Traveling with Mama is not usually hard, but it is a much...slower experience. It requires a lot of patience and it especially requires you to not be in any sort of hurry to get somewhere or to do something whatsoever, no matter what. Mama has a walker and a lot of mobility issues due to health concerns and just plain old age, and I have always understood that and have never had a problem with it -- in fact, I am generally first in line to jump up and help her do something that would otherwise cause her pain or discomfort.
But, be advised that Canada is very different than the United States in both how they care for their elderly and/or otherwise sickly population as well as in a grand cultural sense. As Mama told us, there are not laws in Canada that say that the handicapped must get special treatment or special parking or entryways into buildings/ramps etc (whether this is true or not, I don't know; I have not looked it up) like there is here in the states, and in general it seems like the Canadians either look down upon or otherwise ignore the enfeebled almost entirely. As such, we have noticed it's harder for Mama to get around in public at places in Canada, and it's much more difficult to get, say, wheelchair assistance in the airport without telling multiple people multiple times in myriad ways that yes, it is absolutely necessary.
This being said, when I travel to Canada with Mama and Daisy, I am traveling with two full-blooded Canadians, women with Canadian citizenship as well as American citizenship. I don't expect to be given special treatment, but I do expect to be treated, well, as a Canadian, even if I am not one, as I am married to one and the son-in-law of another.
But to anyone watching us on the outside, it is very clear that all three of us are Americans. It doesn't matter what flags we wave or how front-and-center my Tragically Hip t-shirt is when I travel -- I stick out as an American. Daisy says it's mannerisms, tone of voice, even body language that gives it away, and even Mama can't hide it now since she has spent so long in the states.
Mind you, we are all American citizens too; Daisy is and always has been a dual citizen and Mama just got her American citizenship two years ago after being here for nearly fifty years (married to Dad, of course, who is also American). Believe me, if I had any actual Canadian blood heritage anywhere in my ancestry or family line that would qualify me to become a Canadian citizen, I would be doing so -- but, sadly, I don't have that. When I travel, especially during this dark era of the Trump Administration, I try not to stick out as an American. I've mentioned this before. However, it's really hard these days, and I don't think it's going to get any easier.
However, traveling with Mama does have its perks -- she takes her handicap placard with her everywhere we go, and we hang it off the mirror of any vehicle we're in and get the best parking in the parking lot every time, for one. For two, we do get to board airplanes first with her, and in airports (especially stateside) if we are far from our next gate/terminal, we have people who will jet us across the airport on one of those go-kart things, luggage in tow, all together because we're traveling together.
In non-handicap situations though it is very clear that we are all Americans when out and about (sorry, I'm talking about Canada here, so it's oat and a boat) either shopping or in restaurants. While Mama will slip back into her Nova Scotia accent a bit when she's there, and I am also one of those people that if I spend enough time someplace, the accent there will work its way into my speech, Daisy is not one of those people (though I do think she could if she let it). However, even for me it takes a while, so any time I open my mouth more than a mumble, it is very clear that I am absolutely American.
So generally I keep my mouth shut in most public places. I'm not making any more waves than necessary.
When we went to Inverness Beach for Daisy's birthday, there's a gift shop on the way that we have always wanted to enter but it has never been open when we've driven by. There's a running joke within the family that it's not open, but it is shut, because that's what the sign says. Not closed, but shut. Well, this time it was open, and we found that it was owned and operated by an American transplant from California who had family in the area. Turns out we're not the only Americans in the area -- especially not up on the island, where a lot of the people there are from the states and have moved there for retirement or to just plain get away from the trainwreck that is the US government.
I don't know how much I really believe that. A lot of the people we see and interact with there are very clearly Canadian, or are naturalized citizens who are clearly immigrants -- I can't say that I see or interact with a lot or any "known Americans" other than us when we're there. Nobody there seems to be overly hostile towards Americans (though if you'd ask Mama, she'd say differently). Also, if you're moving to Canada to retire there? On Cape Breton Island, along the coastline? You have to have a lot of money, because that is not something that is cheap, and it is doubly not cheap for Americans. If it were, I'd already be living there and our cats would be Canadian cats.
This time around, it seemed like the novelty of us coming to town had worn thin or we had otherwise not warranted a lot of attention from the rest of the family, even with Mama with us. I let Daisy and Mama handle communication with everyone, of course -- it's not my family, it's theirs and I just married into it. While there are definitely aunts and uncles and cousins who adore me and who have accepted me into the family as an honorary Canadian as if I was born and raised there and always belonged, it's still not my place to be messaging extended family and being like "hey, we're going to be in town on X days, be there" because not only is that not my place, but I'm sure everyone would see it as aggressively American -- because I certainly would.
Now, I will also mention that our arrival coincided with prom and graduation for one of the younger kids in the family and the one I would call, more than anything else, the "golden child" of the family. Yes, Prom on the weekend we arrived and Graduation on the weekend we were leaving, in late June-- school schedules are very different in Canada. Because of all of this activity surrounding the golden child and the preparations/schedules involved for the graduation party (taking place the day we were flying home, unfortunately), a good chunk of the family we'd normally see -- including said golden child as well her parents and brother and at least two other cousins, we did not get to see. Daisy's other cousin who had the wedding in October was stuck coordinating trainings at work in Halifax all week, and thus we did not get to see the newlyweds either.
Who did we spend time with while we were there? Well...
Daisy's aunt and uncle, the parents of our cousin we saw get married in October, always make a special effort to drive the camper up to the family homestead to see us when we're in town. I love them; they are wonderful people and nobody makes us feel more at home in country than they do. These are the aunt and uncle who have told us point-blank that it's time to escape the states and come home, and when we do we will have a place to stay with them. They came up the day after we arrived and stayed a couple of nights before heading home.
We did see some family friends we always see when we're there, if possible, and we did see Daisy's other aunt and uncle who live next door to the family homestead. However, aside from one of Mama's friends, we saw nobody else while we were there. As mentioned, most of my time was spent in the basement, where I felt trapped and unimportant because nobody wanted to come spend time with us while we were in Canada. The oppressive rain and cold didn't help matters much either.
I was struggling. All I wanted was to have some fun and be happy, to be able to enjoy my vacation and actually feel like I was on vacation, not trapped in a basement while it poured rain for days on end. There were no adventures to really be had, and the parts of the Canada Experience that I'd enjoyed so much in years past just felt hollow and empty. Yes, we would go to Walmart and shop in the vastly superior Canadian Walmart, but...it lacked the charm it had in previous years.
They changed up the inside of the local Tim Hortons, added kiosks and new seating and new register systems, and in doing so made the place far less quaint and inviting and more like an assembly line with furniture. It made me sad. The food and coffee was just as good as always, but still.
Yes, when I am in Tim Hortons, my codename is Duke. Nobody knows me. I'm sure there could be other Brandons around up there. But I doubt they run across a Duke very often. Plus, it's always somewhat hilarious to hear the small, waify foreign (mostly Indian) coffee girls yell out "Duke? Duuuuuuke!" when my order is ready.
Daisy rolls her eyes but I know she gets a kick out of it too. Also, it's pure coincidence that together we are Daisy/Duke. I promise that wasn't intentional.
Aside from the brief social gatherings with people, we treaded no new ground in Canada this year. Did we go to Giant Tiger and Dollarama? Why yes, yes we did. We spent a little money at each place. Did we take Mama to get her fish and chips in Truro? Yes, we did, and I got a poutine there. Did we go to 5c to $1.00 in Antigonish as we do every year? Yes, we did, and just like every other year, I got a new hat there.
Sigh. For some reason, it was just all so...depressing. Sad. I was not having fun at all. I was really, really struggling, I was getting increasingly irritable with everyone, especially Daisy, and there was nothing that could really make me feel better. It got to the point where Mama and Grandma noticed it as well, and the last thing I wanted to do was ruin everyone else's time just because I was miserable, but at the same time I wanted everyone to know that I was enjoying absolutely nothing about this trip.
Looking back on it now, yes, the weather was a big factor in why I felt so badly, but also the fact that we weren't being treated like royalty for our visit and that everything wasn't revolving around the three of us flying in to visit from thousands of miles away was subconsciously affecting me too. Add to this that we hadn't had any adventures planned just for me and Daisy -- we didn't really have any true vacation time to ourselves, everywhere we went and everything we did involved Mama or doing something for Mama or taking her with us, and in those situations I felt very heavily like a third wheel, wondering why I was even there on this vacation with them, because it certainly wasn't for my enjoyment.
Over the span of a few days, this compounded and I was absolutely miserable. There's only so many things you can do to entertain yourself when you're essentially trapped in a basement. There's only so many hours you can read books or watch television on your tablet (a tablet that, in Canada, only has half the apps be functional -- i.e. no HBO Max, no Paramount+, and no Libby library app) before you're like "fuck, let me out, I have to do something different."
But we didn't. We did nothing different. We did nothing adventurous. Daisy and I didn't take a day trip to drive up and down the Cabot Trail. We didn't go whale-watching. We did little more than sit in the basement, and while I fully realize being there, being in another country, is a treat in itself -- this time around it all just rang hollow. I felt like I had become the ghost in the house, not Daisy's grandfather.
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