWN A BOTTLE OF GAMAY AND CATCH UP ON SOME SLEEP!” Or something like that, with a WOOP WOOP thrown in for good measure. The UK Border Agency really ought to take the enthusiasm up a notch.

I’m flying out in two weeks, which means that I’ll be in London in time for Valentine’s day. And though I’ve never been one to celebrate Valentine’s day… I’ll be the first to admit that the timing is pretty darn perfect. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to spend the weekend drinking wine and saying VEEEEEZZZZZAAAA a whole lot and generally giving this news the kind of excitement it deserves.

P.S. I can’t thank you enough for your support and enthusiasm. It’s meant the world to us.

the wait

It’s done. The visa application is in the mail. All 4 pounds of it. Every blog post, every photo of us, the banks statements, the pay slips, the marriage certificate, a Skype log clocking hundreds of chat hours, a selection of correspondence chosen from a whopping 3,500 emails exchanged over the past 3 years, and text messages — enough text messages to put a teenage girl to shame. Our life… printed, stapled together and shipped off for some random person to read and decide our fate.

So now we wait. 1 month? 2 months? 3 months? Who knows. We’re used to this… the waiting. It’s the story of our life as a couple. But this time, it feels BIG, you know? Because WHAT IF? What if it takes 6 months? Or worse… What if it gets rejected? He keeps telling me to have faith (he’s the optimist in the relationship, I’m the pessimist) and I know he’s right. I know. But WHAT IF???

He says he can’t account for world wars and hurricanes and freak lightning bolts and anything else that could possibly get in the way of us getting this visa in a timely manner. But he chooses to believe that it WILL get approved and it WILL arrive soon. I, on the other hand, get so engrossed in the distance between us that my brain short circuits and I forget all that is good. I’m so focused on the days we’re apart that I fail to see the bigger picture, the love that unites us, the future ahead of us. And it’s not 1 month, 2 months or 3 that is going to change that.

So today, I leave you with more wedding photos. The candid shots. The behind the scenes shots. The laughter, the hugs, the joy. The shots that remind me of all that is good and give me the patience and the faith I need to wait… just a little longer, or however long it takes.

Thank you so much to Roma, Michael and mom for snapping these shots. And for those who haven’t yet seen the first set of photos, you can find them here.

patience is the word. the word is patience.

Thank you all so much for your heartfelt wedding wishes in my last post. When I started this blog 3 years ago, never in a million years would I have imagined such a story for myself, let alone this chapter. I feel truly blessed and I can’t thank you enough for always whooping it up with me  on the highs and sending words of wisdom when I was feeling pants. I am forever grateful.

As stories go… I was a bit sad to bid adieu to 2011 (not gonna lie to you, it was pretty freaking awesome) but 2012 is so full of promise and possibility and I’m like a kid on Christmas morning… I simply can’t wait to see what it has in store for everyone. As has been my custom for the past few years, I like to start a new year with a word/an intention to help guide me through the next 365 days.

Up until a week ago, I hadn’t a clue what that word was, but then I watched the movie Like Crazy and in it is a scene where this guy gives his girlfriend a bracelet with the word patience inscribed, just before she leaves to go back to England for the summer (story of my life). Patience for the months apart. Patience for the distance. Patience for matters of the heart. Patience with the struggle.

I think I may need to get myself one of those bracelets this year, because let’s face it, patience is not a Caron forte. In fact, if you were to name a single characteristic common to most members of the Caron clan, it would be impatience. With others and with ourselves. Don’t get me wrong, we’re a fun-loving bunch and if I were to put a positive spin on it, I would argue that passion is the root of our impatience. Or perhaps there is something wild coursing through our native american blood that makes us this way? I cannot say. But impatient little fire crackers we are. And our fuse is short.

I’ve always wanted to master the art of patience as I can hardly see how its counterpart has ever benefited me. I’ve witnessed patience in others and it is a thing of beauty. Such grace, such calm. And then there’s me. Exhibit A. Stuck behind someone who is walking too slow for my liking. Huff. Puff. Pass. I’ve even been guilty of casting evil death stares as I rush on by, because PEOPLE SHOULD FEEL BAD FOR IMPEDING MY STRIDE!

I’m not proud. And I reckon I must surely lose 10 minutes of my life every time I get aggravated about such petty things. I need to find my zen, people, that’s what I need to do. I need to chill the F out. And I’m certainly not going to find it by swearing at my computer when it doesn’t boot up fast enough.

I now am at a point in my life where I want to come at things with a calm, clear head. I want to breathe through the little annoyances in any given day. If I can at least manage that, I’ll be far better equipped to deal with the hard stuff. And I’ll probably live a longer, healthier life for it.

This year, I need patience more than ever. Because (and perhaps you are like this too), the closer I get to anything, the more impatient I get. I need patience while I wait for this visa to be processed.  And I’ll also need patience when I am on the other side. Patience with the transition and with myself.

Patience breeds calm, calm breeds clarity, clarity breeds confidence! I like the ring of that.

So there you have it. My word for 2012. Last year was the year of trust and though I still have work to do in that department, I’ve come a long way. I’m hoping that by this time next year, I’ll have a yellow belt in patience.

What is your intention for 2012?

“Patience is not passive; on the contrary, it is active; it is concentrated strength.” - Edward G. Bulwer-Lytton

we got hitched!!!

The conversation of December 13th went something like this:

Him: “I have some great news, I got a bonus at work!”
Me: “Well done, you! Woop! Woop!”
Him: “And I thought I could use it to come visit you this Christmas!”
Me: “Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” (Sound barrier broken)
Him: “And I was thinking that maybe we should get married while I’m there!”
Me: Silence. Tears. The word “Yes!” wanted to come out a thousand times but I was too choked up to say it. He knew it was yes, though. It was always yes.

The days leading up to Christmas this year were filled with last-minute phone calls and short notice invites and emails to a thousand people — searching for venues, finding an officiant, buying a dress, booking hotel rooms, renting a car, making dinner reservations, writing vows on Christmas morning and shopping for wedding bands on boxing day. I essentially had 10 days to plan a wedding between Christmas and New Years and the result of that planning was nothing short of perfect — an intimate wedding in front of a fireplace at the Adirondack Loj in Lake Placid on a stormy winter Wednesday. Somehow cupcakes and champagne featured. And there was a giant moose head overlooking the ceremony. And my friend Jess played our song and our friend Sean took these amazing photos and Joe’s brother flew in from England with his partner. And everything just magically fell into place.

It’s all a blur now. It happened so quickly. But I do remember the love in that room. Our legs were shaking like leaves and I was nervous as hell but nothing mattered. All the things I thought might matter… didn’t. I forgot about everything the moment I stood in front of him. It felt like the most “right” thing I’ve ever done in my life.

And now I am his wife. Mrs. Stewart. And I love calling him my husband. I love knowing that I get to be by this man’s side for the rest of my life, through thick and through thin. He really is the best thing that has ever happened to me.

I dropped him off at the airport yesterday for the last time. This is the last tearful goodbye. Next time I fly to London (fingers crossed for Spring – visa depending), I’ll be going home. To my husband. And we can finally start our life together. And we can think about what colors to paint the walls and what to do with that old couch of his and I can fix the faucet while he cooks me eggs for breakfast (he makes the best eggs and that faucet won’t fix itself) and we can plan our second wedding (yes. there will be a wedding in England. mental!) and where we want to honeymoon and what we want to call our babies, if ever we go down that road. You know. That kind of stuff. It’s been nearly 3 years since the day we met and we are only just beginning. The best is yet to come.

Us Two by A. A. Milne

Wherever I am, there’s always Pooh,
There’s always Pooh and Me.
Whatever I do, he wants to do,
“Where are you going today?” says Pooh:
“Well, that’s very odd ‘cos I was too.
Let’s go together,” says Pooh, says he.
“Let’s go together,” says Pooh.

“What’s twice eleven?” I said to Pooh.
(“Twice what?” said Pooh to Me.)
“I think it ought to be twenty-two.”
“Just what I think myself,” said Pooh.
“It wasn’t an easy sum to do,
But that’s what it is,” said Pooh, said he.
“That’s what it is,” said Pooh.

“Let’s look for dragons,” I said to Pooh.
“Yes, let’s,” said Pooh to Me.
We crossed the river and found a few-
“Yes, those are dragons all right,” said Pooh.
“As soon as I saw their beaks I knew.
That’s what they are,” said Pooh, said he.
“That’s what they are,” said Pooh.

“Let’s frighten the dragons,” I said to Pooh.
“That’s right,” said Pooh to Me.
“I’m not afraid,” I said to Pooh,
And I held his paw and I shouted “Shoo!
Silly old dragons!”- and off they flew.

“I wasn’t afraid,” said Pooh, said he,
“I’m never afraid with you.”

So wherever I am, there’s always Pooh,
There’s always Pooh and Me.
“What would I do?” I said to Pooh,
“If it wasn’t for you,” and Pooh said: “True,
It isn’t much fun for One, but Two,
Can stick together, says Pooh, says he. “That’s how it is,” says Pooh.

it’s going to be a long winter

I leave him at the gate. There are tears. There are always tears. Big, sloppy tears that feel like they may never end. But they do, somewhere past security. I take off, I touch down. “Welcome back to Canada, Miss“. I grunt. I pay far too much for an express bus ticket that is meant to take me downtown in a jiffy. It is not a jiffy. It is $24 worth of traffic and the bus breaks down miles from Dundas street and the driver says: “Can everyone please get off the bus NOW. Not sure if I blew a hose or if the bus is on fire.” I do not like the sound of that. I disembark. The bus is not on fire but the blown hose has rendered it useless. I grab my 25 kg bag and wheel it all the way to the bus station. The streets are so wide here, the buildings so tall. It should feel liberating, this expanse. It does not. There’s too much space between me and everything. It’s 10pm in London. I still have miles to go before I get home. I sleep on the bus from Toronto to Montreal. First on one side, then on the other, then with my feet up the window and back to one side. It smells of upholstery and the dim light is blinding. I recognize an old friend from Nova Scotia around midnight, sitting kitty corner from me. The world is small and I am tired. I’ve been traveling for nearly forever. It is 5am in London. It is cold in Montreal. She waits for me at the station — the friend I need who also needs me. She booked a hotel room for the occasion. We hop in a cab and stop au coin de Sherbrooke et de Bleury and I carry my bag up a long flight of stairs. 25 kg of stuff and 24 hours of fatigue. She has a bottle of Jameson. She opens it and pours generously. We sit under blankets on the couch, occasionally breaking for smokes outside on the fire escape. It’s a night that calls for Jameson and cigarettes. We drink, smoke, talk, eat pizza by the slice until 3am. It is 8am London time. He’s getting ready to go to work. I’m going to bed.

It’s only been a week since that night and from the blur, things are beginning to come into sharp focus. Sleep is slow but I’ll find my Montreal beat again soon. In my jet lagged state, I’ve considered on more than one occasion getting married in Las Vegas. In some white chapel off the main strip. By Elvis. And in my jet lagged state, I imagine that Elvis miraculously presents me with a spousal visa and I skip this long, cold winter — fly out of limbo and back to London. This, naturally, is unrealistic. The reality is that I am here for a good 6 months. So it goes. Call me melodramatic. I’d be disappointed if you didn’t. Characteristic of melodrama: exaggerated, sensationalized, or overemotional — which are the very characteristics of this post. But it’s ok, you see, because we’re all entitled to it once in a while and you and I both know that I’ll bounce back soon. I always do.

The dog whines to be let out each morning at 6am. Sometimes, her patience stretches to 6:30. The whining sounds like an old squeaky bicycle wheel. Squeak. Squeak. Squeeeeeak. I let her out. It snowed last night. A thin layer sits on the patio. It crunches like granulated sugar beneath my bare feet. It’s the full moon and I miss you.