Back in Woodstock
I got a call right after writing the last entry that my crown had come in and my dentist could put it in right away, so I rushed over to his office, and in half an hour I was finished. It feels great. Just like a real tooth only stronger!
That meant I could pack up and be ready to leave on Thursday, which I did. Wednesday evening I was invited to dinner at the Pozzini’s along with Brian and Charleen. It was a very nice evening, although Brian and Char ended up leaving fairly early. Mike and Mary and I talked until almost 11, then I took my leave. I wasn’t concerned about leaving too early since the trip back was going to be in two stages anyway and I wanted to stop at the Bayport Bank and close out an old savings account that had become inactive.
And so it was. I stopped by Hammond on my way east to see Mother. She was awake, sitting up in her wheelchair, but totally unresponsive. Such a weird disease.
The trip back was much nicer than the one coming to Minnesota. I took the northerly route through the Upper Peninsula of Michigan and then on to Port Huron. I spent the night in Gaylord, MI in a Holiday Inn Express. Good beds and pillows, clean rooms. They are a bit pricier than other available venues, but worth it for a good night’s sleep as far as I am concerned.
My car was packed to the gills with stuff from Nelson’s basement. He has been dropping heavy hints about getting my stuff out of his house for some time now, and I worked hard to clean out the back room where most of my stuff is. I threw out quite a bit, and filled the car with as much as I could. The car was visibly rear-heavy from boxes of books and journals and a few pieces of electronics.
Inside the cabin, the back seat was filled with my old wooden tabletop radio plus three bags of clothes and my CPAP. The front passenger seat had my computer, pill box, man-bag and assorted goodies.
As usual, I anguished about how I was going to get all this stuff through customs. I had all the documentation I had the first time I was able to bring in stuff without paying duty, but it seemed clear to me that it would probably not be worth the effort to try to get this pile of junk in duty free even though it was all on the original list I submitted to the customs people the first time I entered Canada after getting my Permanent Resident card.
As it turned out, the lady at the entry checkpoint in Sarnia asked exactly the right questions.
“Where do you live?”
“In Woodstock, ON”
“How long were you out of the country?”
“A week and a half.”
“What did you buy to bring back with you?”
I paused only a moment and answered, truthfully, “Just a liter of bourbon.”
I had my passport and PR card in hand, stretched out the window towards her, but she waved me on without looking at them saying, “You’re free to go.”
I was amazed - especially with my car obviously packed to the gills with stuff. I had actually opened my mouth to say something about needing to talk to customs about the other stuff I had, but when she shooed me on, I hit the gas!
I spent the next half hour looking for flashing lights in my rear-view mirror, but I made it home to Woodstock without incident.
That meant I could pack up and be ready to leave on Thursday, which I did. Wednesday evening I was invited to dinner at the Pozzini’s along with Brian and Charleen. It was a very nice evening, although Brian and Char ended up leaving fairly early. Mike and Mary and I talked until almost 11, then I took my leave. I wasn’t concerned about leaving too early since the trip back was going to be in two stages anyway and I wanted to stop at the Bayport Bank and close out an old savings account that had become inactive.
And so it was. I stopped by Hammond on my way east to see Mother. She was awake, sitting up in her wheelchair, but totally unresponsive. Such a weird disease.
The trip back was much nicer than the one coming to Minnesota. I took the northerly route through the Upper Peninsula of Michigan and then on to Port Huron. I spent the night in Gaylord, MI in a Holiday Inn Express. Good beds and pillows, clean rooms. They are a bit pricier than other available venues, but worth it for a good night’s sleep as far as I am concerned.
My car was packed to the gills with stuff from Nelson’s basement. He has been dropping heavy hints about getting my stuff out of his house for some time now, and I worked hard to clean out the back room where most of my stuff is. I threw out quite a bit, and filled the car with as much as I could. The car was visibly rear-heavy from boxes of books and journals and a few pieces of electronics.
Inside the cabin, the back seat was filled with my old wooden tabletop radio plus three bags of clothes and my CPAP. The front passenger seat had my computer, pill box, man-bag and assorted goodies.
As usual, I anguished about how I was going to get all this stuff through customs. I had all the documentation I had the first time I was able to bring in stuff without paying duty, but it seemed clear to me that it would probably not be worth the effort to try to get this pile of junk in duty free even though it was all on the original list I submitted to the customs people the first time I entered Canada after getting my Permanent Resident card.
As it turned out, the lady at the entry checkpoint in Sarnia asked exactly the right questions.
“Where do you live?”
“In Woodstock, ON”
“How long were you out of the country?”
“A week and a half.”
“What did you buy to bring back with you?”
I paused only a moment and answered, truthfully, “Just a liter of bourbon.”
I had my passport and PR card in hand, stretched out the window towards her, but she waved me on without looking at them saying, “You’re free to go.”
I was amazed - especially with my car obviously packed to the gills with stuff. I had actually opened my mouth to say something about needing to talk to customs about the other stuff I had, but when she shooed me on, I hit the gas!
I spent the next half hour looking for flashing lights in my rear-view mirror, but I made it home to Woodstock without incident.