(they glitter gold in the sunshine)
Toby has been working away on Monk these past few weeks and has been offered yet another episode. The money’s good and the surroundings familiar, so she’s taking the gig, but she misses her son, Dean terribly. To remedy this, Dean’s coming down from Courtenay, BC to vacation with his mama. Go to Disneyland, the movies and hangout. The only problem is getting him there.
The plan is, Eric drives him to the ferry at Nanaimo and he takes it to Horseshoe Bay where Henry and I pick him up and drive him to our house. In the morning, Mike comes and drives him to SeaTac where he will take a flight to Burbank where Toby Ann will be waiting with open arms. Clearly, there is a lot that can go wrong with this plan.
First, Eric missed the ferry – it seems he didn’t realize he needed to get gas and didn’t leave early enough. Secondly, he didn’t check the ferry schedule and so Dean was not leaving until we thought he was arriving. This didn’t seem tragic – at first – it simply meant the boys would have less time together and they get to paint as many fence boards that I’d planned for them to paint. Lately, I’ve really gotten into child labor.
Meanwhile back at the farm, I was trying to take care of business, paying bills etc. I opened the mail and almost had a heart attack. It was a notice from the Department of Licensing telling me my driver’s license would be suspended in August. WHAT?! It claimed that when I got a speeding ticket on Mother’s Day that I never responded. I about had a breakdown. I didn’t deserve the speeding ticket, as I was going the speed limit. I did respond to the ticket and went to the court to request a court date. I found out the officer said I was on a different road than I was actually on. I told this all to the woman at the Department of Licensing. She humored me, but clearly didn’t believe me. She told me I could fax a letter to the judge requesting my license not be revoked. WHAT?! I explained again. She put me on hold for about ten minutes.
“I looked into your ticket and it seems you're correct. You did request a court date, but it was given to another woman with the same name.” WHAT?!
“I see.” I responded calmly. “Now what do I do to rectify all of this?”
“Nothing. I’ve handled it. You’ll receive a court date in the mail.”
“I don’t have to write a letter?”
“No.”
“May I have. .. “ Click. She hung-up.
Completely shaken and upset at the injustice in the world and my victimization, I picked up my keys, camera, passports and told Henry we had to leave to get Dean. I didn’t want to be late.
As we drove, I thought of Barbara, she told me I had to change my attitude about Canada. Perhaps, I’d gotten off on the wrong foot. After all, years ago when I traveled with my mother, I remember meeting many Canadians in Europe and we always struck up lovely conversations. I was in my twenties and I remember I could spot them in a crowd. They were the only other women wearing nail polish other than Americans, at that time I was sporting acrylics.
(Sumas Border Crossing)
So, as I drove up to the border I decided I would enjoy this picture postcard country and start over. The woman who checked our passports was terse, but not obnoxious – so far so good. We were making good time as Henry watched “Star Trek” in the backseat.
We knew we were going to be quite early, because Toby called and told us Dean’s new arrival time, but I didn’t want to stop before we got there. He’d be alone if we didn’t arrive in time. I called Lisa to verify my route to Horseshoe Bay as Toby was called to shoot a scene. I asked her to call up the Google Map just in case I ran into trouble. My “navi”, which we call Loretta, doesn’t work in Canada. Tom’s looked into getting me another version, but so far we haven’t wanted to spend the money. No matter, Lisa handled it without much trouble.
We were definitely headed correctly. You simply follow the Maple Leaf to Horseshoe Bay. Today, we noticed quickly is Canada Day. The country seemed joyous and today seemed like a good day for new starts.
We traveled along without interruption until we came to a tunnel. We sat in the tunnel for over an hour and a half. I heard all about the making of Star Trek. I know that Dr. Spock was intended to be red, Captain Kirk’s character is based on a combination of Hamlet and Captain Horatio Hornblower, Scotty didn’t really have an accent and Spock’s ears were almost monster ears but for the foresight of the make-up artist who went around the reluctant network. I now know more about Star Trek than some Trekkies. The traffic didn’t move. We inched forward as I studied the tile. I wondered why so much effort was put into a monochromatic pattern few people would notice at normal speeds. Did this happen often? We started out early and now we were almost late. People were getting out of their cars and walking around. But no one seemed to know what was happening because there wasn’t any reception in the long tunnel.
When we finally emerged from our prison I noticed we only moved a car length at a time. The bridge up ahead was completely empty in both directions. We couldn’t figure it out. We rolled down the windows and asked the punk in the car next to us.
“My ex-girlfriend is going to jump. They’ve closed the bridge.” He callously laughed jiggling his sunglasses.
I rolled up the window. Henry was incredulous. “Is his girlfriend really going to jump?”
“No. Honey. He’s making a joke. There must be someone who’s threatening to jump on the bridge.”
“Why would he say that then? Why would he laugh? It’s not funny, someone might die. Someone is so sad she might jump and he’s laughing? He’s a creep.”
I called Toby to update her on our lack of progress, but she must have been shooting a scene. I left a message. I didn’t know the ferry name, or if Dean had a cell phone or what else to do.
As we came to the front of the line I tried to ask the workman which direction I should head to Horseshoe Bay as I had to pick up my friend’s child.
“Lady, just get off and figure it out.” He barked. Canadians are so friendly.
I got off, Henry called Lisa and I stopped at the first gas station I saw. The men behind the counter gave me a fast list of streets and turns I should take to get to Lionsgate Bridge, the only alternate route. I wrote it down on a receipt and got in the car. Glanced at the time again and almost couldn’t breathe. Dean arrived twenty minutes ago. I had to just get there as fast as I could.
The directions, the men gave me were wrong and we were thoroughly lost and I was completely frustrated and overwhelmed with a child standing there waiting for us. Henry said Dean most likely had his GameBoy™ and didn’t even notice we were late.
(tour of the city)
“Now if his battery dies, his whole world will implode, but until then we’re good.”
Oddly, this calmed me down slightly. Henry dialed the phone and barked directions being relayed from Lisa as she found the city map on the Internet. We were living a giant video game. I turned down streets that were dead ends and Lisa re-routed me. We went through Historic China Town, passed Gucci and saw the Vancouver Museum of Art. Thwarting me at every turn were the Canadians. They don’t adhere to pedestrian instructions. They simply walk in front of your car as if it isn’t a weapon of death and destruction. I started wondering if they’d run, but I kept my composure.
“Mom! They’re going to bolt across the street again watch out!”
Toby called, she'd gotten my message and reached the ferry security. They'd found Dean and would keep him until I arrived. Everyone was aware of the jumper. I relaxed a little.
Under normal circumstances, Vancouver is probably a lovely city. There are beautiful parks, interesting architecture and gorgeous scenery. 
On the other hand, being lost in Vancouver is like being lost in Century City or Beverly Hills. There are lots of people, tall buildings, honking cars, shiny BMWs swerving impatiently from one lane to another. I suddenly felt like a girl who belonged on the farm. Oh, I could do this, but I didn’t want to.
(Historic Chinatown) (Art Museum)
(Driving through the city)
Sitting in standstill traffic is not un-familiar to me. I likened this to when PCH is shutdown and you have to go Sepulveda. We sat and sat and inched forward. Two and a half hours later we got Dean.
Unfortunately, the way back was just as arduous as the “jumper” was still on the bridge. Like too many rats in a cage, people were going crazy tired of waiting they were completely abandoning the rules of the road. Luckily, as I drove in a foreign country, I was grateful to have a valid driver's license. 
We had to make our way back, Henry had to get out and pee in some bushes because there wasn’t anything else we could do. The man in the next car who was by my side for hours laughed. I felt a kind of kinship to him after a time. Luckily, Henry’s a boy. Just like a Canadian, he made his way through traffic back to the car. Once in, he pondered what he’d have done if he were Quinn.
(Back through China Town)
“She’d have some perve looking at her.” I was glad he was beginning to understand the plight of the female. As we crossed the bridge, I nodded goodbye to my Canadian friend.
Four hours after collecting Dean, we finally arrived at the US border. Without a note from Toby, it proved challenging. As a mother, I was appreciative of their caution. We'd just about answered all his questions, but the agent wanted to go over things just one more time.
“So he’s going to see his mother in Los Angeles.”
“Yes.”
“And where’s his father?” He asked pointing to Henry.
“Los Angeles.” He looked at me and raised an eyebrow.
“No. They’re not together.” He laughed.
The agent then decided to ask the boys all sorts of questions including their favorite video games and finally determined we were a benign group doing just as we claimed to be doing. He waved us on.
As we passed flourishing American cornfields the sight soothed me. “Almost knee-high by the fourth of July” It was only the first, but I officially gave up on my cornfield and pumpkin patch scheme. It just wasn’t going to happen this year. I haven’t had a drop of rain since Pea left and my plants haven’t even germinated. The pumpkin seeds say they’ll last two to three years so I’ll just hold on to them
In the final stretch on Mosquito Lake Road, the boys complained of empty stomachs and we were discussing farm chores when I had to hit the brakes hard.
“What the heck? Mom, what happened?”
“That bunny hopped right in front of my car.” I pointed, without hesitation Henry rolled down the window and screamed,
“What are you? Canadian?!”
