Borders and Boundaries

I've been thinking a lot about borders and boundaries since being away last week.  We drove to Canada to visit friends and family in the city where my parents, my brothers and I were born, Windsor, Ontario.  There were border crossings involved, naturally.  But I passed through a lot of boundaries besides the obvious ones.

It's about a 10- or 11-hour drive from my home in New Jersey to my birthplace.  I can no longer drive it in one day (at least not by myself).  We take our time crossing the borders of Pennsylvania and Ohio.  A lot of people don't like the drive.  They say Route 80 in Pennsylvania is boring and the flatness of Ohio is unappealing to some.  Pennsylvania is wide and it feels like it's taking forever but it's pretty with worn-low mountains and wildflowers and quilts of farmland spread out on either side of the road.  I went to college in Ohio so I'm pretty partial to that state.  It is kind of flat in the north where we travel but there's beauty in that.  The horizon is far in the distance with grey weathered barns pushed against the edge and fields and fields of growing things. 

When I'm driving through Ohio my mind travels across decades of borders and memories that are triggered by green highway signs.  I'm sure I knew people from Vermillion ... my roommate had family in Akron ... the second great love of my life was from Elyria (wonder where he is; is he happy; how many children; and on and on).  I don't visit those borders very often any more but the signs naturally cause me to look back.  Border crossings.

So we drive to Toledo and turn north. It's that simple, especially from my house situated within sight of Route 80.  Before we get there we pass by signs for Sandusky and Cedar Point.  Cedar Point ... site of the last roller coaster I ever rode.  The Blue Streak, 1971.  Nancy's father took us over the border for a day of fun in this classic amusement park.  "Come on," she said.  "It's not bad, I promise."  Her dad could tell I was changed for life when I exited that ride.  I'm pretty sure I was white as a sheet.  Thank goodness they hadn't thought to set up cameras on those rides yet.  I have not been on anything faster than teacups since.  

When we finally get to the real border crossing (after getting through the tunnel that links Detroit with Windsor, the U.S. with Canada), there's always that moment of dread:  that unwarranted fear you get when speaking to someone "in authority."  I can't help but notice the two language greeting, "Bonjour/hello."  A few basic questions and we're on our way again, a couple of blocks to the hotel situated on the river.  On the border.  I can look across from my old home and wave towards my now home.

I crossed some other borders during the week.  The most notable was the boundary I've set up for myself this year.  The one that keeps me eating healthy and exercising every day.  It's hard to make good choices when you're traveling.  I did pretty well the first couple of days but when that poutine appeared on the menu ... well, I crossed over into dangerous eating territory.  I went over the border into full vacation mode. I recognize that's an excuse for making bad choices and not standing my ground at that border.  I did manage to walk every day except for three of the driving days.  I'm not happy with crossing that boundary but I accept that I chose to go over the bridge and that it will take some time to undo the damage.

We spent the week crossing borders and boundaries.  Visiting friends and family who've been in our lives all my life and reminiscing at every turn.  They say you can never go back but I'm lucky.  I was rooted in such a lovely place that even though it's changed much over the years, I can still find my childhood amidst the "progress."

This image really made me both laugh and think as we
waited in a very long line to cross back to the States.  We
aren't "closed" here.  We welcome people from all over the
world.  Every day.  People seeking both a short respite and a
permanent refuge.

Crossing back and returning home, I run the memories in reverse.  Other bits of the past trickle up but by the time we hit New Jersey, I've crossed back to the present.  I'm running my to-do list for the week ahead and playing catch-up in my brain.  The final border crossing:  home again.

~

There was, of course, a playlist as I drove:

Gavin DeGraw (the entire catalog)

Jamie McLean Band (my summer party)

Andy Grammer (happiness on a disc)

Sara Bareilles (pure beauty)

Michael Franti (peace & dancing too)

Colbie Caillet (memories of last summer)