I just got home from the dentist. I hate the dentist. It’s not personal, but I honestly just cannot comprehend that anyone would choose to do that kind of work to make a living.

Jeff made me go for a cleaning and a check-up, and set it up like this: “do you really want to be in the middle of the Tanzanian country-side and wake up at 2 am with a toothache?” Well, not really, but maybe; if it means avoiding the dentist, then yes! But I went, and got a tooth filled, and was really annoyed about it, and will probably hold a grudge against Jeff for a while.

I also took both the girls for cleanings and check-ups, and Olivia in particular has chronic dental problems. A couple of years ago while vacationing in Mexico, Olivia chipped her permanent front tooth. I remember it like it was yesterday: I’d just ordered a glass of local tequila, was sitting back in my chair with Yates’ “Revolutionary Road,” when I heard what I thought was my child’s cry. I surveyed the pool, but couldn’t see anything unusual. So, I sit back once again, only to catch a glimpse of two children running towards me, screeching at the top of their collective lungs. Olivia was in the front, and her hand was covering her mouth. Once she was closer, I saw blood spurting between her fingers like a geyser. As it turned out, she was climbing up a small water-slide, slipped, and fell on her face. Since then, because she exposed the root, the tooth has died, but she can’t get a replacement until she is sixteen. So, we visit the dentist regularly to get the tooth rebuilt over and over again, and to Olivia’s relief, she won’t be going to the dentist for at least ten months (cross fingers).

And now we are really in the home-stretch. All bags are partially packed, documents are strewn about, medication is stacked up and my stomach is in knots. We scrambled around yesterday, getting new passport photos taken for our Indian Visa applications. We will visit the embassy in London to get our tourist visas, and are trying to anticipate every possible, problematic angle. After calling every single Indian Embassy in Canada, I my faith in the process is wavering. I was hung up on, twice, and Vancouver doesn’t even answer their phone, and their mailbox is full. If anything, it will be entertaining.

Today we spend some time with my parents over breakfast, head out to my dad’s place in Falun to drop off our car to store for the ten months or so we will be gone, and then head home again to really finalize packing. I promised the girls I would take them and two of their friends to Galaxy Land tomorrow, and am torn between thinking that idea is brilliant, or insane. On one hand, we are simply waiting to leave, and having a distraction like West Edmonton Mall will be good; on the other, I feel there are a million things to wrap up, and so I ought to be working on them every waking minute. Either way, I imagine it will all get done, or not, and still we will leave on Tuesday, despite it all.

So this is our last couple of days in Canada, and it feels odd. I fluctuate between calling the whole thing off, and just wanting to go already! And leaving affects my whole perspective of Edmonton, and my life here. It makes me maudlin and sentimental, and I’m not even drinking Prosecco! But I look forward to coming back, and reuniting with friends, and sharing stories of the past year.

That is my anchor, and it’s working for now.