A Fairy Tale
I don't usually post things that are personal in nature, you know, the stuff about my relationships, or my family. But now that there are a few people who might occasionally read this crap, I wonder if they are confused at some of my posts that refer to my exile, etc. So I thought I it might be time to tell you a little about my situation, as it were. And it's a pretty good story, romance,star crossed lovers, mean, faceless government officials, rude, over officious Germanic (was that redundant?) immigration employees, a little house built of sweetness and bread and history and full of kittehs...yep this a grand story. So here we go, snuggle down in your bedding and lays your little heads on the pillows...
Once upon a time, in the middle of the cold, snow blown Canadian Prairies, there lived a girl (Brite) who had a couple of brothers (their names don't matter, they are totally superfluous to this story...and they don't read this blog).One of Brite's brothers had the most fabulous friend; a tall, skinny and brilliant boy who also happened to secretly be a prince of purest heart (in fact it was so secret, I'm not sure he knows his true self even now).The heretofore unnamed brother (ok..his name is Jamie) and his prince of a friend, the future Big G, let Brite hang around and occasionally drove her to the Big City (Winnipeg) to watch Monty Python on Friday nights, where much laughter ensued.But lo...it was the 70's my children...the decade of me, me, ME and Brite was far too busy indulging in all that 'me-ness' to realize that the love of her life was right there.
And so, the 70's turned to the 80's; Big G moved far away and Brite languished in the deep, wet forests on the Wet Coast.And the 80's dwindled into the 90's and a whole new millenium began. Brite had wearied of the endless drip drip drip on the mosses of the forest floor and moved herself and her young cub (the Max) back to the tundra.One sunny day, less than a decade into this new era (you know, a couple of years ago) the Big G sent an email (because the interwebs had finally been invented) and showed up on Brite's doorstep forthwith.But the Big G lived in far off Switzerland, land of chocolate, mountains, cows and cheese and had to return to his kingdom.The interwebs (bless its little soul) allowed the geographically challenged lovers to pledge their troths (er...you know...send sappy love letters back and forth and chat aimlessly while supposedly at work) until Brite could stand it no more and packed up the Max, the kittehs and all her worldy belongings and moved to the Big G's domain, Switzerland, albeit not entirely with a visa or permission or all that bureaucratic crap.And it shouldn't have been a problem...but there was this witch...a fairy tale always has to have a witch.I will not dwell on this witch and all her evil ways, except to say that her prevaricating, procrastinating ways prevented (oooooh alliteration) Big G from being free to marry the fair (albeit middle aged at this point) Brite.And as long as they remained in the wonderful land of chocolate and cows this posed no problems.
So the Big G and Brite bought a little house, a former bakery with its very own grange in the backyard, roses, a cave (wine cellar) to stock and roaming room for the kittehs.It was such a perfect home that one day, a beautiful and most forward kitteh decided she would live there.The Max attended school and Big G and Brite were ever so happy.But it was the summer of 2009 and the call of their homeland could not be ignored.There were festivals to attend, people to see and lakes to be dunked in.But returning to Canada was perilous, not only because we were flying in an Airbus, but most importantly because the Swiss had changed the rules in the past year.Suddenly Brite was no longer allowed to return to her happy home( a little more alliteration), because of an evil troll called Schengen .Schengen said that Brite was persona non grata, not welcome, fuck off and cancelled her visa application that had been grinding its way through the Swiss bureaucracy for 2 !!! freakin years (oh I'm sorry...shouldn't swear around the kiddies).Luckily, the troll Schengen did not notice the Max and he returned to the land of cows and cheese and continued his education.
Brite stood on the Dover shore, watching the ferry sail off to schengenland, bitter tears coursing down her progressively wrinkling face. Exiled,with nowhere else to go, she turned north and found a flat in twee ole Blackheath. The Big G makes the journey every weekend to soothe and reassure Brite of his love and faithfulness and over tasty meals in fashionable eateries they have 'the visa discussion' until they are weary.But there are good things to come...a wedding (at last) in January and perhaps the troll schengen will be appeased with a document that says Brite and Big G are legally bound to one another.I am convinced there will be a happy ending to this tale...but it may take some time yet. G'night chilluns...sleep tight.