hydrangea blossoming

hydrangea blossoming
Hydrangea on the Edge of Blooming

Thursday, April 4, 2013

The Invisible Judy Ross

Border questions loom large in life here.  But I have been impressed over the last border trips I have made.  These two trips were separated by about 12 days, which is fairly typical of my border travel: it is too much trouble to do it if I don't have several things to do north of here.

But on both of these returns, I was asked by the U.S. agent on duty, 'Where do you live?'  Given that I have a Nexus card and that they are looking at a computer screen which tells them who I am and where I live, I do not grasp the point of this question.  Nevertheless, mine not to grasp the thinking of the Border Agents.  So, I reply, "Point Roberts."  And then, each time (different border agents involved in these two crossings), the agent says something to the effect that he doesn't recognize me.  One suggested I must be a hermit; the other was just puzzled to find that he and I were not better acquainted, somehow.

I replied to the first one, "Yes, I'm a hermit," and to the second one, "Well, I'm just a little old lady: all of us look alike."  And they smile and send me on my way.  With my one Canadian-grown cucumber (duly reported).  The border, the border, as mystifying as the grey skies of winter...what's beyond it?  What kind of meaning?  Or is it just arbitrary, meaningless?

Remember:  "If not for the cat and the scarcity of cheese, I would be content."  (Jack Prelutsky, If not for the cat, with drawings by Ted Rand).

If not for the border and its vague policies, I would be calmer.

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