O Canada!

Reading the post titled "Colors of Summer" by Ellen at her blog, The Happy Wonderer - ellen b., I was reminded that today, July 1, is Canada Day. I'm taking her observation of this holiday as a writing prompt regarding an adventure I had that began 59 years ago today. My family immigrated to Canada from Southern California.

My father, who at that time was a corporate aviation pilot, was hired to fly a Lear Jet for the government in British Columbia. The summer of 1966, when I was 16 years old, we moved from the San Fernando Valley in Southern California to Vancouver, British Columbia. 

the Georgian Towers probably
late 1950s - early 1960s

Before the big transfer of our household goods, we did all the paperwork, medical appointments, and whatever was required at that time so that upon our arrival we were given our immigration cards to carry in our wallets at all times. It was exciting!!

the Georgian Towers in 2019

We did not have a place to live when we arrived, so our first three weeks were spent with living in a downtown high-rise, the Georgian Towers. I wish I could remember what floor we lived on but the article I've read says there were 22 floors. 

We had what was originally intended to be an apartment that was converted for hotel use, and a few years later went back to apartments again. There was a living room, a very small kitchen, a couple of bedrooms, a bathroom and a fantastic view of the harbor complete with ships, boats, Stanley Park just a few blocks away, and mountains for skiing on the opposite side of the water.

The article I've referenced, written in 2019, says the plan was/is to tear the building down to replace it with another with 49 stories! Over the years its stature had become rather dwarfed by the newer structures constructed all around it. 

main floor restaurant at
Georgian Towers Hotel

On the main floor of the building was a restaurant where we had our meals when we weren't eating simpler fare prepared in our apartment kitchen. I have a fun little story about that -- actually two. The first one regards a large pin (brooch) I had that was just costume jewelry. It was a gold cursive letter B, for Barbara. (Remember the large L that Laverne wore on her blouse in the TV sitcom, Laverne and Shirley?)

Laverne and Shirley, 
when it was the fad to wear an initial

I wore it to dinner one evening and noticed later before going to bed that I had lost it. I had no idea where it might be. I went back down to the restaurant to look but did not find it. 

ballerina with the
Bolshoi Ballet

At the same time, Russia's Bolshoi Ballet was in Vancouver, apparently staying in our hotel. The next time I was in the restaurant, the host remembered me looking for my lost pin. He handed it to me saying that a member of the Bolshoi Ballet had found it and turned it in! I was both grateful and amazed. This honest person could have kept the pin for themself since it was a large, very attractive letter B.

The other memory I have of that restaurant was of a young waiter (possibly just a bus boy), who caught my eye. (or I caught his eye?) Since we lived in the hotel for 3 weeks, we encountered each other several times and he eventually asked if he could take me out after his shift ended. His name was Mario and he looked Italian. Of course my parents said no. I imagine that even hastened their search for a permanent residence for our family, other than this hotel!

Another memory I have of our weeks in the hotel was the first couple of nights. Moving from the greater Los Angeles area up closer to the North Pole in summer, Sister and I were not use to the delay in sunsets, with total darkness not coming until nearly 10pm. That was an interesting phenomenon to us teens.

After the 3 weeks in the Georgian Towers, we moved into an apartment very near the entrance to the University of British Columbia. Again, a tall building, we lived on the 8th floor (which was the top) and again had a jaw-dropping view of the harbor in the distance from our balcony. 

Sister and I were intrigued, only at first, that our new home was just a few blocks walk from the 'beach.' It turned out that beach was quite different from what we enjoyed in Southern California. This beach was more like hard-packed dirt and since it was along a harbor with ships, boats, and the like, there were no big waves to speak of. Also, even in July, the temperature was cool and being in the Pacific Northwest, there was the rain. Oh well.

Lord Byng Secondary School

Eventually the summer came to an end and we girls had to enroll in school. Excitement combined with a healthy amount of trepidation got us into our classes. I was a junior by then (grade 11). I registered for English, geometry, a Canadian government class, physical education, and a Spanish class that I could only take via correspondence. 

It seemed that in this Canadian school, everybody took French, but I already had a good amount of Spanish behind me and needed to complete that for college requirements. They gave me a study hall and a record player with a large vinyl record of Spanish lessons. To say that was a hard adjustment for me would be an understatement. 

The Canadian government class was a mystery to me, too, but as far as I can remember, I studied and held my own well enough for the length of time I was there ..... which leads me to a major development in this Canadian adventure.

The one man in government who had taken it upon himself to hire my father to pilot the Lear Jet was reprimanded for apparently taking matters into his own hands, working on the assumption the funding for the plane and the crew would be forthcoming. It was not. 

To sum that up, by November it became clear Daddy would be let go and so over the [American] Thanksgiving holiday (Canadians celebrate that in October) we left Canada to return to the USA. We ended up in New Jersey, outside of Newark and then shortly after that we settled in Tulsa, Oklahoma. I won't go into the details of all of that except to say Sister and I had to learn resilience and to one extent or another, we did. We both were enrolled in three schools in that school year, and it was not without (allow me some Biblical humor here) "weeping and gnashing of teeth."

But with that said, there was one notable miracle for me that I have never forgotten, even better than the Bolshoi ballerina finding my brooch. In New Jersey I was put into a civics class where the teacher must have been a lawyer wannabe. His lectures were chock-full of legal cases proving this and that. My eyes rolled to the back of my head and when it came time after only 6 weeks for the semester final, I was absolutely beside myself with fear that my grade would fail me.

Actually, it did. BUT, when I had to confer with the teacher later, he told me he would give me a passing grade because he knew I was Canadian and would therefore not know much about government in the USA. 

Did I correct him with the truth that I was as American as he was, having been born in Oklahoma? What would YOU have done?

Whether it was right or not, I graciously accepted the passing grade he gave me and left it at that. Very shortly after that, Daddy's work took us to Oklahoma, the very town where I was born and where (blessedly) my grandparents lived. I felt an acceptance and security I had not felt in quite some time. 

This is my story and I'm sticking to it because it's the absolute truth. O Canada! I enjoyed you most of the time my family lived there but what an interesting set of twists and turns you gave me!

Philippians 4, verse 11 is a lesson I've had to re-visit all of my life, especially as an adult, with the many relocations required of me by both my father and my late husband with their jobs:

 

"... for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances." 

One Bible translation even phrases it this way, "I have learned to be content in whatever state I am in." 

To be content with anything, there comes a time when we must just accept the matter, the issue, the circumstance, the people, the problem, whatever you want to call it. Change may come at some time, but meanwhile, often the means for peace is to just accept and choose to be content.

Until next time, grace and peace.

Stanley Park in Vancouver, British Columbia

P.S. #1 Happy Birthday, Canada!

P.S. #2 without the magic of the Internet, I could not have provided any of the photos that enhance this blog post.