I'm not going to lie, it was hard for me to come home. The UK and Ireland suit me at forty in a way that I believe Canada no longer does. Though I count myself as a proud Canadian, I now find myself questioning a lot of our values/beliefs and priorities and more often than not, find myself at odds with what others here find important.
Yes it's true, I was only in the UK/Ireland for a short time, but there is a level of comfort there for me which I have never known here. Their overall accessibility is exceptional (though the trains/train stations need to catch up with the rest of the country) and there is also a level of acceptance that I have long understood that I will never have here. For all that Canada thinks she has made progress in accepting those with disabilities, I'm here to tell you, that she is kidding herself. Little has changed here in the forty years that I have called this country home, and when you look at it from another prospective, you realize how very sad it is.
Okay, enough doom and gloom let's begin shall we?
I have to say, the seven hour flight from Toronto to London went pretty darn well. I sat next to a woman who was returning home to take care of her dying ninety two year old mother and we had a really nice talk. She told me what a great life her mother had had and how she was looking forward to seeing her sisters again even though it had only been three weeks since she had last seen them. (She had already flown back and forth from Toronto to London three times in the course of a year) It was clear that she was sad/wistful at the prospect of losing her mother but she also held cherished memories close to her heart and knew that she was doing the right thing in going home. She was excited to get to her sister's country house (just outside of Bedford) and share a meal with her two sisters while they caught up. I found myself just a little envious of the closeness she shares with her sisters, as that time is long gone for my sister and I, and as I get older I do find myself wishing I had another sibling closer to my own age.
I love this evening flight. You leave Toronto at ten p.m and chase the morning sun across the different time zones until you see light spreading across the sky in various hues of yellow, pink and purple, hinting at a new day. It's breathtakingly beautiful and I didn't sleep for one minute of it! :-)
The dreaded landing went smoothly and my seat mate and I wished each other well (we never did share names) For a brief moment I remember thinking the next time she goes home it will be because her Mom died. I felt this wave of sadness for someone I hardly knew. Death does that I guess, makes everyone think about their own mortality and those around them.
Anyway, it was a brilliant landing (Way to go Captain!) I didn't even screech.
Once we made it off the plane, we made a beeline for the lugguage conveyer and that seemed to take forever. When we finally got the luggage back, Mom told me that one of my cat lugguage tags was missing. I was so angry/upset. I had special ordered little olympic lugguage tags so that I could feel like Buddy/Kasey were with me. A whole metal piece had broken off, taking the tag with it. Not a stretch when you could see the lugguage guys throwing stuff on the conveyer belt like they would rather be doing anything else. Here's a pic of the tags, I'm going to purchase replacements at some point because I just loved them.
We finally made it out of there, getting through customs pretty quickly. We knew that we still had a ways to go as we were taking the train right into London to find the place that we were going to stay for the first three days. The basement room was on the South Bank of London and we had to get to a station called "Black Frier" where the landlady was going to met us. Sounds good right? Yeah, sounds easy enough til we hit our first glitch....
The elevator to get up the platform was actually OUTSIDE of the train station (the train station is attached to the airport BUT is extremely old, so they built the elevator well after the place was constructed to make it more accessible) The silly twit who sold us the train tickets (not what I called her originally:-)) Didn't bother telling us where the elevator was, so we were searching everywhere...Finally, we find it, and though the men on the platform aren't happy that we didn't call ahead (so they could be ready at the other end to help us off---like we are supposed to know this) they wheel me on, plunking me right in front of the doors. No problem, people just step over me and the lugguage I'm surrounded by like it's no big deal.
Mom texts the landlady that we are on our way and should be there in about forty minutes--the message goes though so we don't think twice about it. (Mom got a special plan covering up to 30 texts in the UK, so we thought we were golden...)
We get to the station and end up going in circles just trying to get down from the platform. There is no sign of this lady, and we have no clue where to go, what to do, or who to ask, with both of us fading fast.
Finally we grab two bobbies, asking them to point us in the right direction, Mom is clutching her phone waiting for the never to be seen text, and though the bobbies are very nice, neither one is certain about direction. Finally, figuring out we're not about to leave anytime soon, the two men offer to help us find the place. Realizing that I can't wheel myself all over London in what will surely be a throng of people, the cops take the lugguage from Mom and tell her they'll handle the bags while she pushes me...thank god!
So there you have it. No return text, two desperate/fading women and the bobbies pulling our lugguage.
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