Round The Ball: Lent – 2009

Jesse was having a hard time understanding how soon our move to London really is. For about a month, with all the talk about it swirling around him, he’s probably felt like it was going to happen every day. A few times, in fact, as we’ve talked with him about it, he’s asked us, innocent and wide-eyed, “Are we moving to London tomorrow?” We figured out it might be good for him to be able to track with the rest of us “big people” how many days we have left here, and how soon (or far away, depending on your perspective) the move really is.
On Saturday, Jesse and I made a construction paper chain out of seven different colors, with a loop for every day left until we get to London. There are some special “marker” days as well (made out of shimmering aluminum foil) that show when the flight to Boston is, when daddy is coming to Boston, and when the actual flight to London is. (We’re at 30 days and counting, or something like that.)

It’s actually very stunning to see our days numbered like that — hanging, rainbow-loops and all, against the windowsill of our living room. There aren’t that many days left in San Francisco . . . and the visual representation of that even makes the big-kids in our house do a double-take.

One more innovation we made to our loop-calendar: every morning we cut off the loop on the bottom and we think of a friend we’re going to miss when we move. Then we write them a little note on that piece of paper we just cut off, stick it in an envelope, and will mail it off at some point. Jesse usually dictates kind letters to his friends which read something like this:

“Dear so-and-so, I’m going to miss you in London. I will send you a birthday card on your next birthday. I love you. Jesse”

This simple ritual is a good one for all of us — counting our days and taking a moment to consider the precious friends we’ll leave behind, then letting them know that in writing.

Moving means touching everything (and I mean everything) you own.  I’ve spent the week going through every shred of what we call “ours” and making the decision: “keep” or “toss” (there is no “maybe” category now — though that depends on whether you ask me or Pam.)  I’m going through old college notes (wow, I was an ambitious student), old love notes (wow, am I glad I kept those notes from a 17 year old at Wheaton named Pamela), and old (embarrassingly) unopened mail that somehow got stuffed in a box and never seen again (don’t worry, most of it is junk-mail anyway).

So if there’s anything this move is forcing us to deal with, it’s the “crap” of our lives that we somehow accumulate blindly.  Why do I still have those old Steven Curtis Chapman CD’s?  Why was I holding on to our Natural Family Planning book? (Didn’t work for us anyways.)  What’s with those bereavement cards I purchased back in 2002 and never mailed?

At the same rate, there’ve been some real jewels: a note my mom wrote me when I was studying in England during the summer of 1995, a cassette tape of our wedding, the hospital bracelet Jesse wore on his ankle the day he was born.  How can I part with these things!

Moving means touching everything you own — and for me, it had to be an international move like this one to get me to look my pack-rat nature square in the face.

I’m going to paste a quote from Pam’s blog because it says it better than I can . . . here’s a few words from PAM!

This will be quick! Darren and I are sitting outside a Starbuck’s in SoCal that has a fountain that the kids love playing in. They love to take our coffee cups and straws and send them around in the circular motion of the fountain like sailboats.

Our vacation down here with D’s parents have afforded us and the kids much of this type of activity. It started with an afternoon at Darren’s sister Sarah’s house where the kids romped in the backyard–in and out of the kid pool, a loop around the yard on the bike, playing house.

Then there’s been a lot of time spent in the pool or jacuzzi at Dan and Judy’s. I went for a pedicure with Sarah that first afternoon and it is not holding up well as my toes scratch along the bottom of the pool.

This truly has been a perfect visit for us and the kids as we’ve enjoyed seeing the kid’s cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and fireworks at Disney. Last night, we had the pleasure of hanging out with some of our supporters. It was great to connect after a long time and to inform them a little bit more about our move to London. We also had some great home-made Mexican food. All these things will be few and far between in London though we actually may have a great deal of visitors being in such a prime location.

The other night as we rode in the car as a family, we were reflecting on how we will miss riding in the car as a family, since we won’t have a car in London. At the moment we were listening to a worship song that says, “the earth is filled with His glory” and Jesse was sketching this on his etch-a-sketch in the back seat. The drawing is a series of strokes culminating with the whole etch-a-sketch being completely filled in. A whole lot of glory.

I will miss being able to hop into a car and visit my family in the L.A. area . . . but I won’t miss the 400 mile drive through the desert with our kids!

We’ve probably done that drive at least 3 – 4 times a year for as long as I’ve lived in San Francisco. Sometimes it’s family stuff, sometimes it’s InnerCHANGE or CRM-related. I know that stretch of I-5 like the back of my hand . . . it’s a familiar friend, that long dusty highway.

We have it timed out perfectly — stopping mid-way in Kettleman City to fuel up and get a burger at In-N-Out. We pass Magic Mountain in Ventura and call in to my folks’ to let them know we’re getting close. Then we slow into lazy L.A. traffic: cars honking, kids getting squirmy, steam coming off the Subaru engine.

Pam, Todd and I all witnessed the death of our beloved Vanagon on some lonely stretch of that road, back in 2002. That story ends with all three of us sharing the cab with a tow-truck driver who dropped us off at the LAX airport in time to catch a flight to Boston. The van sat at the LAX airport until we returned, and then was buried an a quiet ceremony in Orange County.

Pam and I also did the trip in an overheating Datsun-Z someone donated once . . . new tires installed after one blew out 30 miles from home, no air-conditioning, radio or power-steering.

Yeah, we’ll visit again — but we’ll either be flying in directly, or renting a car. I’m sad, really, to not make that trip again in our trusty Subaru.

Ah, I-5, I’m going to miss it. But not that much.

Yesterday when I woke up, I was already composing a blog-post in my mind.  The title would have been “life in limbo” and it would have been a rant-ish diatribe about how I just don’t want to wait anymore to find out what’s going on with our visa applications.

I was so antsy, in fact, that I found myself willing to pay the $2.94/minute toll to call a special 1-800 number with info about the visa process.  I think I only spent a few minutes on the line — enough to find out that our visas “were not in the system yet, and would likely take another two to three weeks to approve.”  That was at 11:36 a.m.   I sank into a panic — not knowing for two or three weeks was likely to throw all kinds of things off-schedule.

But 10 minutes later I noticed a voice-mail on my phone that I hadn’t listened to yet.  “Patricia” from the British Consulate in L.A. needed me to fax her our Marriage License and kids’ Birth Certificates right away.  With a direct line to her desk in hand, I called her right back.  She was cordial and to the point . . . and asked only two questions: how long had we been married, and are our kids our biological children?  I explained that I was in Southern CA and wouldn’t be able to fax her the documents until I returned the next day.  She responded, “Okay, well, I guess I’ll wait until tomorrow then.”  Then we hung up.

Wait till tomorrow.  Ouch.  We were on her desk in that moment, and here I was, powerless to help us move forward.  I called about five friends in San Francisco whom I thought might have keys to our place.  If only a friend could get in, find the documents and fax them for us!  I called Deanna in London, worried that we were on the desk of the same person who gave them such a hassle (and an initial denial).

I met a friend for lunch (mind whirling in the background) and drove home to tell Pam that at least we were on somebody’s desk!  No sooner had I finished explaining the voicemail and phone conversation to Pam, then I received a mysteriously short email over my phone:

Your application has been approved and the visa has been issued.

That’s all it said.  This was at 1:41 p.m.  It was too out-of-context, too strangely simple to be true.  I rushed to tell Pam, then called Deanna in a confusion: “Um, I think we just got our visas approved?”

To recap: I went from despair in the morning (that I had heard nothing at all in two weeks), to panic at 11:30 after hearing it could take two MORE weeks, to comfort that SOMEONE was reading our application and calling for more info, to visas being approved (by email) — all in a two hour window.  Quite a ride, my friends.

In the end, Jose found a set of our keys, and I walked Lyndy through our fireproof safe (by phone) to find the documents and fax them for us.  (Thanks for your help Lyndy and Jose!)  I ended up back on the phone with Patricia at the Consulate: this time to answer two more questions — a pop quiz about Pam’s full name and date of birth.  Then we were done!  She told us she couldn’t mail them out that night, but we’d have them at the end of the week!

This has been an interesting emotional journey — and it’s put me in touch with what immigrants in many nations experience all the time: the waiting, the limbo, the helpless sense that your family’s future rests in the hands of a foreign government official.  It’s also put me in touch with feelings people must encounter when waiting on major life issues all the time: adoptions, news about the cancer test, results from the bar-exam.  Life is precious, and living in “limbo” can be very taxing.  I have a new appreciation and sensitivity to that state — and I don’t want to forget it.