A Border Question Seldom Heard Up Here

We spent a day over the holiday weekend--the day on which it did NOT snow--on a trip to look at the leaves.

Our destination was Grand Marais, chosen in part because it's a Goldilocks distance (not too far, not too near) and in part because my husband has a new passport and wanted to cross the border with it.

And although the border guard did not ask me to smile, not once, he did ask us about the nature of our relationship. It's helpful to be able to answer "We're married."

One of the times when we weren't married and crossed the border, our answer was something erudite like "We're, uh, toGETHer." This stumbling-fumbling sentence (combined with the difference in our ages) apparently aroused enough suspicion in the U.S. border agent to prompt him to mention that he saw lots of Internet romances in which a Canadian hooked up with an American for nefarious purposes--namely, moving to the U.S.

Because Canadians of middle and older age all want to live in the U.S. For the health care. Yeah. That's it.

To be fair, Canadians of many ages are indeed snowbirds. But few want to STAY.

Anyway, the pre-marriage guard then asked my husband if he had proof of that he intended to return to Canada in a week. Proof such as the title to land he owned. My husband said "no." The agent shook his head sadly and eventually waved us through, evidently against his better judgment. Perhaps it was a holiday gift to us.

Why would someone going to a family wedding during the holiday season happen to carry title to property? Wouldn't that look MORE suspicious, not LESS?

And now, the new border requirements may resign those kinds of questions to the dustbin. Let's hope, anyway, that the passports are good for something.

However, this time, when we said "We're married," the border agent said, "Huh. So you're married but you have different last names."

The answer to that one: "Yes." And there was the head-shake again, but we were waved through.

Different last names. Sheesh.

I'd forgotten how big an issue that is in the U.S. Up here, having different last names hardly raises an eyebrow--although in a move reminiscent of Hillary Clinton, the Prime Minister's wife took his last name for the first time in their multi-year marriage only when he became Prime Minister. Why then? Who knows.

But for the most part--even in Thunder Bay, which is hardly a hotbed of radical thought--having different last names is not really worthy of comment.

Crossing the border: an experience that leaves people on both sides shaking their heads.

Jiggity Jig

That means, of course, that I am home again. Take that, Thomas Wolfe.

The worst part of cross-border traveling is going through customs and immigration. On my way to Arizona, I really wanted to smack the border agent.

First of all, it was the second day in a row I'd gotten up at 4 in the hopes of flying out. The first day, strong winds and/or mechanical difficulties prevented us from taking off. The second day...well, it was my second day of getting up at 4 a.m. Not a morning person, me.

After the nerve-wracking experience of undressing to pass through security, you spend 1.5 hours in the tin can in the sky and another ten minutes hanging around inside the airplane while they process paperwork. Then you climb down this teeny little set of stairs to the tarmac and follow the rest of the herd (under close supervision this whole time) onto a bus without seats.

The bus takes you on a circuitous route through the scenic bowels of the Minneapolis-St. Paul Airport to a back entrance. You crowd off the bus and push into an alcove (inside at last!) and then into the elevator once someone punches the button, duh, to call it down from upstairs. Finally, you get off the elevator into a huge space--about ten lanes for arriving immigrants.

And only one agent is working. I've arrived many times from Thunder Bay, and there has never been more than one agent working.

So you'll forgive me if, while standing in line as one agent processes 49 other people, my face gets a little blank. By this time, it's after 8:30 to my body, and I've been up since 4. Two days in a row. Not a morning person.

As the agent calls me forward from the yellow line, he says "Smile, young lady." I hate this. I have a face that isn't particularly smiley. I know this. People in the U.S.--perfect strangers, walking down the street--tell me to smile. I really really hate this. I'm not surprised to hear it, even though I hate it.

But I stay silent. This man carries a gun.

He starts his visitor's spiel before noticing my U.S. passport and stopping himself. Instead, he says "Welcome home," and I say "I live in Canada now," and he says with a wink, "Traitor." Seriously. He says this word, "traitor." And then he winks. I remain impassive (Four in the morning! Second day in a row!). Then he says "Why?" I say, "Why what?" He says, "Why do you live in Canada?"

Oh dear.

I really want to say, "Because in Canada, perfect strangers never tell me to smile."

I really really really want to say, "Shall I start with the 2000 election?"

I am seriously tempted to say, "Where do I start?"

Instead, I sputter.

Still holding my passport, he says, "It's usually either a job or marriage."

Eyeing my passport, I say, because it's easiest, "I got married."

He says, "Aha. I knew it was something. Enjoy your stay." Passport now in hand, I think, but don't say, "It can only get better from here."

Coming back is equally nerve-wracking, mostly because you have to declare your purchases and pay duty and whatnot. I'm always afraid they'll ask to search my luggage and then I'll have to explain those three jars of olives I didn't bother to declare.

However, generally speaking, most border agents in Canada don't carry sidearms. (The current government is trying to change that.) And to a man and woman, none of them--not one--has ever told me to smile.

Man, I love this country.

Two Rs, Two Ss, Two Countries: Embarrassment

Honestly, people.

In Canada

• Stephen Harper "releases documents" about Afghan detainees--a disorganized crapload of redaction. Two boxes of deliberately NOT what the Opposition requested. A cheap political stunt.
• A University of Ottawa right-wing politician (there is one in Canada, yes) (a) invites Ann Coulter to speak as a political analyst, and (2) sets up a scene so that she imagines some grounds for filing a complaint with the Human Rights Commission.
• Canadian media cover the event as if she were a legitimate political analyst while labeling her a political entertainer. She claims she's using satire and being funny. Her presence in the world is to entertainment as championship wrestling is to Olympic wrestling. As in, NOT EVEN CLOSE.

In the U.S.

• As healthcare is debated and addressed in Congress, demonstrators hurl epithets at everyone from legislators to the president. I don't understand why anyone imagines name-calling is at all helpful. You think anyone you call "babykiller" is going to be interested in anything else you say?
• Democratic lawmakers get death threats and their offices are vandalized. It's not a political "statement": it's a crime. Do they not understand that?
• Republican lawmakers wait a day or two to speak out against the violence. Why is that? Do they support it? And by the way, as long as I've already mentioned Ann Coulter in this post, how do Republicans feel about how she represents the current administration, Muslims, and camels? Anyone willing to say publicly that she does not speak for you? I thought not.
• John McCain defends Sarah Palin. If he could only admit he was wrong and that she is now wrong, he'd regain the respect of 2/3 of the country and could contribute something of value to the country he claims to love so much. But he's always been the North Wind, not the Sun.

It's no wonder I'm crabby. I'm embarrassed by events and people on both sides of this border. I've had to name both Ann Coulter and Sarah Palin in this, my own space, where I try to keep the poison to a minimum. Grr.

For some people, apparently, spring is just a time of change--not hope. I'm trying not to be one of those people. I'm trying to look for a reason to smile in the insanity. Failing that, I guess I'll just have to smile anyway. Just don't tell me I have to.

Update: Smile!

You'd think that crossing a country's border might not be an appropriate time to be all smiley. It's a serious business. There are stamps on passports and whatnot. And at least one person in the conversation is carrying a gun, and it's not me.

But you already know how I feel about immigration agents.

This one is new. Tuesday morning I was with another person checking in for some outpatient surgery--hers, not mine. I was just the adult. The aide checking us in took a look at our faces and said, "It's okay to smile. You don't have to be so serious."

The surger-ee said, "But this is serious." And it was. And the aide didn't even know what we were there for. We could have been checking in for an inoperable tumor that we were insisting should be operated on anyway. We could have been there for any number of things. What we were there for was plenty serious.

So here's a question: When did it become unacceptable to be appropriately serious?

And here's another: Is it an American thing? Are Canadians urged to be jovial just before someone slices them open?

Discuss amongst yourselves. I'm just here in the sun, smiling away.

Two Moments

Well, three.

First, nobody at the border ordered me to smile. That's a victory. Actually, it was a new agent, so maybe they heard me. (Delusions of power.)

Second, you know you're in Texas when you hear someone behind you say "tin?" and you realize they're saying "ten." No question, just uptalking? You know?

Third, I had a little pang during the announcements on my two American Airlines flights. The main steward did his deal with the seat belts and oxygen masks and then added an admonishment. The "captain" came on to echo it: there is to be no standing in line for the washrooms. Before you get up from your seat, you are to check to be sure no one is already in line. Because you cannot stand in line.

I'm sure it's a response to concerns about in-flight turbulence but it's also a post-9/11 safety thing. And, unlike the taking-off-of-shoes, showing-of-three-bottles-in-a-zipped-plastic-bag, stripping-of-sweaters charades, it's something that feels like a meaningful request. To me, anyway.