Another Police Certificate on the Way

Pam called Police Head­quar­ters in Con­necti­cut this morn­ing and they con­firmed that they had processed and approved a police cer­tifi­cate for her. They said that it was in the mail, but it had been a hol­i­day on Fri­day on the US (Veteran’s Day) and of course, a hol­i­day here in Canada on Mon­day (Remem­brance Day), so it will prob­a­bly arrive in our mail­box either today or next week (no mail deliv­ery on Sat­ur­days in Canada).

Two down, one to go!

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Remembrance Day Poppies

We were doing some morn­ing gro­cery shop­ping at Granville Island. At about 11 o’clock an elec­tric bell rang. For a moment I thought it was a fire alarm. For­tu­nately, it wasn’t. Instead, there was an announce­ment over the PA sys­tem request­ing that we all observe 2 min­utes of silence in remem­brance of the sol­diers who had died in the past World Wars. Then the bell rang again to sig­nal the start. It was a bright morn­ing, a brief break in the rain, and the suns rays came stream­ing in to the mar­ket, while every­body (except for a few fussy chil­dren) stayed quiet and still. It was quite an amaz­ing moment, in a place that is nearly always full of activ­ity and a low hub­bub of chat­ter. The bell rang once more, and every­thing returned to nor­mal. Out­side, as we walked home, sev­eral squadrons of air­craft flew in for­ma­tion, in the sur­pris­ingly clear late-morning sky (it’s now back to rain as I write this).

The obser­vance of Cana­dian sol­diers who died in the wars has also been in evi­dence for about a week or two prior to today, when every­body wears the lit­tle red fab­ric pop­pies on their jacket or coat. I’ve seen tele­vi­sion per­son­al­i­ties and sports com­men­ta­tors wear­ing them. You can typ­i­cally get one by mak­ing a dona­tion to one of the vet­er­ans with them on street cor­ners. I’ve worn mine for a week or two, but actu­ally have gone through 2 or 3, as they keep falling off, since they’re only held on with a straight pin.

The red pop­pies come from Lieu­tenant Colonel John McCrae’s poem, In Flan­ders Fields. McCrae was born in Guelph, Ontario, and as a sur­geon attached to the First Field Artillery Brigade in World War I, he wrote it the day after a friend of his, Lieu­tenant Alexis Helmer of Ottawa, had been killed by a shell burst on May 2, 1915. Sit­ting on the back of an ambu­lance parked near the dress­ing sta­tion beside the Canal de l’Yser, just a few hun­dred yards north of Ypres, McCrae wrote the poem. He described that in the nearby ceme­tery, he could see the wild pop­pies that sprang up in the ditches in that part of Europe. He spent about 20 min­utes writ­ing these lines in a notebook:

In Flan­ders Fields the pop­pies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sun­set glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flan­ders fields.

Take up our quar­rel with the foe:
To you from fail­ing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though pop­pies grow
In Flan­ders fields.

Cyril Allinson, a young sergeant-major, was deliv­er­ing mail that day when he saw McCrae writ­ing the poem. McCrae looked up as Allinson approached, then went on writ­ing while the sergeant-major waited. “His face was very tired but calm as he wrote,” Allinson recalled. “He looked around from time to time, his eyes stray­ing to Helmer’s grave.” When McCrae fin­ished, he took his mail from Allinson and, with­out say­ing a word, handed his pad to other sol­dier. Allinson read what McCrae had writ­ten, and said later: “The poem was exactly an exact descrip­tion of the scene in front of us both. He used the word blow in that (first) line because the pop­pies actu­ally were being blown that morn­ing by a gen­tle east wind. It never occurred to me at that time that it would ever be pub­lished. It seemed to me just an exact descrip­tion of the scene.”

In fact, it was very nearly not pub­lished. Dis­sat­is­fied with it, McCrae threw the poem away, but a fel­low offi­cer retrieved it and sent it to news­pa­pers in Eng­land. The Spec­ta­tor, in Lon­don, rejected it, but Punch pub­lished it on Decem­ber 8, 1915. Now in Canada, it is prob­a­bly the most mem­o­rable war poems ever, and although it is offi­cially a legacy of the bat­tle of Ypres in the spring of 1915, it’s come to sym­bol­ize those from the Allied coun­tries whose troops died in World War I. In just thee years in 1918, while still serv­ing in the field hos­pi­tal, McCrae caught pneu­mo­nia and menin­gi­tis and died.

A por­tion of the poem is now printed on the Cana­dian $10 bill. The rea­son that Allinson pointed out the word ‘blow’ in the first line is prob­a­bly because there was a false rumour for a while that the word was a mis­print on the money (and should have been the more com­mon ‘grow’). The lines “To you from fail­ing hands we throw the torch; be yours to hold it high” have been adopted as the motto of the Mon­treal Cana­di­ens hockey team.

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Brooms from Baltimore

Brooms from Baltimore
Brooms from BaltimoreBrooms from Bal­ti­more,
orig­i­nally uploaded by MichaelMoore.com.

Each of my Par­ents were on two of 300-some pho­tos on Michael Moore’s Flickr col­lec­tion, pos­ing (as so many other’s did) with a broom on Elec­tion Day. It’s nice to know that we all did some sweeping.

I’m really sur­prised that the Democ­rats recap­tured both the House and the Sen­ate. Joseph Biden sug­gested that this was a repu­di­a­tion of Repub­li­can dom­i­na­tion since 1984 (I won­der what Bill Clin­ton would think of that?)

At any rate, I’m proud of them, and was glad that the US has started the long road back to sanity.

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Enough Whining

I think I’ve got­ten most of the ‘Oh woe is me, my Work Per­mit is due to expire’ out of my sys­tem, and despite the dreary weather, there is plenty to be pos­i­tive about.

Specif­i­cally:

  1. It’s Elec­tion day today, and hope­fully the Democ­rats will take back some of Con­gress. It prob­a­bly won’t be the Sen­ate, but at least the House of Rep­re­sen­ta­tives is due to return back to Demo­c­ra­tic rule for the first time in… is it 12 years? What­ever it’s been, it’s been a long time. This doesn’t mean that Pam and I will be head­ing back South again. We’re here, we’re nearly legal, and we’re stay­ing put, vis­i­tor sta­tus or not.
  2. Yes­ter­day Pam got her Police Cer­tifi­cate from Mass­a­chu­setts! That’s one down, two to go. Col­lect all three and you win the jack­pot: Per­ma­nent Res­i­dency (even­tu­ally). Hope springs eter­nal, but let’s hope this doesn’t take place in Spring.
  3. I’ve got plenty of things to get done in the com­ing months. There’s a bed­room to repaint (never did that room when we moved into our condo). I’m also going to make a con­certed effort to clean up my office. (It’s amaz­ing how clut­tered it got in 14 months). There is a bunch of stuff I want to sell on Ebay (mostly elec­tron­ics that are either out-of-date, not needed (like a Satel­lite Receiver and a Net­work Hub), or bro­ken, and now I’ll have the time to take care of it. I also need to move ‘The Kendall Group’ web site to British Colum­bia (and make it a proper web site, with blog and other more cur­rent features).
  4. A while back we planned a trip down to see my niece dance in the Pacific North­west Ballet’s The Nut­cracker.
    That’ll be fun, as the fam­ily bal­le­rina, along with a bunch of other lit­tle girls in tutus, takes to the stage in Seat­tle in about a month, which calls for a fam­ily reunion. Her Aunt and Uncle will be happy to see her oper­ate the canon in the bat­tle between the Nutcracker’s army and the mice.
  5. Mac­world Expo is com­ing up in San Fran­cisco in Jan­u­ary, and again, that’s been planned and reser­va­tions have been made far in advance. Since I missed what some have dubbed ‘Wood­stock for Smart Peo­ple’ last year, I’m look­ing for­ward to renew­ing my almost annual pil­grim­age in 2007. I’ve got a lot of old friends to recon­nect up with.

That’s a few so far. There’ll be more. Noone ever said that I was a Pollyanna, but I’m sure there are a few sil­ver lin­ings in all of these clouds (real or situational).

Update: I’ve since learned that my niece will not be pulling or shoot­ing a canon of any kind, but she will be hold­ing a gun (a rifle, I believe). She made it clear that it’s a prop, but given the US’s love firearms, I hope she keeps what­ever looks like a safety on. You’d think with a bal­let like The Nut­cracker that the artillery would be kept to a minimum.

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Wet Ground, Losing Ground

As the Novem­ber rains have started, so also has a shower of gloom come upon us. With­out going into a lot of detail, it seems that our fail­ure to get Landed Immi­grant Sta­tus has had a domino effect on our sit­u­a­tion; These days, new work­ers in Canada usu­ally have Per­ma­nent Res­i­dency (Landed Immi­grant sta­tus) by the time their first year’s Work Per­mit is up for renewal. That obvi­ously wasn’t the case for us.

Because our prob­lems with Pam’s fin­ger­prints, I’m now hav­ing to do the unusual step of try­ing to get a renewal of a work per­mit. We thought this would be a sim­ple rub­ber stamp on a form at the bor­der or some other office, but at this point, it does not look either sim­ple, or even likely, in that it involves lots of more paper­work, and some other details involv­ing my employer that I’ll leave out for the moment.

At this point, there’s a strong prob­a­bil­ity that a month from today we’ll both be out of the work­force, back where we began again. Pam is even in the midst of a con­tract, and will be forced out of it, and this pains her a great deal. While a brand new Work Per­mit (for Pam, this time) will solve most of our prob­lems for the time being, that will also require pro­cess­ing (about 55 days, our Lawyer reports, and we haven’t even sub­mit­ted that yet), so there will be an inevitable gap before we can work again. In addi­tion to wait­ing for this new work per­mit, we are also wait­ing for the fin­ger­prints (still barely read­able) that we sent to Cal­i­for­nia and Con­necti­cut to be accepted and for them to send us Police Cer­tifi­cates, along with Mass­a­chu­setts, who for some rea­son didn’t need fingerprints.

It’s a hell of a way to enter into the Hol­i­day Sea­son, but it’s as if those unread­able prints have thrown us right back to the start­ing line. That’s not entirely accu­rate, but it sure feels that way.

I don’t think that words can express our level of frus­tra­tion and disappointment.

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